By the end of the first week, Lena knew every pantry shelf.
By the second, every man’s appetite.
Ben ate anything.
Amos hated onions but pretended not to.
The blacksmith required twice the portions of everyone else.
One young hand secretly gave part of his supper to an injured dog.
Lena began setting aside scraps for him.
Nobody mentioned it.
Nathaniel ate in the dining hall with the men.
That surprised her.
So did the fact that he carried his own dishes to the kitchen.
One evening he came in while Lena kneaded bread.
He leaned against the doorway.
“You're working too much.”
She looked up.
“You pay me.”
“For management.”
“I’m managing dough.”
“You have helpers.”
“Ben murders yeast.”
“True.”
Nathaniel watched her hands.
Lena became aware of him.
Too aware.
She looked down.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You've been standing there for two minutes.”
“Thinking.”
“Try somewhere else.”
He smiled.
But did not move.
Lena pressed the dough harder.
Nathaniel said:
“My men like you.”
“They like food.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
He grew serious.
“They respect you.”
Lena laughed once.
“After fourteen days?”
“They complain when they don't.”
“That makes no sense.”
“They don't complain about you.”
Lena considered.
“Maybe they're afraid.”
Nathaniel looked at the rolling pin.
“Reasonable.”
She laughed.
Their eyes met.
The room became quieter.
Nathaniel's expression changed.
Lena immediately returned to the dough.
He said:
“You ever think about staying past March?”
Her hands stopped.
“For what?”
“Same work.”
“Higher pay.”
Lena resumed kneading.
“You haven't survived January yet.”
“I’m optimistic.”
“I’m not.”
Nathaniel waited.
Lena finally looked at him.
“You don't know me.”
“I know your bread.”
“That is not the same.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“But it's a start.”
Then he left.
Lena stared after him.
Her hands remained buried in dough for nearly a minute.
The trouble began four days later.
A supply wagon failed to arrive.
Snow closed the southern pass.
Flour inventory dropped.
Lena calculated.
Seven days.
Nine if rationed.
Thirteen if she stretched bread with rye, oats, and potatoes.
Nathaniel entered during her calculations.
“Problem?”
She showed him.
He frowned.
“Pass may stay closed two weeks.”
“Then we need grain.”
“Storage barn has cattle feed oats.”
“Human grade?”
“Mostly.”
Lena sighed.
“What does mostly mean?”
“Some chaff.”
“We can sift.”
Nathaniel watched her write.
“You're not worried?”
“Of course I'm worried.”
“You don't look it.”
“What should I do?”
“Panic?”
“Waste energy.”
She continued.