Chapter 23: The Long Table

The table at Ashbourne was made of six doors laid across sawhorses, and it was long enough to seat twenty.

Jethro had built it that afternoon with a drill and a lot of opinions.

Jessa stood at the head of the hall with her hand in the space, and the room smelled of warm bread before the first loaf came out.

Rhys stood at the end of the table with a glass of water, watching the room.

"He said yes to all of it," he said, low, so only she heard. "No register. The annex emptied. A truck every week. He gave in too fast."

"He gave in because the whole garrison heard the technician," Jessa said. "He can't be the man who knew."

"Maybe."

"Rhys. Let one thing be over for tonight."

He looked at her for a moment, and then, to her surprise, he laughed.

The six survivors had come back with them, washed and fed and wrapped in blankets Joel had pulled from the linen closet.

Three had chosen to stay.

The youngest girl sat at the middle of the table with her feet tucked under her, and she had eaten two bowls of soup without speaking.

At her left the technician sat with his daughter on his lap.

He had not wanted a chair at all.

Jessa had put him in one anyway, and set a plate in front of him.

"I don't deserve this," he had said.

"No," she had said. "Eat it anyway. Your daughter needs to see you eat."

He had put his face in his hands, and then he had picked up the fork.

Now the hall was loud.

Jethro had lifted the lid off a tub of milkshakes and was handing out cups down the doors.

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