The first set of eyes I saw were Etan’s, and they were painted with surprise.

“Ah, Hollis! There you are. We were . . . Are you quite well?” Aunt Jovana asked.

I shot a desperate look at Scarlet, who made excuses for me. “I sometimes cry without warning myself. It’s been hard since . . . since . . .”

“Of course. Here, Hollis, come back to the table. Nothing eases your own pains like helping lift those of others.”

I moved closer at Aunt Jovana’s suggestion, taking my place again by Enid, her massive hands still a little intimidating.

“I think you might be right. Miss Enid,” I said, looking up to the woman, “seeing as this is my family now, I really ought to learn how to do this properly. Will you show me again?”

She didn’t smile, didn’t even say yes. She picked up another bowl and set it in front of me, repeating her instructions from before. Delia Grace had always made it clear I was an awful student; it was still true. But I watched Enid’s hands with stubborn intent. If she was going to show me, begrudgingly or not, I was going to learn.

And Etan stayed the entire time, never lifting a finger, never saying a word, but watching as if he was waiting for me to make a mistake. I didn’t think I made one, but no one said one way or the other, and that felt good enough for one day.

I’d been so determined to prove myself, I stayed in the kitchens through the first batches of bread finishing. By the time we were moving the last bowls of dough to proof, a few of the women who worked on the Northcotts’ land were making their way to the back door of the kitchen to fetch their bread.

As Aunt Jovana had promised, the gap in the trees now made sense to me. It provided a direct path for those who needed their master’s help without disrupting the pristine front lands, which, for the sake of their status, would have been expected to be maintained and private. It was a way around that expectation and so very thoughtful.

Aunt Jovana took her time with each person who came, asking questions as she handed out bread. She knew names, knew stories. She checked on the children and made promises to stop by if anyone mentioned a particular problem. I watched in hushed awe.

“Surprised?” Etan asked, his eyes on his mother as she handed out food and wisdom.

“Yes,” I admitted, observing as her hands clasped those of a woman in dull brown clothes, looking at her as if any gap in their rank was imagined. “But I shouldn’t be. I’m not sure I know anyone as gentle as your parents. It makes me wonder how they managed to produce someone as angry as you.”

“I’m not angry; I’m careful.”

“You’re a pain,” I told him.

He nodded. “I know it.”