“She used your stepfather’s surname briefly.”
Matilda frowned.
“Calder.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know?”
“Strongbox.”
She stared at the key again.
“What is inside?”
Jedodiah’s eyes shifted toward the pantry door.
Footsteps outside.
He picked up the key.
Too late.
Abigail appeared.
“What are you doing in my pantry?”
Matilda stiffened.
Jedodiah said:
“Talking.”
“With my employee?”
“Yes.”
“Without permission?”
Jedodiah looked almost confused.
“She's thirty-two.”
Abigail’s cheeks reddened.
“I mean permission to be in my pantry.”
Matilda said:
“I was counting food.”
“I told you to prepare breakfast dough.”
“For fifty-three people?”
“For paying guests.”
Matilda stared.
“What about everyone else?”
Abigail shrugged.
“They can pay.”
“The injured men?”
“Someone will cover them.”
“The boy?”
“His father can.”
“He's fourteen and came in alone.”
Abigail’s voice sharpened.
“This is a business.”
Jedodiah spoke.
“How much?”
Abigail looked at him.
“What?”
“How much to feed everyone until the road opens?”
Her eyes sharpened with calculation.
Matilda saw it happen.
“Three dollars a person per day.”
Matilda turned.
“Three?”
Abigail ignored her.
Jedodiah said: