Night came gently. Jonas prepared quilts in the loft for the children and offered the single bed to Angelina.
“And you?” she asked softly.
“I’ll take the chair.”
The absence of cruelty unsettled her more than harshness might have.
Days found rhythm.
Jonas worked the cattle and fences. Angelina tended meals and garden. The children adapted slowly. Eli followed Jonas into the fields. Sam asked endlessly for tasks. Luke lingered in the barn. Anna decorated the windows with wildflowers. Josie laughed again. Ruth toddled toward Jonas without fear.
Jonas spoke little, but he mended shoes, repaired loose boards, and chopped extra wood.
One evening, Angelina found him whittling on the porch.
“You didn’t have to bring us here,” she said.
“Didn’t sit right,” he replied. “What they did. House was empty anyway.”
The words were plain, but heavy.
Doubt lingered. Was she a guest? A burden? A possession?
One moonlit night she packed a small bundle, intending to leave before dawn. As she reached the door, Jonas’s voice came quietly from the dark.
