Remove my third letter for family Change my last letter for murder Unchanged, I am just a stove

I’m picked though I’m not fruit, I run without a shoe, I help you smell the truth And I’m always facing you.

Golden gems gathered in fields, ground to give us daily bread, a tiny titan that towers in tales of harvest.

I grow on branches and come in red or green, I’m crisp when fresh and sweet when eaten. I have a core but no heart, And my name once tempted knowledge at the start.

Created when pinkies intertwine, or when spit covered hands meet, I am a solemn oath that no child may break. You may swear that no crosses count when making me.