Broad-shouldered and solid, she moves like someone used to carrying barrels and squirming customers. Her face is round and open, a constellation of freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks which bloom a rosy red whenever she laughs. Her auburn curls are wild and frizzy, pulled into a lopsided braid that refuses to hold together; small braids, ribbons, and a well-used spoon are woven into it. She wears a faded apron that smells faintly of spices and pipe smoke laid over layered skirts splashed with flour and wash water. Unexpectedly, despite her flour-dusted forearms and rough hands, her nails are clean and trimmed and she keeps a small silver thimble on her right thumb like a keepsake.