I glared at them, and the two women fell silent.
Suddenly, the entire kitchen went still. I glanced up from the pile of dishes I was about to begin cleaning.
Silence Bellwether Meadows stood in the doorway, her mother behind her. She swayed, looking as if a stiff breeze would knock her over. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun, pulling at the skin of her forehead. She had a pinched expression, and she looked horribly sallow in gray. Silence held a tray of biscuits in her hands, her knuckles white. Her mother put a steadying hand on her shoulder and whispered something in her ear.
Taking a breath, Silence bowed her head and walked across the kitchen to set the tray down.
“The men are asking for coffee,” Mrs. Bellwether stated.
Finally. Something I could do to get out of the kitchen. The men liked me. I grabbed an oven mit, turned, and pulled the heavy metal coffee pot off the large stove nearby. But when I reached the door back into the fellowship hall, Mrs. Bellwether grabbed my arm.
I halted and stared at her in surprise.
“I don’t think so.” She smiled tightly, then cast her eyes across the kitchen. “Alice.” She pointed to one of the young girls. “Why don’t you take this out to them?”
“Oh.” Alice blinked, her hands covered in flour. “I…very well.”
I pursed my lips, suddenly understanding. With my own tight smile I turned back to the stove and set the pot down with a heavy clank. “I’ll go where I’m needed, then.”
Mrs. Bellwether sighed with relief. “Thank you, Lilith.”
Mr. Bellwether was known for his roving eyes. Mrs. Bellwether blamed me, of course, and tried to keep me out of her husband’s line of sight as much as possible. I couldn’t stand the man. The way he snorted his phlegm made my stomach queasy. It was disgusting, but apparently either Mrs. Bellwether had never told him or he didn’t care.
Plenty of the husbands liked to look at me while I walked by. The elders loved having me as their unofficial assistant. My mother encouraged this favoritism, but she hadn’t listened to me when I told her it made the other girls hate me.
I sighed, mumbled something about counting the remaining flour bags, and slipped into the pantry until it was time to eat.
Finally, when we were all seated, men at one table and women at another and children beside their mothers, Castiel strolled in.
The door opened at my back, but I knew who it was without turning. The winter wind swept in and brought his scent with it—stark, fresh, and green. I closed my eyes, blocking out the smell of the porridge in front of me and focused on him. With one sniff my mind filled with the images of mountain forests and cool, fresh wind.
I opened my eyes and glared down at my bowl. I could practically feel him move across the room to the head of the table. I had to be the only person not looking at him.
Blend in, my mind insisted. Protect yourself. Never stand out. I forced myself to look up like everyone else.
And found him staring right at me.
Castiel lounged in the chair in a way Reverend Grimshaw never had—because of course he’d taken the center empty chair at the short table at the front of the room, in between the elders. His body was relaxed, but those eyes focused so sharply on me I wanted to glare back. Instead I dropped my gaze, as I usually did with the elders, and focused on my breakfast and the chatter around me.
The elders, for their part, seemed flustered Castiel had joined them. But soon they leaned in to speak in quiet, enthusiastic tones with him. Only one chair remained empty—Absalom’s at the end.
A lump formed in my throat, and I forced myself to swallow the bite of bread I’d taken.
The women finished first, as usual, so we began clearing the dishes. I leaned over to pick up Elder White’s plate, and his gaze flew to my chest without breaking his conversation. Ugh, he was probably trying to stare down my dress. It had grown a bit tight around my bosom.
Castiel made a noise in the back of his throat.
I glanced over and saw distaste ripple across his face as he looked at Elder White, then me. My jaw tightened. I was passably pretty. If he didn’t want to see passable cleavage then he should look away.
“White,” he snapped suddenly, halting the men’s conversation and making me jump.
A spoon rattled against the edge of the bowl in my hand.
White tore his eyes off my chest and looked at him. “Yes, Herald?”
“I need a copy of your holy precepts. I want to inspect that they have been faithfully translated.”
I moved away as quickly as I could without drawing attention. Once in the kitchen, however, Mistress Dalton cornered me.
