We'll need to wash them before we use them. " The twins looked at each other, then at James, clearly seeking permission. When he didn't object, they scured to obey, treating it like a game to see who could collect the most forks. Matthew," Eliza continued, finding eggs in a basket near the door. "Would you mind fetching water from the pump? We'll need it for washing up. " "Get it yourself," Matthew said, not moving from his chair.
Eliza paused, an egg in each hand, and turned to look at the 9-year-old properly. His jaw was set, his eyes bright with challenge. "This was a test," she realized. "Push too hard and she'd lose him completely. Back down and she'd never earn his respect. " All right, she said mildly, turning back to her work.
I'll get it myself in a moment, though I have to say your father struck me as the kind of man who raises children with better manners than that. It was a gamble invoking Bose's authority when he wasn't present to back her up, but something in the boy's expression flickered. Shame maybe, or the ghost of remembered lessons about courtesy. He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped across the floor. Fine," he muttered, grabbing the water bucket and stalking out the back door.
"Small victory. " Eliza allowed herself a mental note of it before cracking eggs into a bowl. Beside her, James was studiously ignoring her presence, but she could feel his attention tracking her every move. "Your mother must have been a wonderful cook," Eliza ventured, whisking the eggs with a fork. "This is a wellorganized kitchen. Everything has its place.
She was the best, Mera piped up, her voice carrying that peculiar combination of pride and pain the children use when talking about lost parents. She made cinnamon rolls every Sunday and her stew was better than anyone's in the whole territory. Mera, James said sharply. Don't. But it's true.
And she sang while she cooked and she let us help sometimes. And I said don't. James's voice cracked like a whip and Meera's face crumpled. The little girl fled from the kitchen, her bare feet slapping against the wooden floor as she ran toward the stairs. The silence that followed was suffocating.
James stood rigid, his hands clenched into fists, his face a mask of anger barely containing grief. Nathaniel had frozen midfork collection, looking between his oldest brother and the doorway where his sister had disappeared. Even Levi, silent Levi, had turned from the window to stare. I'll go talk to her," Eliza said quietly. "You'll leave her alone," James shot back.
"You don't know anything about her. You don't know anything about any of us. " "You're right," Eliza agreed, setting down her whisk. "I don't know you. I don't know what your mother was like, or how much you miss her, or how angry you are that I'm here in her kitchen, using her pans, trying to fill a space that was never meant to be empty. " She met James's eyes steadily. But I know what it's like to hurt James, and I know that taking that hurt out on your little sister isn't going to make it better.
So, I'm going to go check on her, and you're going to let me because that's what your father asked me to do. For a moment, she thought James might physically block her path. His whole body vibrated with the need to assert control, to maintain the fragile order he'd built in the 16 months since his mother's death, but something in Eliza's calm refusal to be cowed must have reached him because he stepped aside. Don't expect her to like you, he said, his voice low and harsh. Don't expect any of us to like you.