Chapter 4: Facing Mrs. Reynolds

The cook stared at me in disbelief, then pushed me away.

"Are you trying to get me fired? I’ve been learning to cook from my dad since I was eight. How could your lemon pound cake be better than mine?"

She was defensive—more afraid than anything else. Her voice was hoarse, and she wouldn’t meet my gaze. The kitchen felt small, the overhead light too bright.

This was her last chance to keep her job; she wouldn’t trust me easily.

I paused, pointing at the fresh lemons in the sink. "Mrs. Reynolds’ birth mother was from Savannah, Georgia. I’m also from Savannah. Down there, lemon pound cake is famous, and every family knows how to make it."

I offered a small, sympathetic smile, hoping to ease her nerves. "If you don’t want my help, then how do you plan to make this cake?"

The cook froze, her thoughts in turmoil.

Yes, how was she going to make it?

She had already tried more than ten times, using every method she could think of… but it was useless.

Mrs. Reynolds was still not satisfied.

To be honest, she was out of ideas. She slumped against the counter, the lemon in her hand forgotten.

She clenched her fists tightly, then suddenly relaxed and slowly looked up at me…

When the lemon pound cake was finished, it was sent to Mrs. Reynolds.

That evening, several supervisors came to the kitchen. The leading supervisor looked at the cook.

"Did you make the lemon pound cake?"

The cook replied nervously, "Yes, I made it."

"Someone, take her away."

At her command, two supervisors stepped forward, grabbing the cook’s arms and dragging her out of the kitchen.

The cook’s legs buckled, and she stammered, "Is Mrs. Reynolds still not satisfied with the cake? I can change it again—just give me another chance, please, have mercy."

The supervisors said nothing.

Despair flooded the cook’s heart. All around, the maids watched in secret. I could feel the weight of their glances, the way everyone seemed to shrink back, holding their breath.

She looked around, her gaze suddenly fixing on me.

She pointed at me.

"It was her! Today’s lemon pound cake was made by her! If there’s any problem, Mrs. Reynolds can’t just blame me!"

For a split second, I wanted to defend myself, but the words stuck. No one would believe me over her.

The leading supervisor paused, turning to look.

The maids near me all backed away, afraid of being implicated.

The supervisor narrowed her eyes. "Oh? Someone, take her along too."