Huh. It's not the first time Evelyn has seen a child struggle with cutlery - she's cared for neglected kids who had never used it, as well as a developmentally disabled young boy - but this seems different. It's such a contrast, the obvious struggle with a basic physical task combined with Deskyl's calm, systematic manner.
Evelyn doesn't step in to help; without a shared language, she can't negotiate it politely, and most eleven-year-olds are going to be touchy about a random strange grownup taking their plate away from them to butter their toast for them. She'll leave Deskyl to it, in case the poor girl is self-conscious (though she didn't seem to be, especially, she's so composed), and take the opportunity to go poke through the storage room upstairs and find spare pajamas of more or less the right size. She would prefer something neutral, since she has no idea of Deskyl's likes or dislikes, but she doesn't have infinite options. Disney princess-themed it will have to be. They can go shopping tomorrow so Deskyl can pick out some things to her liking.
(She's musing to herself about the mysterious fine motor skills issue, and what she can do to at least mitigate it while they figure out what's going on. She's kind of worried. What if it's some kind of illness? Anyway, in the meantime she can maybe have a Google hunt for special-order flatware that's easier to grip, and she should swing by the Goodwill and look for a butter bell, so the butter can live outside the fridge and be softer and easier to spread...)
It doesn't take long to put fresh sheets on the bed in what she mentally refers to as the Third Bedroom. It's the one with a neutral color scheme, whereas the other two are respectively decorated in pink and blue. She remembers thinking she was very clever at the time, reasoning that the foster care agency would either send her a boy or a girl and she'd be equipped in either case. She felt somewhat less clever two years later when she ended up with three brothers. The Third Bedroom is the one she usually reserves for older children; it has a window that opens fully, definitely not safe for a clever-fingered toddler, but it's also the largest room, big enough for a queen bed, a double-width dresser, and a desk for homework, and of course it's the room with the en-suite, a boon for teenagers who like their long showers. (The shampoo and conditioner and bodywash are all travel-sized, a concession Evelyn made after remarking that some teenagers will also go through absurd quantities of shampoo if they have a full size bottle.)
Evelyn puts out a spare toothbrush and towels in the bathroom, and sets some paper and felt pens on the desk - not for now, of course, but in case Deskyl wakes up earlier than Evelyn and doesn't immediately come looking for her, which she might not, she seems so at ease in her independence and it's not like Evelyn can tell her that it's fine to wake her.
She's back downstairs by the time Deskyl is finishing her toast, and sits down to wait for her, smiling.