“What is inside?”
“Enough silver to buy a horse, repair the roof, and fill that shed before the cold returns.”
A few months earlier, the offer might have felt like rescue.
Now it felt like a price placed on something that had never been for sale.
She pushed the pouch back toward him.
“I did not pull him from the mud for payment.”
“I know.”
“Then do not turn it into a purchase.”
The rider studied her.
He had expected gratitude or refusal born from pride.
What he saw was something different.
Abigail was protecting the meaning of what she had done.
The boy had been in danger.
She had gone to him.
Nothing was owed for that.
The rider closed his hand around the pouch.
“Then tell me what can be given without insulting you.”
“Nothing.
Take your son home.”
The boy’s head lifted.
“Not yet.”
His father turned.
“You are ill.”
“So is she.”
Abigail almost smiled despite herself.
“I am not ill.”
The boy pointed toward her hands.
Both palms had opened again.
Thin lines of blood marked the bandages where she had gripped his collar.
“She has not slept,” he said.
“She sits beside the cot every night.
When I wake, she is there.”
His father looked into the cabin more carefully.
There was only one cup beside the cot.
Only one bowl with traces of broth.
Abigail’s own plate sat clean on the shelf.
“When did you last eat?” he asked.
“That is not your concern.”
The boy answered for her.
“Yesterday morning.”
Abigail gave him a warning look.
He drew the shawl tighter and looked entirely unrepentant.
The father exhaled through his nose.
Then he turned toward the riders.
“Dismount.”
No one questioned him.
Within moments, the clearing changed from a place of judgment into a place of work.
One rider carried split wood from the packhorses and stacked it beside the cabin.
Another inspected the crooked roof and found where rain had entered above the stove.
Two more brought sacks of flour, dried beans, salt, and smoked meat from their saddlebags.
Abigail stepped down from the porch.
“I said I would not accept payment.”
The father removed his coat and handed it to his son.
“This is not payment.”
“It looks remarkably like payment.”
“Then call it repayment for the food he ate.”
