The Village
The snow had settled deep, piling in drifts against the low stone walls and burying the uneven paths. A few of the older women had gathered near the well, their voices low and hands busy with mending. Smoke curled from chimneys, and the village square felt almost still, wrapped in the hush of winter.
It was Marta who noticed him first, sharp-eyed as always. She tilted her head down the path, where Tomas trudged up from the lower road. He moved with that steady, practical pace of his, a bundle of kindling slung over one shoulder. In his hands, he cradled a wrapped pot, steam curling from under the cloth.
“Morning, Tomas,” Marta called, not breaking the rhythm of her stitching. The others glanced up, Hanne squinting a bit through the cold light.
“Morning to you all,” he said, polite as ever. He set the pot on the well ledge as he came closer, the smell rising faint and rich through the cloth.
“That from Elga?” Marta asked. “She said she’d send something up after you wrangled her youngest off the roof.”
Tomas gave a crooked smile. “Aye. Said it was stew. Smells strong enough to chase the cold off proper.”
Hanne made a soft sound of approval. “Elga always did know what to do with a marrow bone.”
“Better than I’ve done with the fire,” Tomas said, adjusting the kindling on his shoulder. “Shutters blew loose again. Had to tie them back. Thought I’d fetch more wood before the snow piles too high.”
Gerta, working beside her, gave a small snort. “That window near the stove? Told you it needed a proper latch.”
Tomas shrugged. “A bit of rope holds fine for now. I’ll ask Rolf to take a look if it keeps up.”
Lira came over with a fresh-baked roll wrapped in linen. “Here. You’ve been out since dawn, haven’t you?”
He took it without a word, letting the warmth seep into his fingers. “Had to get the fire going early. Cold seeped in overnight. Kept him under the blankets till the room warmed up.”
Marta lifted an eyebrow. “Still slow to rise, is he?”
Tomas gave a quick, almost fond huff. “More like he doesn’t notice the morning. Gets this look like I’m asking him to scale a mountain when I try to sit him up. If I don’t push him a bit, he’d stay curled up half the day.”
Hanne eyed him over her knitting. “He eating all right? Hard to tell how someone’s doing when they keep to themselves.”
Tomas nodded. “If I put the spoon in his hand. Stares right through it otherwise. Once he gets started, he doesn’t stop, just… needs the nudge. Easier if I’m eating too.”
Lira didn’t comment. Just reached beside her, picked up a folded wool blanket, and handed it over. “I’ve got another thing for you,” she said. “For the nights. Gets colder up your way.”
He took it without protest. “Thanks. I’ll make sure he’s wrapped up. He doesn’t say much, just sits there like he doesn’t notice the cold. Have to just toss it over him and not make a fuss.”
Marta’s lips quirked into a faint smile. “He’ll get used to it. Some folk don’t know they’re being looked after until it’s already done.”
Tomas adjusted the scarf that had slipped loose again. “Better to keep his mind off it. I get him moving when I can—even just to the fire. Doesn’t fight me, just... lets it happen.”
Gerta finished tying off a line of stitching and glanced up. “Glad to hear he’s up at all. Thought he’d be stuck in bed for good, the way folk talked.”
Tomas’s mouth twitched into a smile. “His leg’s holding better now. Stands a bit steadier when I get him upright. Still needs me to keep him balanced, but it’s not like before when he’d just crumple.”
“Good to hear he’s finding his feet. Hold on a moment.” Hanne set her knitting aside and rose with a small grunt, vanishing into the house. When she returned, she pressed a cloth-wrapped jar into his hand—no-nonsense, as always.
His eyes sparked. “Is that what I think it is? You put extra garlic in this time?”
Hanne gave him a look, half stern, half amused. “Course I did. Extra just for you. I know how you sulk without it.”
Tomas couldn’t hold back a grin. “You spoil me. Stew’s just not the same without it.”
She waved him off. “You’ll eat it, or I’ll know. No sense making it if you’re just going to let it sit there.”
He tucked the jar into his coat. “Wouldn’t dare. You know it’s the best part of the meal.”
They didn’t say much more, just let the conversation drift to the usual talk—the ice on the well, the hens laying less now that the days had shortened. Tomas stayed a while longer, sharing a bit about the way the creek had started to freeze over and how the smoke from the chimneys lingered longer in the still air.
When he finally took his leave, he balanced the pot, bread, and extra blanket in his arms, with the bundle of kindling slung securely over his shoulder. He passed with a quiet word of thanks, then made his way back up the path with practiced ease. Their conversation slowed for a moment as they watched him go.
Marta looked after him, shaking her head lightly. “That boy doesn’t stop, does he?”
Gerta grunted. “Wouldn’t know how if you paid him. Always moving, that one.”
Hanne tucked her knitting away, giving a faint huff. “Least he knows how to keep himself busy. Doesn’t sit around waiting for things to get done.”
Lira smirked. “He’s already got half the village feeding him. Bet he hasn’t cooked a meal himself in weeks.”
The women shared a quiet chuckle, and the conversation shifted back to the weather and who’d gotten their chimney swept before the snow hit.
- ← Previous
The Keeper - Next →
The Guest