The morning routine at the orphanage was never a gentle one. Before the first light of dawn even touched the frost-covered windows, the house was already vibrating with the sounds of survival. The heavy iron bell rang out, and I followed Manya out to the garden patch.
The land wasn't a scenic landscape; it was a stretch of cold, grey mud that seemed to want to swallow our boots whole. We knelt in the muck, our hands numbing instantly as we dug for the last of the winter cabbages.
"Pull from the base, Mary Ann," Manya instructed, her breath a white cloud. I grunted, tugging at a stubborn cabbage until the mud finally gave way with a wet squelch. My fingers were stained dark, and my wool skirts were heavy with damp soil. I didn't complain; I was learning that in this house, the more mud you had on your clothes, the more you had earned your place.
Once the baskets were full, we moved to the woodshed. Mikhail was already there, his axe rhythmic and steady—thwack, thwack, thwack.
"You're lagging, Mary Ann," he said, his voice rough. "The cellar won't fill itself while you're shivering. Move the wood."
"I'm moving, Mikhail," I snapped back, hoisting a log. "Maybe if you stopped judging my every move, I'd be finished by now."
He let out a short, sharp huff—a tiny sound of amusement he tried to hide. "Stack them tight. We leave for the village in an hour."
By the time we reached The Silver Hearth, I was exhausted. Inside the kitchen, the tension was thick. Every time I crossed paths with Katya, she would shoulder-check me or "accidentally" spill dishwater near my feet. Finally, while we were alone in the back scrubbing the roasting pans, I'd had enough.
"Katya, stop," I said, dropping my scrub brush into the soapy water. "Why are you so angry every time you see me? What did I do to you?"
Katya's head snapped up, her eyes flashing. "You think you're so special. The 'Mystery Girl' from nowhere. You walk in here and think everyone is supposed to fall at your feet."
"I don't think that at all!" I argued. "I'm just trying to survive."
"Then why does he look at you?" Katya burst out, her voice cracking. "Mikhail. He's brought meat here for three years and never looks at anyone. But now? He stands by that door and his eyes never leave you. He waits for you after every shift. I've lived in this village my whole life, and he's never once offered to walk me home."
I froze. I looked at Katya's flushed face and realized it all clicked. "You have a crush on him," I whispered.
Katya turned away, scrubbing a pan so hard it squeaked. "He's a protector. But he treats me like I'm just part of the furniture."
I stepped closer, softening my voice. "Katya... listen to me. Mikhail doesn't look at me because he likes me. He looks at me because he doesn't trust me. I'm... I'm a cousin of Manya's. A very far-away cousin from the southern provinces."
Katya stopped scrubbing entirely. She leaned her hip against the wooden table, her eyes narrowing as she looked back and forth between the kitchen door—where Manya had just passed through—and my own face.
"Wait a minute," Katya said, her voice dropping to a skeptical whisper. "You say you're Manya's cousin? I don't see it, Mary Ann. Manya has that round, sun-kissed face and hair like wild wheat. You? Your features are sharper, and you talk like someone who has spent more time reading books than pulling cabbages. You don't have any same—you don't look like her at all. Not even a little bit."
I felt a bead of sweat roll down my neck. I remembered the Eldress's warning: Never mention the truth.
"That's because we're related through my father's side," I explained, leaning into the lie. "Manya takes after her mother's village. My family moved away generations ago. Blood is blood, Katya, even if the faces change over time. Besides, look at our hands."
I held up my hands, which were now calloused and stained with the same grey mud and potato starch as Manya's. "The work makes us look more like sisters than the shape of our noses ever could."
Katya looked at my hands, then back at my eyes. She let out a short, dry laugh. "I suppose that's true. Hardship has a way of making everyone in this valley look like they came from the same mother. The Eldress doesn't take in strangers unless they have a reason to be here. If you weren't Manya's blood, Mikhail would have probably left you out in the woods for the wolves."
"Trust me," I said with a small smile. "Being watched by Mikhail isn't a romance. It's like being watched by a hawk waiting for a mouse to trip. You're the one he's known for years, Katya. I'm just a mystery he's stuck with."
Katya was silent for a long time. Then, she let out a long, shaky sigh. "He really is a stubborn ox, isn't he? I suppose I see it in the eyes now. You and Manya have that same look."
"The most stubborn ox," I agreed.
Katya looked at me, and for the first time, she didn't roll her eyes. She actually reached over and handed me a dry cloth. "Your technique with the potatoes is still terrible.
Here... let me show you how to do it properly."
By the time the dinner shift started, Katya and I were working side-by-side. When Mikhail arrived at dusk, Katya didn't glare. She just winked and told me to make sure the "hawk" didn't get bored waiting.