Lara stared.
“Food.”
He looked toward her.
“That wasn't a trap.”
She flushed.
“Sorry.”
He understood why she had heard it that way.
“I have beans.”
“Salt pork.”
“Flour.”
“Potatoes.”
“One cabbage.”
“Dried apples.”
“Venison.”
“Eggs tomorrow.”
Lara looked toward the kitchen shelves.
“Who cooks?”
“Me.”
She stared.
He looked offended.
“I can cook.”
“What?”
“Beans.”
“How?”
“Water.”
“Salt.”
“Fire.”
She closed her eyes.
“That is not cooking.”
“It becomes food.”
“That is survival.”
“Same thing in February.”
Lara stood.
“Where is your flour?”
Elias pointed.
She removed her shawl.
Then stopped.
“What?”
he asked.
“I should not assume.”
“Assume what?”
“That because I'm a woman, I cook.”
Elias leaned against the table.
“I didn't ask you to.”
“I know.”
“You want to?”
Lara looked toward the stove.
Then ingredients.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because after four days of train food, your terrible beans may kill me.”
He smiled.
“Fair.”
She cooked.
Not extravagantly.
Potatoes fried in salt-pork fat.
Venison cut thin.
Onions Elias had forgotten he owned.
Quick biscuits.
Dried apples simmered with cinnamon from an old tin.
The smell changed the entire house.
Ben returned carrying the wide bench.
Stopped in the doorway.
Sniffed.
“Elias.”
“What?”
“Marry her.”
Lara froze.
Ben realized.
His face went pale.
“Ma'am, I meant—”
Elias said:
“Leave the bench.”
Ben did.
Immediately.
Then fled.
Lara stared.
Elias stared back.
Then she started laughing.
Not politely.
A real laugh.
Deep enough that tears touched her eyes.
Elias smiled.
“That man has been waiting nine years for someone to improve dinner.”
“You should pay him more.”
“I do.”
“Not enough.”
They ate.
Lara took a normal portion.
Then Elias noticed something.
She ate slowly.
Too slowly.
As if each bite required calculation.
When she reached for another biscuit, her hand stopped.
Pulled back.
Elias said:
“Take it.”
Her expression hardened.
“I wasn't asking permission.”
“I know.”
“Then why say that?”
“Because you stopped.”
She looked at him.
“I’m full.”
“No.”
The word came quietly.
Lara became still.
Elias immediately regretted it.
He was not entitled to interrogate.
But he had seen cattle starve beside full troughs when fear interrupted feeding.
People were not cattle.
Still, behavior had patterns.
He softened.
“You don't need to prove anything about how much you eat in this house.”
Lara stared.
Her cheeks reddened.
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Mr. Montgomery—”
“Elias.”
“No.”
He almost smiled.
“Fair.”