Matthew walked farther in. "Looks like there is."
"It's burned bread."
"I can see that."
"Then we've settled it."
He said nothing. That made it worse. Rachel pressed the knife harder. The blade slipped.
Matthew's hand closed around her wrist before she could strike the rim again. Not rough. Just enough to stop her.
"Leave it."
Rachel stared at his hand. Matthew let go immediately. "Sorry."
She put down the knife. "I shouldn't have snapped."
"You didn't."
"I was about to."
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat. Rachel looked at the blackened pan. "It was one batch."
"Yes."
"I know that."
Matthew waited. The stove popped softly behind them. Rachel wiped both hands on her apron.
"Peter used to burn bread."
Matthew did not ask who Peter was. He knew. Rachel looked at the pan again.
"He'd forget the oven because he'd start reading."
A small breath left her. It might have been a laugh. "He could read anything. Newspaper."
"Medicine label. Feed invoice. Didn't matter. Once he burned two pies because somebody left a railroad timetable on the counter."
Matthew's mouth shifted faintly. Rachel folded the apron between her fingers. "He got sick in October."
The room seemed to narrow around the words. Matthew sat still.
"Pneumonia. Started as a chest cold."
She nodded toward the stove. "He kept saying he'd be fine once the weather broke."
Her fingers tightened in the cloth. "The weather didn't break."
Matthew looked down at the table. Rachel continued before she could decide not to. "We were running a boarding house then."
"Smaller than June's place. Eight rooms upstairs. Dining room below. Peter kept the books."
"I cooked."
She swallowed. "When he couldn't work, I did both."
Matthew said quietly, "How long?"
"Almost three months."
She rubbed at a flour mark that wasn't there. "I slept four hours when I was lucky. Cooked breakfast. Washed sheets."
"Collected rent. Sat with him when the fever was bad. Then got up and did it again."
Matthew's jaw tightened.
"We spent nearly everything on doctors and medicine."
Her eyes stayed on the pan. "He died anyway."
There it was. Plain. No softness around it.