“And what exactly did you think happened when your wife arrived?”
Abel’s face went red beneath the beard.
Mara almost enjoyed that.
“I thought,” he said carefully, “that a woman who has never met me might prefer a door she can close.”
For once Mara had no quick answer.
Abel put her carpetbag inside the room and walked out again without crossing farther than necessary.
That evening they ate beans, bread, and fried potatoes at opposite sides of the table.
Mara kept waiting for conditions to emerge.
Tomorrow you cook.
Tomorrow you wash.
Tomorrow you stop talking like that.
Tomorrow you remember whose house this is.
They never came.
Instead Abel asked, “What work do you hate?”
She blinked.
“What?”
“If we’re sharing a place, seems foolish to divide work without asking.”
Mara put down her fork.
“You truly are strange.”
“I’ve been told.”
“I hate mending shirts.”
“I can mend.”
She looked at his huge fingers.
“You?”
“My stitches are ugly, but they hold.”
“I can cook.”
“I can eat.”
“That I believe.”
Again, the smile.
The conversation became a negotiation rather than a command.
Mara understood then that this was Abel’s real reversal.
Not the word he had crossed out at the station.
The balance of power.
Everyone in Mercy Hollow had assumed the giant would choose whether Mara was acceptable.
Abel kept behaving as though Mara had equal authority to decide whether he was.
That night she shut the door of the spare room.
For several minutes she stood listening.
No footsteps approached.
No hand tested the latch.
No voice reminded her that she owed gratitude for a roof.
She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the bloody cuff of her dress.
Then she cried.
Not much.
Not because of Abel.
Because sometimes the body waits until danger has passed before admitting it was frightened.
She washed the blood from the sleeve in a basin and watched the water turn pink.
The next morning, Abel was already outside splitting wood when Mara came onto the porch.
He saw her and immediately set the axe down.
“Morning.”
“Morning.”
He nodded toward the wagon.
“If you want the eastbound train, we need to leave before noon.”
Mara stared at him.
“You remembered.”
“I said I would take you.”
She looked past him at the road descending toward Mercy Hollow.
