Reed lowered his cup.
Boyd continued because some men mistake silence for encouragement.
“Must take it out of you.”
Audra placed the knife flat.
Carefully.
That was important.
She knew anger.
She knew embarrassment.
She also knew knives and anger should never occupy the same hand.
She turned.
Boyd’s eyes dropped deliberately toward her body.
Then back.
Audra felt nineteen again.
At a church supper in Missouri.
A boy saying the bench might collapse.
Twenty-three.
A dressmaker charging double because “there is more woman to cover.”
Twenty-six.
A physician ignoring her fever to lecture about weight.
Twenty-seven.
Her husband dying and a distant aunt telling her grief might help her “lose a little.”
Every memory crowded into one breath.
Audra looked at Boyd.
“Funny.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Every man here comes back for seconds.”
Her voice remained calm.
“But you’re the only one still hungry for cruelty.”
Jasper looked at floor to hide a smile.
Boyd’s face reddened.
“I was joking.”
“No.”
“You were measuring how much humiliation you could hide inside a joke.”
“I didn't mean—”
Reed stepped forward.
“Enough.”
Boyd looked toward him.
Reed reached inside his shirt.
Pulled out a folded telegram.
He walked to butcher table.
Placed it beside Audra’s knife.
“Careful, Boyd.”
Boyd frowned.
“What’s that?”
Reed unfolded it.
“Alder Creek Timber is offering eighteen percent higher winter wages.”
Every man in the room went still.
Audra looked between them.
She knew Alder Creek.
A rival camp.
Larger.
Better financed.
Reed continued:
“They sent offers to all ten men under contract.”
Boyd’s eyes shifted.
“Then?”
“Ten responses came back this morning.”
Jasper smiled.
Reed looked at Audra.
“Ten men said no.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“Saul wrote that Blackwater finally had food worth surviving winter for.”
Saul looked embarrassed.
Jasper said:
“I wrote that too.”
Reed continued.
“Finn said he wasn't walking away from fresh bread for three dollars a week.”
Audra’s eyes filled despite herself.
Boyd scoffed.
“They're fools.”
Reed turned toward him.
“No.”
His voice hardened.
“Only one man accepted Alder Creek’s offer.”
He picked up the telegram.
Then threw it onto the table in front of Boyd.
“You.”
Boyd stared.
Reed continued:
“You leave tomorrow.”
The cook shack became silent.
Audra looked at Boyd.
Not triumphant.
That surprised her.
Part of her had imagined moments like this.
The cruel person humiliated.
The room choosing her.
Vindication.
Instead she felt tired.
Boyd looked at the telegram.
Then at Reed.
“You were going to fire me anyway?”
“No.”
“You signed another contract.”
“That's your choice.”
Boyd’s expression hardened.