“Yes.”
“That is all anybody ever hears.”
Silas removed his hat.
“I want to hear what you say.”
Maren set the knife down.
Carefully.
The kitchen seemed suddenly smaller.
“You have already decided.”
“If I had decided, we would not be talking.”
Her eyes lifted.
Silas held them.
“I am asking.”
Maren’s breath changed.
Then she unbuttoned the left cuff.
Silas did not move.
She pushed the sleeve to the elbow.
The scar widened.
It ran from the back of her hand to above the joint.
Maren unbuttoned the other.
The right arm was worse.
Broad marbled tissue.
Pale.
Pink.
Glossy in places.
Then Silas saw two straight ridges across the inside of both forearms.
Same width.
Same angle.
Not random flame.
Something else.
Maren looked at him.
“You want the story?”
Silas’s voice was quiet.
“Yes.”
“The Vanning House had one staircase.”
“Three floors.”
“Six rooms on the top hall.”
“Laundry girls slept upstairs.”
She looked toward the stove.
“Mr. Vanning believed the girls sneaked out after dark.”
“So he put a bar across the hall door.”
Silas’s face hardened.
“From the outside?”
“Yes.”
“And a padlock.”
“He kept the key.”
Maren swallowed.
“The night of the fire, I was in the yard collecting linen.”
“I saw smoke at the back stairs.”
“By the time anyone understood what was happening, the staircase was burning.”
She touched one scar unconsciously.
“I climbed the porch roof.”
“Broke the upper hall window.”
“Got inside.”
Silas stared.
“The bar across the door had been in the fire for four minutes.”
“I lifted it.”
“Dropped it.”
“Lifted it again.”
She turned her arms.
“These are from the metal.”
Silas felt something cold move through him.
“Four people came down behind me.”
“Two did not.”
Maren’s voice cracked.
Only once.
“They were already gone.”
Silas said nothing.
“I count those two every night.”
She pulled the sleeve down halfway.
Silas stopped her with one word.
“Wait.”
Maren froze.
He did not touch.
“I’m listening.”
She looked at him.
Then continued.
“Afterward, the town asked why the hall had been locked.”
“Vanning stood before everyone and said it never was.”
“He said I had been carrying candles upstairs after curfew.”
“He said perhaps I started the fire.”
“People believed him.”
“Why?”
Silas already knew.
Maren answered anyway.
“Because he owned half the street.”
“And I washed sheets.”
She buttoned the cuff.
“I left.”
Silas’s jaw tightened.
“I have cooked in six kitchens since.”
“Every time, somebody eventually learns.”
“Then I leave before they can decide I am dangerous.”
Silas looked toward the bunkhouse.
“You are planning to leave now.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Maren stared.
“No?”
“You are not deciding for me.”
Something flashed in her eyes.
“You have a boy.”
“I know.”
“Men who will not eat my bread.”
“Then they can find bread elsewhere.”
Maren shook her head.