By afternoon, word of her presence spread further. A wagon driver stopped on the road by Reed's fence, squinting at the yard before moving on without a word. Later, the storekeeper brought out the sack of oats Reed had ordered weeks earlier. His eyes lingered on Nolwenn as she stacked firewood, but he kept his mouth shut, only muttering about prices going up. Reed noticed though, and so did Nolwenn.
When the man left, she asked plainly, "Will they make trouble for you because of me? " Reed shook his head, though his voice was firm. "I don't live by their comfort. Let them talk. " That night, after the chores were finished and the fire warmed the cabin, Nollin sat at the table mending one of Reed's torn work shirts. Her fingers moved quickly, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Reed watched from the other side, not sure if he should speak.
The questions pressed at him. Where was her cousin now? What had she really left behind when she came north? But he kept them to himself, sensing that she would answer in her own time, not when pressed. Instead, he asked something simpler.
"You planning to move on once you're rested? " She didn't look up from the needle. "I plan to, but plans don't always hold. I'll stay until your fence and pump are right. After that, I'll decide. " Reed leaned back in his chair, studying her. He felt the weight of that answer.
It wasn't a promise, but it wasn't an ending either. The thought that she might leave brought a dull ache he didn't expect. He realized, for the first time since Martha's death, that the idea of being alone again carried more fear than comfort. As the fire burned lower, the cabin settled into quiet. For Reed, it was a silence that felt different now, not the heavy emptiness he had lived with for years, but a silence shared, alive with the presence of someone who had earned her place not by asking, but by working alongside him.
And though he wouldn't admit out loud, he hoped the morning would not be the last time he heard her moving around his yard, mending what he had left broken. The sun was already high when Reed and Nollin set to work on the pump. The squeak from the handle was louder than ever, grinding with each pull, and Reed had left it too long out of habit. Now Nollin crouched beside the iron shaft, prying loose the worn leather washer with a steady hand. She cut a strip from an old harness strap, her knife strokes quick and clean, and fitted it in place before Reed even fetched the nails he thought they'd need.
When she He the handle again, the pump drew water smooth and quiet, the bucket filling clear. Reed stood with his hands on his hips, shaking his head. You just fixed something I'd been living with for months. You didn't fix it because you lived alone, she answered simply. When you're alone, you put up with things.