He frowned.
The numbers didn't match.
He examined the next page.
Then another.
After several minutes, he leaned back.
"Does Bram sign for the meals?"
Loretta nodded.
"Every evening."
"Does he ever count them?"
"Rarely."
Elias looked toward her.
"Then who does?"
"I do."
He tapped the ledger.
"And you've kept the count."
She nodded.
Elias smiled.
"That's a better beginning than you think."
Loretta looked doubtful.
He continued.
"You've got records made at the time the food was served. They can't simply be dismissed because someone doesn't like them."
She looked toward the kitchen.
"Mr. Pritchard can dismiss anything he wants."
Elias shook his head.
"He can refuse to listen. That's not the same as making the records disappear."
Loretta stared.
Then she smiled faintly.
"I suppose not."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then Elias noticed something else.
A small wooden stool stood near the stove.
One of its legs had been repaired with an iron brace.
He looked toward it.
"Yours?"
Loretta nodded.
"I use it when my knees need a rest."
"Does it hold properly?"
"Most days."
Elias studied the brace.
Then he asked whether he could examine it in the morning.
Loretta looked surprised.
"Why?"
"Because it looks like it'll fail if that bolt works loose."
She stared.
Then she glanced at his broad hands.
For a moment, she expected him to make a joke.
He didn't.
He simply looked concerned.
Loretta swallowed.
"Nobody's ever bothered fixing it properly."
Elias nodded.
"Then perhaps somebody ought to."
The words were ordinary.
Yet Loretta felt tears gathering again.
She lowered her eyes.
Elias noticed.
He didn't ask why she was crying.
Instead, he closed the ledger carefully and pushed it toward her.
"It's late," he said. "The numbers will still be here in the morning."
Loretta nodded.
"You're right."
He stood.
Then hesitated.
"Loretta?"
She looked up.
"Yes?"
"Thank you for supper."
She smiled.
"Thank you for helping."
He returned the smile.
Then he went back to the storeroom.
Loretta remained at the table.
For the first time in months, she wasn't dreading the next morning quite as much.
By six the next morning, Elias was already outside.
The sky above Red Dog had turned pale gray, and smoke rose from the chimneys of the miners' cabins. Snow covered the roofs, but the street itself was a mixture of frozen mud, boot prints, and ash thrown from the stoves. Men moved toward the mine entrance carrying lunch tins, their faces half-hidden beneath scarves and worn hats.