In the morning, Maud woke and straightened Alden’s blanket around his little stuffed bear. It liked being tucked in when it was alone in the bed. She kissed its button nose after tucking the blanket around it. She ruffled its furry head and whispered goodbye before she began the day.

  In the early sunlight, she brought in thin branches and kindling from the stack beside the porch. Then she grabbed a few logs from behind the house. After she swept out the old coals and ashes of the hearth into a pan, she stacked them in a very specific way so the fire would start and catch quickly. That was when she switched out the pot of water that she boiled the night before, which she poured into a jug, with a pot from the water barrel outside. She frowned that it was low.

  Tucking her black hair behind her ear, she blew on the fire. It was time to hang the kettle over it while the other pot began to bubble.

  The dust lifted in clouds as she swept. She scratched her nose to keep from sneezing. She opened the window that looked out over the garden. No fresh chomps on the leaves or plucked radishes for once. She was both glad and sad for that.

  The sun was rising from behind the hill beyond the garden, barely peering around his vacant house. It was the perfect time. She went to the stream with the jug after tying a string over its cork to keep it from leaking. Another jug dangled on the end of a string that was anchored to a rock. She pulled that one out of the stream and set it to the side after untying the anchor. She tied the fresh jug to the anchor and put it in the rushing stream waters. The jug she had fished cooled her thigh as she carried it the short distance to the house.

  She stoked the fire. The kettle was whistling. She put it on a hook a little further from the flames and stirred the boiling water.

  Once the table was wiped clean, she poured a few drops of water into the box of ashes and stirred. Then more, just enough to make it thicken dark and black. She stirred it. A little more water. More stirring. Carefully, she poured the ink into the inkwell with a pleased nod.

  She stoked the fire. The water in the pot was boiling.

  She adjusted the rack in the hearth using a long poker so that it was ready to hold her pan. Once she had scraped the last of the ink from it, she poured the hot water over it and scrubbed until she could see the porous iron. Then she put it on the rack. While it heated up, she dusted flour across the table. After mixing mashed strawberries from the garden into a bowl of flour, she used the kettle to pour bit by bit of water between kneading it. The pan was beginning to sizzle loudly by the time she was flattening the batter with a rolling rod. The water beaded and danced across the pan when she dribbled the first ladle of batter into it.

  Maud wiped sweat from her brow with her bare wrist. She knew just when to flip the cake so that it would fold over itself. The strawberries were tart enough to make her nose itch. One by one, she finished the crepes and stacked them on three plates. One for her, at her place at the table. One, she wrapped with a thin cloth and set into a covered bowl for when Pierre arrived.

  The last, she carried to her mother’s door. She knocked, hopeful. Nothing.

  “Maman, are you hungry? I made strawberry crepes, like you showed me when I was little?” She tried to sound happy. Her voice wavered, so she smiled so that there was no need to fake it. “You remember? I ate most of the basket before you woke up and you didn’t have enough to make Pa’s shortcake.”

  There was silence behind the door. She shook her head at herself. Tears splashed with her blinks. She didn’t wipe them.

  “You were so mad at me. And I was such a bad liar.” She sucked back the tears into a coughing laugh. She didn’t need to fake the smile anymore, “I had strawberry goo all over my face and I kept pointing at Alden—he was so small then, like a smelly fat red pillow—and he would only smile and nod because he was such a good boy that he would do anything I told him to, even then. Even for me. And you wanted to tear us apart, I know that now. You looked ready to kill us. But you couldn’t stay mad at us, could you?

  “You put Alden on the table and had me stand on the chair so that I was tall enough. You mashed the berries where I could watch.” She leaned her head against her mother’s door, remembering each moment as if she were living it again. “Then you stood behind me and moved my hands through the dough. It was so sticky and gross. I almost hated it. But not Alden. He took a handful of it and the way his eyes lit up,” She smiled widely as her wet cheeks dripped, “I thought you were going to kill him. You winked at me and dipped your finger in it, too. So, I spent the rest of the afternoon licking my hands hoping that some of it was somehow still there.”

  Maud straightened back from the door and nodded as if answering some unspoken question.

  “Yeah,” she wiped at her face with her one free hand. “I probably should have made something else.”

  She looked over the door, then across the kitchen. Everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. Exactly where she knew it needed to be. All, except the plate in her hand with the pink crepe that was no longer steaming hot.

  “...Anything else.”

  She even set the table as if Alden and Pa were going to be sitting at it. She didn’t set their places, but Pierre wasn’t going to sit in Alden’s or Pa’s seats. Or her Ma’s. He was in the one that Draka would sit in the few times he ate there before...The way it was before…Maud turned back to the door.

  “I’m not that little girl anymore, am I?” Maud put her palm to the door. A part of her felt her mother’s heartbeat through it. Distant and slow, fading. “I’m not so bad a liar anymore.”

  She didn’t fight the tears being ripped apart to make way for the anger building in her defeated heart, “They’re dead. Alden is dead. Pa is dead. But I’m here! I’m still here! And so are you!” She kicked the door. The plate fell from her hand and she slammed it against the door. “I hate you for doing this to me! I hate you for making me do this alone! I hate…I hate…I miss…I need my Maman.”

  And she sank to the ground, exhausted. Her vision was a cloud of memories and the panes of the boards under her feet, hidden by the shifts of her stained plain dress. Her nose was stuffed and dripping. Her throat was dry from the salt of tears she licked from her lips. Her eyes burned. She felt too heavy to stand, too numb to bother.

  “I need you. I’m not supposed to be the Maman. I’m still supposed to be the bad liar with strawberries on her face. No, I’m not even supposed to be that either, am I? How did you put it? You had me in the garden and Alden on your hip when you were my age. I remember that, too. Well,” she wiped at the tears with newfound defiance, “You should be happy for that.”

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  She stood and dusted herself off, “Otherwise, who would be taking care of the house?” She rolled her eyes. A few blows and the crepe looked good as new back on the plate. “Probably still me.”

  With a long sigh, she leaned an ear to the door as she said, “I’m not bringing your food in there anymore. You want to eat, you come out and eat it, and you do it when I serve it. If you want to waste away and die,” she gritted her teeth at the silence from the other side, “Then have the decency to go and do it outside the house so I don’t have to clean up another one of your messes.”

  She set the plate on the table in front of Aurelie’s empty chair.

  Pierre cleared his throat from the doorway. Maud’s eyes fell to her feet.

  He came in and went to the table, just as he had every day since her lessons began. He stopped her from going to pour him his drink with a slide of his hand on her shoulder.

  She clawed at the wetness on her cheeks. She didn’t want to look up and see his sympathy or stoic emotionless fa?ade, because no matter who it was, they had one or the other and nothing in between. Draka always looked so sad for her. Like he wanted to cry for her. But Pierre always looked like it shouldn’t affect her. Like it was something she should sweep from her floor along with the rest of the dust.

  Pierre took a bite of his crepe and hummed with delight at it. He slid the plate out of the way and set his bible in its place. He began thumbing through the pages. In between chews, he said, “Remember, the book and chapter is in which corner?”

  “The top right,” Maud nodded, scrubbing to dry her eyes and face.

  “Top right,” Pierre repeated to acknowledge her answer. He pressed the last of the crepe into his mouth with a slurp of his fingers. “I want you to read this. These are the words of Christ Jesus.”

  “Memorize this, too? But you already have me memorizing the Sabbath laws…”

  “No,” Pierre didn’t look stoic when she finally turned around. He pointed, “Just read it.”

  Maud nodded. She went to the book and leaned over it. He tapped his finger for where he wanted her to start.

  “And seeing the multitudes, he went up into the mount…mount…mountain!” Maud looked up to see him nod that she got it right. She looked back to the pages. “…and when he was set, his dis…dis…disk-ip-less…”

  “Disciples,” Pierre corrected. “It’s a hard one.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “We’ll get into that another day. Right now, I want you to read this.”

  “Disciples” Maud looked to see if she had gotten it right. He nodded proudly. She continued “…came unto him. And he opened his mouth and…”

  “Taught,” Pierre said for her.

  Maud adjusted her feet. “…taught them saying: Blessed are the poor in spirit: for the…the…theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are they that mourn,” she looked up to Pierre. Her lips trembled as she continued, “for they shall be comforted.”

  She smiled through the trembling. “Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after…”

  “Righteousness,” Pierre winced a little. “I know, another hard one. Means good in a Godly way.”

  “Right…chuss…ness?” Maud sounded it out. She hesitated.

  “Keep going.”

  “…righteousness—thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled. Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” Maud’s eyes were dripping, her lips were trembling, but she was emboldened as she read each verse. “Blessed are the peacemakers—like Draka—for they shall be called the children of God.”

  Pierre chuckled. “Yes, most of these apply to him. But this one,” he tapped, “Applies to you.” He pressed her to the side so he could read out loud, “Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness’ sake: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

  She didn’t remember him grabbing a cloth or where he might have gotten such a soft white one, but he pressed it into her hand and curled her fingers over it. His eyes hovered past her. She followed his gaze to the bedroom door as it closed again. Maman had nearly come out to listen.

  He waited until she looked into his eyes before saying, “These are called Beatitudes. They are who Christ Jesus pronounced to join Him in God’s kingdom.” He looked over her shoulder then back at her, “And He’s talking about you.”

  Maud shook her head. “No, not me, but thank you,” she closed the bible and sank back to the hearth to check the water.

  Pierre pursed his brow at her. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said loud enough that Maud jumped.

  She looked back to see him give one last glance at the bedroom door.

  Quieter, to the door, he said, “It’s not your fault.” Then, back to Maud, “Nothing that happened that day was in your control.”

  “Tomorrow, then,” Maud stiffened at him. “I’ll look for you on the morrow.”

  Pierre grinned proudly and solemnly with a bow, “I look forward to it.”

  He stopped at the door and, just before stepping out onto the porch into the morning sunlight, he said, “You can lie to me all you want, Miss Maudeline, but don’t ever lie to Him. He deserves better after what He did for you.”

  “Did for me?” Maud huffed. Make a show at how little you believe. Roll your eyes, bob your head, keep your chin upward so the tears don’t look so thick.

  “Yes,” Pierre didn’t miss a beat. “So you can be forgiven.”

  Maud crinkled her brow, frozen.

  “Well,” he shrugged, “By God, at least. If He can find a way to forgive you, maybe you should, too.”