Dominic cornered Caleb, demanding a full account of everything that had transpired since he’d left home. A heavy knot of unease tightened in his chest. Their mother had always been firm, but to seize Evelyn’s entire paycheck? It was a level of cruelty he hadn’t thought her capable of. She had never touched a cent of his own wages, nor their eldest brother’s military stipend.

"After you left for the farm, Mom was… different," Caleb said, shifting uncomfortably. "She was furious with Evelyn. She blamed her for you being out here, slaving away in the dirt. Her heart just turned cold toward her."

In truth, Caleb had shared that resentment. Years of listening to his mother’s bitter whispers had curdled his own affection for his sister. If it weren't for Evelyn, Dominic would be home, and life would be easy.

Dominic frowned, catching a detail. "Is that how you speak to her at home? Always by her first name?"

Caleb’s eyes darted away. Evelyn and Serafina were the same age, and in his adolescent fantasies, he imagined calling Serafina by her name with the same casual intimacy. Using Evelyn’s name was a poor substitute, a way to practice the boldness he lacked with the woman he actually desired. He wasn't about to admit that to Dominic.

As Dominic pressed for more news, the truth about their home life came out. Serafina, ever the "martyr," had spared Dominic the news that their house had been picked clean by creditors, but Caleb had no such filter.

Dominic went silent. If the house was empty, who would send him the care packages he had come to rely on?

Later that afternoon, Dominic dragged Caleb to the local administrative office to collect his relocation allowance: thirty dollars and fifty pounds of mixed coarse grain—mostly corn, sorghum, and grit.

"Is this what Evelyn gets?" Caleb asked, staring at the sack of rough meal with open disgust. "Just birdseed? Where’s the white flour? Where’s the rice?"

"Everyone gets the same, Caleb," Dominic snapped, hauling him back toward the dormitories. "Keep your voice down."

Dinner that night was Caleb’s first real taste of "the frontier."

The spread was a grim tableau of subsistence: watery corn porridge, steamed potatoes, squash, and eggplant. In the center sat a plate of raw scallions and cilantro next to a bowl of pungent fermented bean paste.

To welcome the newcomer, Hazel, one of the older residents, had prepared a special dish: a large bowl of steamed custard. But it wasn't the silky, golden delicacy Caleb knew from the city. This was "country style"—mixed with salty paste and green peppers, steamed until it was riddled with air pockets like a sponge.

To the uninitiated, the fermented bean paste smelled of rot and desperation. Some city kids had even compared the look of it to a bout of dysentery. But in the long, lean winters of the north where vegetables were a memory, that paste was life. It stretched the oil and provided the salt necessary to choke down bowls of plain grain.

Caleb didn't bother hiding his revulsion. "Is this it? Everything just thrown into one pot?"

He watched the communal stove with horror. Porridge on the bottom, vegetables steaming in a basket on top. No meat. No oil. Even the eggs had been steamed into a grey, porous mess.

"He’s just new," Dominic apologized quickly, sensing the tension in the room. "He’ll get used to it. We all did."

Hazel nodded kindly. She remembered being the girl who vomited behind the barn the first time she smelled the paste; now, she made it herself. "Try the eggs, Caleb. They're better than they look." She scooped a generous portion into his bowl.

Dominic kicked him under the table.

Caleb took the hint. He muttered a forced "thank you" and swallowed a spoonful. It was a chore. He blamed Evelyn for every dry bite. If she hadn't manipulated things, he’d be sitting at a polished table in the city, eating roast pork.

Dominic began tearing up the eggplant, mixing it with the scallions and the bean paste. "Eat," he urged, pushing the bowl toward his brother.

Caleb turned his nose up. Dominic didn't push him. He knew hunger was the best chef; given a few days, Caleb would be scraping the bottom of that bowl.

"And the potatoes?" Caleb grumbled, picking one up. "The skins are still on. This is lazy."

"The skins are thin on the new harvest," Dominic explained tiredly. "You just scrub them. They’re clean."

Caleb doubted "clean" was the right word, but as he watched the others frantically clearing the table, he realized that if he didn't eat the dirty potatoes now, he wouldn't eat at all.

The indignity didn't end with dinner. Caleb soon realized that since his money and bags had been stolen, he had no bedding.

"You'll sleep with me," Dominic said.

Caleb felt a momentary relief until he saw the kang—the communal heated brick bed. It wasn't a bed; it was a shelf, and six men were already lining up to claim their spot on it.

That night, Caleb lay staring at the dark rafters, his soul withering. The air was a thick soup of unwashed feet and the thunderous, rhythmic snoring of exhausted men.

The next morning, driven by a sleepless rage, Caleb marched to Evelyn’s small hut. A light rain had fallen overnight, leaving the sky a bruised, heavy grey. He found her preparing to head into the hills with a group of village women to hunt for mushrooms.

"What are you doing here?" Evelyn asked. She looked surprised to see him. In the city, Caleb never saw the sunrise unless he was coming home from a party.

"I have something to say to you," Caleb said, trying to sound authoritative.

Evelyn’s gaze was glacial. She knew that look. He wanted something.

Caleb fidgeted, unable to meet her eyes. "Give me this house. Let me live here."

He couldn't spend another night in that den of snoring giants.

Evelyn laughed, a sharp, jagged sound. "You want my house? On what grounds, exactly?"

Caleb’s eyes widened. "On what grounds? Even if Dominic’s situation isn't your fault, mine is! You sent me here. If you give me this place, we’ll call it even. I’ll even put in a good word for you with Dominic—hey! Hey, stop!"

Evelyn didn't wait for him to finish. She grabbed a wooden shoulder pole leaning against the wall and swung.

"Get out!" she barked, driving him back toward the gate with a series of sharp cracks against his shins. "I’m done with you! I’ve severed ties with this family. We are strangers. Do not show your face here again!"

Caleb scrambled out of the yard, clutching his bruised legs. "I didn't do anything to you! Why are you cutting me off? You’re the one who ruined my life!"

Evelyn stood at the gate, her face a mask of indifference. "You chose Dominic’s side. That makes you my enemy."

"You’re insane!" Caleb screamed. "You ship me off to the middle of nowhere and then act like you're the victim?"

"I told you," Evelyn said softly, "I did it for your own good. To keep you from a sin that would destroy you."

But Caleb didn't care about his soul; he cared about his comfort. "If you really cared about me, you’d give me a bed that doesn't smell like feet!"

Evelyn’s smile was pitying. She saw right through him. In front of her, Caleb was a grasping, selfish boy. But in front of Serafina? Serafina could tell him the moon was made of cheese, and he’d start looking for a cracker.

"Here is the deal, Caleb," Evelyn said. "Stand with me. Publicly renounce Dominic and Serafina, and you can be my brother again. Otherwise, stay in the dirt."

Dominic, who had been coming to find his brother, caught the tail end of her demand. His face darkened. How small is her heart? he wondered. How long is she going to nurse a grudge over a wedding misunderstanding?

Caleb thought the same. He had no intention of giving up Serafina, but he knew Evelyn was soft-hearted—or at least, she used to be. He figured he’d lie. He’d pretend to take her side, get the house, and then eventually "reconcile" the two women later. After all, Evelyn had never had any friends other than Serafina. She was probably just lonely.