The door wasn't broken where I'd expected.
Ben pushed it with his shoulder, made the wood scrape against the floor, and pointed toward the bottom.
—There. Take a little off, and it'll stop catching.
Thomas didn't pick up the tool.
He asked him to open it again, then close it slowly. He followed the movement with his hand against the side of the frame.
I stood behind them, holding what we'd brought. The barley we'd eaten before leaving still warmed my stomach. For the first time in several days, I could pay attention to the work without thinking first about what we'd receive for it.
Thomas touched the wood near the top.
—It's giving way here.
Ben frowned.
—It catches at the bottom.
—Because it dropped.
Thomas asked me to come closer. He showed me the slight movement when Ben pressed the door.
I saw it on the second attempt.
I would have cut the bottom.
Ben scratched his beard and looked at the frame as though it had changed on purpose.
—Can it be fixed?
Thomas examined the rest before answering.
It could, with sound wood in the right place and without uncovering greater damage once it was opened. The iron hardware could be reused; from what he could see, there was no reason to promise a new piece.
Ben showed us the material he'd stored.
They chose the pieces together.
I waited until I knew what would be done before asking about payment.
We agreed on two coppers for the adjustment and replacement of the damaged section, using Ben's wood. If another problem appeared, we'd stop and discuss it.
I wrote it down on the splinter I'd brought.
Ben tilted his head to look.
—You write everything down?
—What I might forget.
He laughed.
—Then you'll need more wood.
I looked at the splinter, nearly full.
He was right.
We worked there for most of the day. I held the door when Thomas asked, moved the pieces that came loose, and fetched water during a break. Ben helped support the weight when we put everything back together.
Even so, Thomas's arm lost strength before we finished.
He didn't drop anything.
He simply stopped pushing, and the weight shifted a little more toward my side.
Ben noticed first.
—Wait.
We supported the door.
Thomas pulled his hand away and closed it slowly.
I felt angry.
For a moment, I didn't know at whom.
He'd been trying to work with that shoulder ever since he'd pulled me from the mud. I'd been asking him to take breaks, carrying whatever I could, and pretending that would solve things if we were careful enough.
Ben took hold of the heavier part.
Thomas continued giving instructions and made the final adjustments without having to raise his arm in the same way.
When the door closed without scraping, I stared at the space near the floor.
Ben opened and closed it three times.
Then he brought the two coins.
I thanked him and counted them.
With the one we'd kept at home, we'd have three.
Thomas was gathering the tools when Ben pointed to the reused iron hardware.
—Good thing that one still worked. Fixing another would have been more work than the door.
I looked at the piece.
The Blacksmith came back to my mind out of habit.
One hundred and forty gold.
Sixty wood.
A building I could bring into existence, with problems I still didn't know how to solve once it was there.
This time, the thought didn't make me want to buy it.
What I wanted was for Thomas to be able to raise his hand without that brief pause beforehand.
On the way back, I carried more tools than I'd taken there.
Thomas tried to take some.
—Leave it.
—It's heavy.
—I know.
We walked in silence for a while.
I shifted the weight from one hand to the other and had to stop to steady myself with the stick.
Thomas waited.
—I can't do everything you do —I said.
He looked at me.
—I don't expect you to.
—But I keep thinking that if I help a little more, it'll be enough.
Thomas watched the path before answering.
—You help.
—That's not what I meant.
My voice came out louder than I'd intended.
I breathed and adjusted the bundle of tools.
—If you really need to stop, what do we do?
Thomas didn't answer immediately.
For the first time, I liked that he didn't try to reassure me.
—We find what we can do —he said.
I kept walking.
The answer was honest.
I was tired of depending on answers that only reached as far as the next day.
At home, we put the three coins together on the table.
Thomas sat down.
I brought the water and moved the container of barley from where we kept it.
There was still grain.
Not enough for me to stop thinking about it, but there was some.
The amount had decreased since we bought it, and I could compare it to the mark I'd made.
I looked for the Peasant.
Seventy-five gold.
Thomas followed the change in my expression.
—You're looking at that?
I nodded.
—I want to summon someone else.
He lowered his eyes to the coins, then to the barley.
—To work?
—To divide the work. Fetch water. Carry wood. Help you hold things without making the customer do it.
I was speaking too quickly.
I stopped before promising that a new person would solve everything.
Thomas rubbed the fingers of his good hand.
—He'll need to eat.
—I know.
The words almost came out as a complaint.
I bit the inside of my lip.
I knew.
But he was the one who'd spent days carrying the consequences.
—I want to buy more grain first —I continued. —And count for three. Not separate two bowls and assume he'll find something on his own.
Thomas looked at the empty bench.
—He'll need to rest too.
I nodded.
The house could shelter another person.
That didn't mean we'd already prepared a place for him.
We spent some time looking at what we had, what was missing, and what each of us could do.
There was no perfect answer.
There was the possibility of more work, a small reserve, three coins, and a man who needed to spare his arm.
We had no guaranteed work for weeks.
We also couldn't keep using Thomas's body as though it were something that repaired itself overnight.
I saved the portrait without confirming.
The next morning, I went to Alda with the three coins and the container.
She had barley to sell.
She showed me the measure before pouring it, just as she'd done the previous time.
I asked her to repeat the name and followed each portion, trying to relate her measure to the volume I knew from our own container.
This time, I didn't have to ask whether it was the same amount as the two-coin purchase before.
We agreed on the quantity based on the three coins I had, checked it, and only then handed over the money.
Alda put the coins away.
—Is someone else coming?
The question made me raise my head.
—Why?
She pointed toward the grain.
—You want to store more.
It took me a moment to answer.
—We may have some help.
It wasn't a ready-made story about a cousin who would arrive from somewhere.
I didn't want to invent someone before I'd even seen his face.
Alda didn't press.
I walked back slowly, the weight changing the way I moved.
I stopped when I needed to, without trying to turn it into a test of strength.
Thomas was waiting at the house.
We examined what I'd brought and stored the new barley with the reserve, away from the damp wall.
We set aside the portion we'd use and looked at what remained.
Thomas estimated how many meals it would provide for three.
I repeated the calculation with him and wrote down that it was an estimate.
One real person's hunger might not fit exactly into what I expected to serve.
The reserve would last only a few days.
After that, we'd need more.
We didn't call it security.
But for the first time, we wouldn't be bringing someone into an empty pantry.
We prepared the space where he could rest.
We moved the tools to a corner that wasn't in the way and left water within reach.
I looked for a third bowl.
I couldn't find another among the ones we already used, so I set aside the collection container, thoroughly washed, to serve the meal.
It wasn't pretty.
It would do until we could get something better.
When we finished, I stood near the door.
Thomas waited.
—Do you think we should? —I asked.
He looked at his shoulder, then at the table.
—I think we need help. And I think it's going to stay difficult.
It was an answer I could do something with.
We went outside to the open stretch between the house and the workshop.
I chose a place with no tools lying on the ground.
Thomas stood beside me, slightly behind.
I opened the portrait, checked the price, and counted the balance one more time.
Two hundred and twenty-five point zero eight gold.
After the choice, it would be one hundred and fifty point zero eight.
The wood wouldn't change.
My hand was sweaty when I confirmed.
The air trembled.
I remembered Thomas appearing among the pines, the axe striking a stone, and his question about my injured hand.
This time, I knew a man would appear.
I still wasn't prepared to see him arrive.
The shape gained weight.
Boots found the ground.
A body leaned forward to regain its balance.
Fingers tightened around the handle of a work axe.
The man took a deep breath.
He had a shorter dark beard than Thomas and a pronounced crease between his brows.
His clothes were work clothes, with old dirt in several places.
He looked at the house, the roofed lumber mill, and finally at us.
I checked the balance for a moment.
One hundred and fifty point zero eight gold.
One hundred and thirty wood.
Then I let the numbers disappear.
—My name is Varian —I said. —This is Thomas.
The man looked from one to the other.
—Edwin.
I waited for a question that would explain something about where he came from.
He merely adjusted his feet on the ground, as though he were still figuring out how firmly the earth held beneath him.
—Are you all right? —I asked.
Edwin ran his tongue over his lips.
—I am. Where do you need me?
The question struck me in a way I hadn't expected.
There was water to fetch, wood to sort, unfinished work, too many things I could point toward.
I'd spent the morning imagining the relief of dividing the tasks.
—First, come have something to drink —I answered.
Edwin looked at Thomas.
Thomas gestured toward the door.
We went inside together.
The room seemed smaller with three people in it.
Edwin rested the axe where Thomas indicated and accepted the water.
He held the container with both hands before drinking.
I'd brought another man.
Not an arm Thomas was missing.
Not an answer to every calculation.
A man who was seeing our home for the first time and needed to know what would happen next.
We put the food on the fire and talked while we waited.
I asked what he knew how to do.
Edwin spoke of farm work, cutting and hauling wood, and simple repairs.
When I pointed to a piece on the workbench through the open door, he said he'd need to examine it before claiming he could reproduce it.
I liked that more than I would have liked a promise.
Thomas explained the route to the water and said he'd show him later.
I interrupted.
—I will.
He looked at me, then nodded.
Edwin noticed the careful movement of his arm.
—Injured?
—Pulled more weight than I should have —Thomas answered.
I lowered my eyes to the pot.
I explained what needed to be explained first:
There were other people in the area.
Some came to the workshop.
Tools left by customers weren't ours.
We weren't to cut marked trees or take material from places whose purpose we didn't know.
Edwin listened carefully.
—And the wood beneath the roof?
Thomas showed him where it had come from and what had been set aside for firewood.
It was the first question Edwin asked about the work.
He didn't need an explanation of all our problems to understand that the piles had different purposes.
We ate together.
I used the collection container and left the bowls for the other two.
Edwin noticed, but didn't comment.
Thomas only began after every portion had been served.
The pot emptied faster.
I knew it would.
Seeing it was different.
After the meal, I took Edwin to the water.
He came with me without knowing the path, paying attention when I pointed out the broken stone and the turn.
On the way back, he carried the bucket.
He didn't make the journey look easy.
The water was heavy, and the climb was still a climb.
But he didn't have to protect an injured shoulder or stop because of a wound on his heel.
We arrived without spilling as much as I usually did.
Thomas was sitting at the table, with a small tool in front of him.
For the first time, he didn't get up as soon as he heard someone returning with a load.
Edwin placed the bucket where we'd indicated and asked where he could leave the axe for the night.
We showed him.
Later, I updated the accounts.
No coppers remaining.
Barley purchased and partially consumed, reserve to be recalculated for three.
One hundred and fifty point zero eight gold.
One hundred and thirty wood.
I wrote Edwin's name on a new splinter.
When I looked up, Thomas was showing him how we'd separated the customers' work.
Edwin was asking questions.
Some of them were questions I should have asked when I'd first arrived.
I listened for a moment before joining them.