Chapter 2

Carla Gray's yard was at the very end of the village.

Mud-brick walls, a wooden gate, the red paint on it worn down to a few flakes along the edges.

Leona Chavez pushed the gate open and called out. Something stirred inside.

I followed her in, and the first thing I saw was her back.

She was chopping firewood.

The axe swung up and came down, clean and sure.

Hearing us, she turned, rested the axe on the split log, and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand.

Then she looked at me.

Just one look.

"You're here. Come inside."

That was all. Six words.

No fidgeting, no fuss, none of the wariness I'd imagined a widow marrying again would have. None of that shrewd, calculating edge either.

None of it.

Just calm.

Like a pool of water. The wind blows over it, and even the ripples stay small.

I followed her inside. Behind me, Leona kept up her steady stream of the usual polite talk.

I didn't take much of it in.

I was busy looking the place over.

The bed was spread with indigo cloth, folded square and neat.

Farm tools hung on the wall. A hoe, a sickle, a spade, each one on its own nail, and the nails looked measured out on purpose, evenly spaced, all in line.

Beside the stove sat a row of jars, every one with a paper label brushed on in fine, close ink.

"Pickled radish." "Bean paste." "Peppered salt."

Standing there in that room, something rose up in me I couldn't put into words.

It didn't feel like a place one person lived.

It felt like a place a man had poured all his care into, and then the man was gone, and the care stayed behind.

It was a strange feeling.

Like I'd walked into someone else's territory.

And that was how the marriage was settled.

Simple, no proper banquet. The two families just sat down to a meal together, Leona stood as witness, I moved my registration over, and from that day on I belonged to the Gray household.

Our wedding night, we lay at opposite ends of the bed, a folded quilt between us.

The room was dark.

I couldn't sleep.

I didn't hear her drop off quickly either.

A long time passed before I heard her turn over, and then silence again.

I stared into the dark at the ceiling and thought:

He had slept on this bed.

The thought came out of nowhere, and it set my whole body on edge.

But it had worked its way in, and there was no driving it out.