Eli watched her without intending to.
Once he noticed how people treated her, he could not stop noticing.
A rancher snapped his fingers when he wanted coffee.
Ada came immediately.
A freight driver dropped a spoon.
He did not pick it up.
Ada did.
Someone complained his beans were cold after spending fifteen minutes arguing instead of eating them.
Ada apologized.
A traveler moved his chair backward without looking and nearly knocked her over.
He never turned around.
She simply stepped aside.
Every man in the room depended on her, and almost none of them appeared to remember she existed.
Then Ada crossed toward the stove.
A large cast-iron pot sat above the flames.
She wrapped a cloth around the handle.
Lifted.
Her face tightened.
The pot was too heavy.
Steam billowed into her face.
The handle slipped half an inch.
Nobody moved.
Eli looked around the room.
Men twice her size sat drinking coffee she had poured and eating food she had carried.
Not one stood.
Something in him hardened.
He pushed his chair back.
The scrape of wood against floorboards turned heads.
Eli crossed the room.
Ada saw him coming.
Immediately she stiffened.
He stopped beside her.
“May I?”
Her fingers tightened around the handle.
“What?”
“Carry it.”
She stared at him.
Eli nodded toward the pot.
“Where do you want it?”
For several seconds she seemed incapable of answering.
Finally she whispered, “The table beside the kitchen.”
Eli took the weight.
It was heavier than he expected.
Ada stepped aside.
He carried it across the room and set it down.
“That all?”
She looked at him strangely.
“What do you mean?”
“Anything else heavy?”
“No.”
“All right.”
He started to turn away.
“Mr.
Marsh.”
He stopped.
It was the first time she had spoken his name.
Ada glanced toward Silas Crowe.
The station owner was watching them.
Her expression changed immediately.
Fear entered it.
She lowered her voice.
“You should leave before morning.”
Eli frowned.
“The bridge is flooded.”
“Then leave as soon as it opens.”
“Why?”
Ada stepped back.
“I need to work.”
“Ada—”
She disappeared through the kitchen door.
From behind him came Silas Crowe’s voice.
“Friendly advice.”
Eli turned.
Silas stood near the bar with a toothpick between his fingers.
“Best not to trouble women who don’t want your company.”
Eli looked toward the kitchen.
“Is that what I was doing?”
Silas smiled.
“Wouldn’t want you misunderstanding things.”
“I understand plenty.”
Something cold passed between them.
Then Silas’s smile returned.
“Good.”
The storm worsened after midnight.
Water swept across the road.
The bridge vanished beneath the creek.
Nobody was leaving Crestfall.
Eli rented a small room upstairs.
He did not sleep.
Rain struck the roof above him.
The strange biscuit sat like a question inside his mind.
Black pepper.
Honey.
Sourdough.
His mother’s recipe.
Coincidence, he told himself.
Recipes traveled.
People learned from one another.
Nothing more.
Still, shortly after one in the morning, Eli went downstairs for water.
Most of the travelers were asleep wherever space allowed.
The card players had surrendered to exhaustion.
Only the stove remained awake, glowing faintly.
A lamp burned inside the kitchen.
Eli heard something move.
He approached the doorway.
Ada stood at a table kneading dough.
She had loosened her hair.
Without the severe knot, it fell in a thick brown braid down her back.
