Maya's Arc

Chapter 3 of 3

Maya came back to the cookhouse the next morning with her notebook under one arm and the borrowed tart pan in her hands. Kumo trotted beside her. She had already returned Martha's pan once at four, washed and dry, and picked it up again for practice. Four days left. She wanted the bottom crust fixed today. The man from yesterday stood at the oven. He had pushed the long table aside and set out three loaf pans, a bowl of dough, and a jug of water. The fire behind the stone was banked hot. He saw her and did not move. "Oven's mine today," he said. "All day. I'm practicing for the contest too." Maya looked past him at the hearth. It was the only working oven in the cookhouse. The side chamber's door hung off one hinge and had for weeks. She knew because she had checked yesterday. "There's only one," she said. "Then you'll wait." He turned his back and slid a loaf onto the stone. Maya's throat went tight. She set the pan on the table anyway and opened her notebook, as if that would make room appear. It didn't. Ethan came in through the side door with an armful of split wood. He saw the man at the oven. He saw Maya's face. He set the wood down slowly. "He's got it till when?" Ethan asked her, low. "All day." Ethan looked at the hearth, then at the broken side oven, then at her. He shook his head once. "He can do that. Cookhouse rule. First hands on the fire." Maya's eyes stung. She pressed the heel of her hand against them and looked down at Kumo, who leaned into her leg. "Hey," Ethan said. "Don't waste today." "I can't bake." "You can still work the crust." He pulled a stool over. "The bottom's your problem, right? That's not an oven problem. That's a dough problem. Blind bake it in your head first. Show me how you're rolling it." She wiped her face. She rolled out a practice round on the cold end of the table. Ethan watched her hands. "Too thick in the middle," he said. "You're pushing from the center out and stopping short. Roll past the edge. And rest the dough after. Twenty minutes, cold." She tried again. Thinner. Even. He nodded. "Do it three more times. Different thicknesses. Mark which one you want. Tomorrow you bake the winner." Maya wrote in her notebook: roll past the edge. rest cold. three test rounds. She rolled the second one while the man's bread smell filled the room. By the time she left, she had four practice rounds wrapped in cloth and a plan for the morning. She had lost the day's bake. She had not lost the day. Then Ethan said, quiet, "He signed the oven out for tomorrow too."