Page 28 of House of Soot

Relief floods through me. Of course she doesn't recognize me. I was just a scrawny teenager then, and my coloring takes after my mother's side. Still, I know I need to keep my responses careful, measured.

"The pleasure's mine, Mrs. Hart." I present the wine. "I hope red is okay."

"Perfect." She gestures to the small dining table. "Please, sit. Jenna's been cooking all afternoon. I swear, if she were to ever give up gardening, she could be a master chef."

I can see and hear the love she has for Jenna, who blushes at her mother’s praise. “I’ll never give up gardening. I love it too much.”

The table is set with mismatched plates. Jenna chatters about her garden as she serves each plate with a healthy portion of lasagna. Her enthusiasm is infectious and for a moment, I’mcaught up in it. All this feels so warm and normal. Like I could belong in this warm little cottage with these kind women.

"I hope you like it," Jenna says as we sit to eat. "The herbs are from my garden."

I take a bite of the cheesy, tomatoey pasta and close my eyes. The flavors explode on my tongue. It reminds me of my mother’s lasagna she’d make for my and my brother’s birthday. Other than that, she rarely cooked, but when it was our birthday, she did it all. Dinner and cake.

"This is incredible." The words slip out before I can stop them, completely genuine.

“It’s an old family recipe,” Jenna says, pleased by my reaction.

“Actually, I got it from someone I worked for… before,” Mrs. Hart says.

Everything inside me goes cold. Is this my mother’s recipe? Anger I don’t understand surges through me. Like how dare they take and enjoy my mother’s recipe after what they did.

“I told him about the fire… the Ifrinns.”

I take a gulp of my wine.

“Mrs. Ifrinn was such a lovely woman.”

I do all I can to shake away the anger and pain. “That’s the family that was here before?”

“Yes.”

“And she cooked?” I act like it’s odd since the family would have had servants.

“Not often. For her sons’ birthdays. It was a tradition. And they loved it.” Mrs. Hart’s voice is sweet and wistful. It makes my chest ache for those days.

“What happened to the sons?” I ask.

“No one knows,” Jenna chimes in.

“I like to think they’re off living their best lives somewhere, but Jenna is right. No one knows. I think most people believethey died, but there’s no evidence of that.” Mrs. Hart wipes a tear. Is she grieving for my family? I glance at Jenna, wondering how she feels about her mother showing such emotion toward the family she helped destroy.

Jenna gives her mother a wan smile and squeezes her hand. “They’d be grown up now, wouldn’t they?”

Mrs. Hart perks up. “Yes, they would. I wonder if they’d marry?”

I think about Flint and Lucy with their son, Flynn. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They were handsome boys. Had their pick of the girls, and they enjoyed it. Except Ash.”

I watch Mrs. Hart intently, finding it strangely odd to hear her talk about my family.

“What about him?” I prod her.

“He had a lovely girlfriend. Meghan, I think was her name. Poor thing died in the fire.”

Jenna squeezes her mom’s hand again. “We’ve been so fortunate to have the Keans' generosity in letting us stay after that tragedy.”

For a moment I was feeling warm and nostalgic, but it’s that statement that brings me back to reality and my mission.