God bless you for this. He took his daughter back with a gentleness she couldn't help but notice. Then he went out to the shed and Maggie locked the front door twice around, same as always. She lay awake a long time, listening to the rain, and thinking about that baby. After midnight, the leak in the hallway started up again.
She set the bucket in its usual spot, laid a towel under the dripping living room window, and went back to bed. When morning came, she found Isaac out front studying the crooked window frame. Morning, he said. You can call me nosy, but I could fix this window in no time if you'd let me. I can't pay you.
Isaac looked over at his daughter asleep in a laundry basket lined with a quilt. "You fed my little girl last night," he said quietly. "I can't pay you for that either," Maggie had no answer. She just nodded. He opened his toolbox.
Within minutes, the window that had been wedged shut with a block of wood for years slid closed on its own, clean and square, the way it hadn't in longer than she could remember. Then, without asking for anything else, he noticed a loose board on the porch, and fixed that, too. The county reopened the road by midm morning with a temporary crossing. Isaac took his daughter into town to see a doctor, came away with a formula she could actually keep down, and drove back late in the afternoon to collect his things from the shed. But when he pulled up, he took a long look at the patched roof, the leaning fence, and the porch sagging on one side.
"Miss Maggie," he called, "how long has all this been needing work." "Too long," she said. Isaac was quiet a moment. Then he said something she didn't expect, something that would change both of them before either one realized it. I'm going to need to stay around here a few more weeks until Rose's family can make it down.
If you'd help me with my girl when I need it, I'll fix this house, as much of it, as I can while I'm here. Maggie eyed him with suspicion. The whole house? Whatever I can get my hands on. Roof, windows, porch.
This is what I know how to do. You took care of my daughter when I had nobody left to ask. Let me do something for you. Maggie crossed her arms. You sleep in the shed.
You don't come in my house unless I ask you in. Nothing more than that. Deal, Isaac said, and he reached his callous hand over the gate. She shook it quickly. Isaac started with the roof because he knew one more hard rain could ruin what was still worth saving.
He swapped out rotten pieces for salvaged ones and covered the weakest spots. Maggie tended the garden, stirred the big pots of jam, nursed both babies, hers and his, and kept her distance from that man as much as she could. One afternoon, Isaac noticed that one of the kitchen chairs had a wobbly leg. He fixed it without saying a word. The next day, when Maggie found the chair sitting solid, she didn't thank him.
She just set a bigger mug of coffee out by his tools. A few days later, his shirt ripped at the shoulder while he was hauling a beam. He left it folded on a crate in the shed. The next morning, he found it mended. The tear closed with thread almost the same color.
Neither of them mentioned it. Both of them noticed. The one who watched everything was Sam. At first, the boy wanted nothing to do with Isaac. When he saw the man pick up an old chisel that had belonged to his great grandpa, his face went red with fury.