"You must be Evelyn," the woman said in accented English. "I'm Mrs. Chen. I thought you might need help this first morning." "I overslept. I'm so sorry.
I should have "You worked until midnight cleaning this disaster. I saw the light under the door." Mrs. Chen's expression was kind but firm. "Don't apologize. Just start cooking.
The men will be here in 25 minutes, and they're expecting food." 25 minutes. Evelyn's brain kicked into emergency mode. Right, okay, I can do this. She grabbed her mother's recipe book and flipped to breakfast.
Biscuits? No, no time for biscuits. Flapjacks. I can do flapjacks fast. And bacon, and eggs, and coffee.
The coffee's already started. Mrs. Chen pointed to the massive pot already heating on the stove. You make the batter, I'll start the bacon. They worked in synchronized chaos. Evelyn mixed flour, buttermilk, eggs, and leavening into a batter while Mrs. Chen laid out bacon in several large skillets.
The kitchen filled with smoke and sizzling sounds and the smell of cooking meat. Evelyn heated her griddle and started pouring out flapjacks, working as fast as she'd ever worked in her life. Flip stack, flip stack. Don't burn them, keep moving. Don't think about the time.
At exactly 5:30, the door burst open and men started filing in. They were loud, rough, still half asleep, and they descended on the food like locusts. Evelyn kept cooking, trying not to look at them, focusing entirely on keeping the flapjacks coming. More bacon. Coffee's out.
These flapjacks are actually edible, damn. Mrs. Chen moved through the chaos like she'd done this a thousand times before, refilling coffee, bringing out more bacon, managing the crowd. Evelyn just kept cooking, her arms aching, sweat dripping down her back despite the early morning cool. Finally, mercifully, the rush ended. The men filtered back out to start their work day, and Evelyn sagged against the prep table, exhausted.
You did well, Mrs. Chen said, already starting to clean up. For your first day. I barely survived. That's what first days are for, surviving. The older woman smiled.
Tomorrow you'll have more time to prepare. And the day after that, it will be easier still. Thank you for helping me. I would have failed without you. Perhaps, but you didn't fail, so it doesn't matter.
Mrs. Chen wiped her hands on her apron. Come to the main house tonight after dinner service. Mr. Ridgewell wants you to meet Lilly, and I want to show you how the household kitchen works. All right? After Mrs. Chen left, Evelyn collapsed into a chair and looked at the wreckage of her first breakfast service.
Dirty pans everywhere, batter splattered on the walls, and she still had to prepare lunch in 6 hours. But she'd done it. She'd fed 20 men, and none of them had died or complained too loudly. It was a start. The days blurred together into a rhythm of brutal, exhausting work.