She marked containers in blue ink so older supplies would be used first. Emilio watched her work in silence until she found several unopened sacks of bread flour.

“Why does this house order bread from Manhattan?” she asked.

Emilio’s hands went still. “Mrs. Vale liked the house to smell like fresh bread. After she died, no one wanted to use her recipes.”

Hannah looked toward a leather cookbook resting on the highest shelf. She did not touch it. “I can teach you one of mine.”

Before sunrise the next morning, Hannah and Emilio mixed a simple butter loaf. As it baked, the smell of warm yeast drifted from the kitchen into the hallways, and one by one, staff members appeared.

Men who had eaten alone for weeks sat together and tore pieces from the first loaf with their hands. Theresa drank her coffee at the table instead of beside it.