“Bread don’t rise on compliments, sir,” she’d say, and make herself the wall between his gaze and her workers.
Everett only smiled wider, as if a wall was just another kind of challenge.
One morning in early autumn, Celia noticed him watching her children in the yard behind the kitchen. Eli was guiding Martha and Ben through a game with cornhusk dolls, making sure the little one didn’t wander too close to the woodpile.
Everett’s gaze lingered.
Celia felt the hair on her arms tighten.
She walked outside and called, “Eli. Bring your brother. Come inside now.”
Eli obeyed at once, serious as always. Martha took Ben’s hand, and the three of them hurried into the kitchen where the air smelled like flour and safety.
Everett’s voice drifted after them, almost amused. “What, Celia? You think I’m gonna steal ’em?”
Celia didn’t turn to look at him. Not looking was a kind of defiance and a kind of survival at once.
“No, sir,” she said. “I think children wander. That’s all.”
