“They’re too distracted with their own workings to realize that the Nest is a tool. I overheard Mr. Forbes talking about the Nests out there being as fierce as chicken coops, to be protected and helpless.”
I nodded slowly.
She took in a frustrated breath. “Promise that you will help us make sure we are never waiting docilely for slaughter.”
“Well, I think that would be up to each of you.”
“If we never know how to help ourselves, we may never get the choice.” She held up her hand, pinky out. “I want your word.”
“Why mine?”
“Because despite being starved out, tortured, berated, and despised, you are still here.” Her dark brows furrowed, grabbing my hand and forcing it in hers, pinkies locking. “You believe in this just as much as we do. Help us make it work.”
I was hesitant to accept, but I did, anyway. The eagerness is all I needed to see to make me believe that maybe this would work. Maybe this mess was temporary.
“You have my word then.” My pinky squeezed hers.
“I didn’t take you as a baker,” Phoebe muttered as her spoon scratched against the bottom of her cup.
“Not all of us grew up with a full support staff,” I teased.
“I feel bad for Edith; she’s missing out.” Rebecca nudged Phoebe.
“I can make more. I’ll be awake when her shift ends.” I checked my timepiece. “She’s usually off at about two in the morning, right?”
“Yes,” Phoebe confirmed, an irritated chime of her spoon in her cup before getting up and collecting a couple empty dishes from the coffee table.
Many sat around, temporarily pleased by the small treat.
“At least we got to enjoy it before she tells us it’s unhealthy,” one joked.
“Or perhaps rambling about medical anomalies while we are attempting to keep our appetites,” another said.
“My appetite is as good as gone just looking at her,” Phoebe mumbled, followed by a chorus of laughter.
“Phoebe,” Mary warned, her jaw clenching as she poked at her dessert.
“What?” The way Phoebe’s eyes snapped to her reminded me all too well how much she resembled her brother. “Is something the matter?” The question was a challenge.
“I don’t know,isthere an issue, Phoebe?”
“It’s just a bit of fun, take a moment to gather your emotions,” Phoebe laughed, surveying the others for approval.
“It is fun when it is a harmless poke here and there, diluted across all members of the group.” Mary placed her cup on the table. “But you seem to use Edith as the wick for every burn. Butter upon bacon. Excessive.”
“I apologize for not being as sensitive as your nature, sweet Mary.”
“My sensibilities are perfectly fine; yours have lost their polish.”
“It is not too late to take those words back.” Phoebe placed the tray of cups down, her jaw tense. “Before you choke on them.”
“Is that all you do?” I spoke up.
The girls quieted, dread in their stares. The conversation was already like cold water on tallow.
Phoebe straightened her back, her chin in the air. “And what is it that I do?”
“I feel like I’ve heard this before. Stories about a young, fire-haired socialite who threw fits when she didn’t get what she wanted.” I laughed. “Your father didn’t mind a brat, but unfortunately, they get on my nerves after a while.”
