Mary looked at Evelyn.
“You wrote asking for work.”
“Yes.”
“I received no answer.”
“I thought perhaps…”
She looked embarrassed.
“I came anyway.”
“Why?”
Evelyn laughed bitterly.
“Because every kitchen in Victoria looks at me before they look at my hands.”
Mary understood immediately.
The woman continued.
“My husband left two years ago.”
“I have no children.”
“I worked bakery.”
“Hotel kitchen.”
“Cannery.”
“They all say same thing.”
“Too slow.”
“Too large for narrow kitchen.”
“Customers don’t like…”
She stopped.
Mary heard Audra’s voice.
Looking is human.
Turning someone into entertainment is choice.
Evelyn whispered:
“I heard there was a woman here who didn’t care.”
Mary looked down.
“She cared.”
Evelyn’s face fell.
Mary corrected.
“She cared very much.”
“Just not about the thing you think.”
Evelyn looked toward her.
Mary took a breath.
“Audra Mackay died last spring.”
The woman stared.
“Oh.”
One small sound.
Then she looked at ceiling.
“I’m sorry.”
Mary said.
Evelyn shook her head.
“No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For arriving like this.”
“I should leave when road opens.”
Mary’s grief became something else.
Anger.
Not at Evelyn.
At herself.
At the unopened letter.
At timing.
At death.
At the ridiculous human instinct to treat one lost chance as permission to lose another.
“No.”
Evelyn blinked.
Mary leaned closer.
“You wanted kitchen work?”
“Yes.”
“Can you cook?”
“Yes.”
“Good?”
Evelyn looked offended.
“Very.”
Mary almost smiled.
“When you can stand, Clara will test you.”
Evelyn stared.
“You're offering me work?”
“I’m offering you a chance to show us your cooking.”
The woman's face changed.
Mary immediately held up one finger.
“Not your worth.”
“Your cooking.”
“Those are different.”
Evelyn started crying.
Mary closed eyes briefly.
Audra.
Everywhere.
Still correcting.
Still feeding.
Still making room without being alive to do it herself.
Three days later Evelyn cooked breakfast.
Clara watched.
So did Mary.
Evelyn made biscuits.
Badly.
Mary almost laughed at cosmic cruelty.
The woman who crossed half a province to work at Audra Mackay’s lodge could not make Audra’s most famous food.
The biscuits came out heavy.
Clara broke one.
Examined.
“Too much flour.”
Evelyn flushed.
“I can try—”
Clara held up hand.
“How are you with meat?”
“Excellent.”