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someone set aside for coffee.”
    I checked to make sure everyone was still engaged in dinner, then crept into the kitchen. Several pails of water sat next to the open hearth, waiting to be boiled. Surely nobody would miss one .
    I hoisted a pail in one hand and grabbed a scrap of soap from a shelf of cleaning supplies. Then I snuck through a side door and up the stairs to the bathroom. It was the coldest, quickest bath I’d ever had, and the soap wasn’t exactly supermarket quality, but it took away the stench.
    The clothes were another matter.
    Luckily, in the wardrobe was one more dress each for Momand me. I had a feeling it was supposed to wait until next week, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
    I ran my fingers through my hair and checked my reflection in a mirror before creeping back downstairs. From the looks of things, everyone was finishing dessert, and the place at the table where Caleb sat was empty. My heart beat a little faster as I brushed past Mom and squeezed her shoulder before heading outside.
    Caleb was standing next to the water pump and smiled when he saw me. I returned his smile and walked a little faster.
    â€œYou came!” he said. “We were wondering what happened to you.”
    â€œWe?” I stopped in my tracks as Dylan stepped out of the shadows beside Caleb.
    Nope. This was definitely not a date.

Chapter Six
    F amily fun time,” I said with a forced smile. “Neat.”
    Caleb cringed and shrugged. “Your cousin heard us talking, and apparently he’s really into making things with his hands.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Please. The only thing he’s ever made with his hands is a fart trap.”
    â€œAny guesses about the catch of the day?” asked Dylan, holding out his cupped palm.
    Caleb wrinkled his nose and stepped back. “Let’s just head to the craft hut.”
    He led the way to a tiny shack I hadn’t noticed on theopposite side of the manor. Outside it was planked wood, but the walls inside were a mix of woven wicker and cement.
    â€œWattle and daub,” Caleb corrected me when I mentioned it. “The wattle is the wood strips woven together, and the daub is the filler.”
    I scratched at it with a fingernail. “Mud?”
    â€œAnd horse droppings.”
    My hand snapped back.
    Caleb grinned, watching me wipe my fingers on my dress. “I probably shouldn’t tell you what you’ll be starting most fires with. And that is where the magic happens.”
    He nodded to a glowing coal pit against one wall, and I realized just how warm it was in the room. Several deep clangs sounded beside us, and we spun around. Dylan had picked up a hammer and was striking a row of hanging metal discs, one after the other.
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, Dylan the Destroyer on drums!” he shouted to an imaginary crowd.
    â€œDon’t!” Caleb snatched the hammer away. “Nobody’s going to buy those plates if they’re warped.”
    â€œNobody’s going to buy them anyway,” said Dylan, pulling one off its hook. “They’re too dirty to eat off of.”
    â€œThey’re not for holding food,” said Caleb. “They’re decorative.”
    â€œReally?” Dylan held the plate up to the light. “Who would decorate with this? A blind guy?”
    This time, I snatched away what was in his hands. “Obviously, it’s not finished yet.” I turned to Caleb. “Is it?”
    He shook his head, then blushed. “But if you want, I can show you what I’m working on.”
    I smiled. “Sure!”
    â€œI’ll pass,” said Dylan. “When can I make my armor?”
    Caleb raised an eyebrow. “We’re making bracelets, Dylan.”
    â€œBracelets are for wusses.” Dylan picked up a knobbed handle with a sharp needle attached. “What’s this?”
    â€œAn awl,” said Caleb. “It’s used for punching