Thomas dropped the spoon.
It struck the rim of the pot and fell to the floor. He stared at his own hand for a moment before bending down.
I picked it up first.
—Let me stir.
—It was just the way I was holding it.
He handed the place by the fire over anyway.
The oats thickened slowly. I scraped the bottom as I'd seen him do, careful not to let the pot tip. The smell reminded me of Mara's house and the discomfort of eating under the eyes of people who expected our work in return.
That portion had already been paid for.
I divided it between the bowls. Thomas blew on his before tasting. I waited a little less and burned my tongue.
We ate sitting down.
When I finished, I looked at the empty bundle on the table.
I wanted to leave immediately, before the food's effect wore off, before Mara found someone else for whatever work might be available.
Thomas tried to reach for the container against the wall and stopped halfway.
I saw it.
He saw that I'd seen.
—Not today — I said.
Thomas rested his hand on the table.
—What?
—Sawing. Carrying. That kind of thing.
The sentence lost its strength at the end.
That kind of thing was almost everything that gave us food.
He looked at his empty bowl.
—We can look for lighter work.
—You can stay here. I can ask around.
Thomas raised his face.
I knew the path. I'd walked it several times. My foot still bothered me, but it no longer forced me to lean on the stick with every step.
Even so, saying I'd go alone made the door seem farther away.
—If I don't find anyone, I'll come back — I added. —I'm not looking for another beach.
Thomas was quiet for a few moments.
—Take the container.
I nodded.
—And don't promise to do a job without me looking at it.
—I won't.
On the way out, I almost took the saw.
I left it where it was.
The path seemed different without Thomas's footsteps ahead of me.
I listened to the sound my boot made, the scrape of the container against my clothes, the wind through the treetops.
At one point, I stopped to make sure that was the tree where we'd broken the tip of a branch.
It was.
I continued.
Nothing happened.
That didn't stop me from reaching the fishermen's house with my shoulders tense and my hand tight around the stick.
Mara was near the repaired frame.
Fish hung from it.
I stared for a moment.
The crosspiece was still in place.
She followed my gaze.
—It held — she said.
I don't know why that word made me so happy.
I hadn't even made the joint.
—Thomas is resting his arm. I came to see if there's anything I can do.
Mara looked behind me.
—Alone?
I nodded.
She pointed to two containers beside the wall.
—I need to take those down. You can manage the small one. The other waits for Harl.
I examined both before choosing.
She watched.
I picked up the smaller one.
I didn't ask about payment in time. I only remembered once I'd already lifted the weight.
I set it down again.
Mara raised an eyebrow.
—Can I do it in exchange for food?
She looked at the container, then at my face.
—There's a piece of yesterday's bread. For taking it down and bringing the empty one back. Don't break anything.
I nodded.
The handle seemed sturdy.
I tested it before going down.
I made two trips, one down and one back up.
On the way up, without the weight, I could observe the path we'd followed more carefully when we'd gone with the others.
One stone had a pale stripe through the middle.
A trunk split near the ground.
When I returned, Harl was at the house.
He held a small tool, its metal part resting in his palm.
The cracked handle looked ready to come apart.
—Can your man do this? — he asked.
The expression made me hesitate.
My man.
Thomas was the only person I could call a companion in that place.
I'd summoned him, and I still didn't know how to explain what that made me.
—He needs to look at it — I answered.
Harl showed me the crack.
—Just needs a new handle.
—He needs to look at it.
I expected him to get annoyed.
Harl closed his fingers around the tool.
—Where are you staying?
The question came so simply that I didn't have time to prepare an answer.
I looked at Mara.
She was cutting the promised piece of bread.
She didn't help me.
—On the other side of the beach where we met. Among the pines.
—You've already said that.
Harl raised the tool.
—I'm not going to keep bringing this here every time just to find out whether you showed up.
I thought of Thomas alone at the house.
The lumber mill.
The new walls.
The tools no one on that coast had sold us.
I could take the handle, ask him, and bring back an answer.
I could keep postponing the moment when someone saw where we lived.
But the two of them had already shown us their home.
I wanted them to give us work, food, and trust without allowing them to know even where to find us.
Mara held out the bread.
I took it.
—I can show you — I said. —If you want to come now.
Harl looked at her.
—I'll go before I take the boat out.
Mara nodded.
There was no ceremony.
To them, it was just a short walk because of a broken tool.
I felt as though I'd just opened something I wouldn't be able to close again.
I divided the bread with my hands.
I ate part of it on the way and saved the rest for Thomas.
Harl walked faster than I did and had to slow down.
He didn't comment on the boot.
He asked where we'd found water.
I showed him the direction when we reached the turnoff.
He looked over the ground and kept walking.
When the lumber mill appeared between the trees, he stopped.
I stopped too.
The roof was visible first.
Then the supports, the workbench, the cleared space between it and the house.
Harl looked at me.
—You call this a shelter?
I couldn't think of an answer that sounded natural.
—It's where we're staying.
He approached without hurry.
He touched one of the posts and looked upward, examining the structure.
Thomas came out of the house before we reached the door.
Surprise appeared on his face.
Then he looked at the tool in Harl's hand and understood part of it.
—He brought the handle — I said.
Harl showed him the piece.
Thomas took it and went to the workbench.
I held out the remaining bread.
He took it, but didn't eat immediately.
While Thomas examined the tool, Harl continued looking around.
—Just you two?
—Just us.
—Been living here long?
—Not long.
His eyes moved toward the Farm's door, then to the wood stored beneath the roof.
—I don't remember seeing smoke before.
My heart beat faster.
—You don't come this way? — I asked.
Harl gave me a sideways look.
I realized too late how the question sounded.
—Not every day — he answered.
I wanted to explain everything and end the effort.
It would be enough to show him the image, if he could see it.
Enough to summon someone, make something else appear.
I imagined Harl returning home and telling Mara.
Then someone else hearing about it.
People I didn't know arriving at our door, demanding explanations I didn't have.
I said nothing.
Thomas lifted the piece.
—The iron is good. I can replace the handle if we have suitable wood.
Harl went over to him.
The conversation returned to something I could follow.
Thomas separated two pieces from the pile.
He examined the grain, compared them with the broken handle, and set one aside.
Harl watched without interrupting.
—This one might work — Thomas said. —I can't promise it'll be done today.
Harl looked at his shoulder.
—How long?
Thomas took a deep breath before answering.
—Come back tomorrow and we'll see how it turned out. If it's not good, I won't push it through just to hand it over.
Harl seemed to consider that.
—What do you want?
Thomas looked at me.
This time, I didn't answer immediately.
I thought of the fresh fish disappearing by nightfall.
The rain.
The empty column where I didn't have paper.
The wood I needed to write everything down.
—Food that can be stored — I answered. —If you have any.
Harl rubbed his beard.
—One dried fish for the finished handle. I don't have oats to hand out.
I looked at Thomas.
He nodded.
—Deal — I said.
Harl set down the tool.
He didn't ask to keep our saw as a guarantee.
He didn't bring any food in advance either.
He placed the metal part on the workbench and waited for Thomas to find a safe place to keep it.
I watched the movement.
His tool would stay with us overnight.
It was little, perhaps.
But it was different.
Before leaving, Harl pointed toward the open space beneath the roof.
—You could fix bigger things here.
Thomas looked around.
—Depends on the thing.
—A chest. A door. There are people walking around with both falling apart.
My stomach tightened, this time for another reason.
—Who?
Harl shrugged.
—I can tell them you work wood. They'll come and take a look, if you want.
I almost said yes before thinking.
Other people.
Not just Harl.
People who could bring food, but also questions.
People who would know where the house was, what we had inside, and how many of us there were.
I looked at Thomas.
He waited for my decision.
—You can tell them — I answered. —But we need to see the job before agreeing to anything.
Harl nodded.
—And the price before you start — I added.
He gave a short laugh.
—You're learning.
It didn't sound like praise or mockery.
Just an observation.
I walked with him to the beginning of the stretch leading to the coast.
I showed him the correct turn, though he'd already walked it.
Harl looked back once, toward the roof.
—Don't make all the firewood disappear from here — he said. —People use this path.
I nodded.
I didn't ask whether that meant we had permission to stay.
It didn't.
It was a warning about a path and the wood around it.
I waited until he disappeared among the trees before turning back.
Thomas was sitting on the bench, eating the rest of the bread.
I set down the container and stood in front of him.
—I brought someone here without asking.
He chewed before answering.
—You did.
—I thought we needed work here. So we wouldn't spend the whole day walking before we could even start.
Thomas looked toward the lumber mill through the open door.
—We do.
I sat across from him at the table.
The relief didn't come all at once.
—He thought it was strange.
—The house?
I nodded.
Thomas rubbed his thumb over a crumb.
—I would too.
We were quiet for a moment.
—Are you afraid? — I asked.
He raised his eyes.
—Of who might come.
Thomas thought before answering.
—I'm cautious. I don't know these people.
I wanted him to say he would know what to do.
That if someone tried something, he'd notice before I did.
He didn't.
—We can keep the tools inside when we're not working — I suggested.
—We can.
—And no one comes into the house just because they brought a handle.
Thomas nodded.
Those decisions were small enough for me to make.
Then we went to the lumber mill.
I didn't let Thomas start forcing his arm.
He chose the piece, marked what needed to be removed, and showed me how to hold it for a simple first cut.
He stayed beside me while I did what I could, slowly, stopping whenever my hand grew tired.
The wood didn't obey my first attempt.
An irregularity appeared where I wanted a smooth surface.
Thomas made me look at it before continuing, so I wouldn't try to fix it by removing more than I should.
It took me a long time to make very little.
By the end, my hands were sore, and the piece still didn't look like a finished handle.
But Thomas hadn't spent the entire afternoon sawing.
We stored Harl's tool and recorded the agreement:
One handle. One dried fish. Payment after approval.
I didn't mark any food in the inventory column.
We hadn't received anything yet.
Near the end of the afternoon, we went together to the familiar stretch of coast to gather whatever we could.
We took the container.
We returned with a small amount of shellfish to cook, without finding the fishermen.
The walk took its toll on my foot, and the work took its toll on my hands.
Even so, the house felt different when we returned.
Not because anything had changed in the walls.
There was another person's tool stored inside.
And someone now knew where to come looking for it.
After the meal, Thomas brought inside the tools that wouldn't need to spend the night beneath the roof.
I helped find places for them without mixing them with the kitchen utensils.
On the splinter where I kept the names, I added a line beneath the handle.
Harl knows the way.
I read it and thought about crossing it out.
It seemed like too much fear for so few words.
I left it.
Beneath it, I wrote something else.
He can bring work.
Both sentences were true.
I needed to remember both.