It was a narrow space behind the kitchen, with sacks of flour stacked against one wall and shelves holding preserved vegetables, dried beans, and kitchen utensils. The cot was short for a man of his size, but he lay down without complaint, folded his wolf-hide cloak beneath his head, and fell asleep almost immediately.
Loretta remained awake.
She sat at the kitchen table with her account books spread before her, comparing figures by lantern light.
The work was painful in more ways than one.
Her shoulders ached.
Her knees throbbed.
And each page reminded her how much labor she'd performed without receiving the money she was owed.
She had kept the records carefully because the widow taught her that figures could protect people when memories became convenient.
Every meal was listed.
Every sack of flour.
Every barrel of lard.
Every piece of meat purchased from traders.
She even recorded when miners paid in cash rather than vouchers, because those amounts were supposed to reduce what the company later charged against her account.
Yet the statements from the company office never matched.
Loretta had asked Mr. Pritchard about the differences three times.
Each time, he told her that a woman who couldn't even manage her own body had no business questioning company arithmetic.
She remembered how she'd lowered her head.
Not because she believed him.
Because he'd threatened to close the kitchen if she continued.
And closing the kitchen meant more than losing her livelihood.
It meant dozens of miners might have no reliable place to obtain hot food during the worst part of winter.
She knew several men had families living outside Red Dog.
Others worked dangerous shifts and needed dependable meals before returning underground.
She had continued serving them because she couldn't bear to let their families suffer through a dispute they didn't understand.
But now she wondered whether her kindness had become the very thing the company was exploiting.
Near midnight, Elias appeared in the doorway.
He was wearing his heavy shirt and trousers, his long hair tied loosely behind his head.
He stopped when he saw the books.
"Still working?"
Loretta looked embarrassed.
"Couldn't sleep."
He approached slowly.
"Mind if I sit?"
She shook her head.
"No."
He took the chair opposite her.
For several minutes, he studied the pages.
Then he pointed toward a line of figures.
"What's this?"
Loretta explained that it was the number of meals served to the night crew during the previous week.
Elias looked toward the next column.
"And that?"
"What the company says it paid."