PART 2 — THE BOY WHO SPOKE THROUGH STONES

Ingrid kept the gray stone in her palm long after Einar returned his attention to the floor.

She had expected a shy child. Perhaps a frightened one. But there was something unusual about the way the boy arranged his stones.

They were not random toys.

Some formed circles. Others made straight lines, small squares, and winding paths that resembled roads on a map.

Ingrid crouched beside him.

“May I see?”

Einar glanced at her hand, then nodded.

She picked up a small white stone and placed it beside the gray one.

The boy immediately moved it.

Not angrily. Carefully.

He placed it at the end of a row, leaving a precise space between them.

Ingrid watched.

“Does this one belong here?”

Einar nodded again.

She smiled.

“Then I shall try to remember.”

For the first time, something changed in his expression. It wasn’t quite a smile, but the tension around his eyes softened.

A voice came from the doorway.

“Best leave those where they are.”

Ingrid turned.

The farmer stood there, his broad shoulders nearly filling the frame.

“I didn’t mean to disturb him,” she said.

“You haven’t.”

He looked at the stones.

“Einar has arranged them the same way every morning for nearly a year.”

“Why?”

The man hesitated.

“He likes things to stay where he puts them.”

Ingrid looked back at the child.

“Then perhaps I should learn his arrangement.”

The farmer seemed surprised.

“Most people don’t bother.”

“Most people haven’t been invited to sit here.”

Einar looked up at her.

The farmer lowered his eyes.

“Dinner will be ready soon.”

He started down the stairs.

“Wait,” Ingrid called. “What is your name?”

He stopped.

“Jonas Halvorsen.”

“Thank you, Mr. Halvorsen.”

He gave a brief nod and disappeared.

That evening, Ingrid learned that the farm had once been a much happier place.

Elsa told her while they prepared supper. Jonas had married a woman named Anna eight years earlier. Einar had been born two years later.

Anna had died during the previous winter after a sudden illness.

“Since then, the boy has changed,” Elsa explained quietly. “He used to follow his mother everywhere. He hasn’t spoken since the day we buried her.”

Ingrid glanced toward the staircase.

“Not one word?”

“Not one.”

“Has anyone taken him to a doctor?”

“Jonas did. Twice. The doctor says the boy’s hearing is fine. He says Einar needs time.”

Elsa sighed.

“But time doesn’t make a house feel less empty.”

Ingrid understood that sentence better than Elsa could have known.

After supper, Jonas showed her to a small bedroom at the end of the hall.

It contained a narrow bed, a washstand, and a window overlooking the birch trees.

“It’s not much,” he said.

“It’s lovely.”

“You’ll have your own room. I thought that would be best until we understand how things will work.”

Ingrid appreciated his honesty.

They had agreed to marry through letters, but they were still strangers.

“May I ask you something?” she said.

“Of course.”

“Why did you send for a wife?”

Jonas looked toward the dark window.

“Because Einar needs someone.”

“And you?”

He was silent for a long moment.

“I’ve forgotten how to be a family without Anna.”

The answer was so honest that Ingrid found herself unable to judge him.

“I cannot replace your wife,” she said gently.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

“Nor can I promise that Einar will suddenly become happy because I am here.”

“I know.”

Jonas looked at her.

“I only hoped someone might be willing to try.”

Ingrid nodded.

“I will try.”

The following morning, she discovered something strange.

Einar had arranged his stones differently.

The gray stone he had given her sat in the center of a small circle. Around it were six smaller stones, each placed at an equal distance.

She crouched beside the arrangement.

“Is this for me?”

Einar nodded.

Ingrid touched the gray stone.

“Thank you.”

The boy pointed toward the window.

Outside, a narrow path led from the house to the old birch grove.

Then he pointed to the gray stone.

Ingrid looked confused.

“Do you want me to go there?”

Einar shook his head.

He picked up another stone, a flat brown one, and placed it beside the gray.

Then he pointed toward the barn.

Ingrid studied the two stones.

“Are they places?”

Einar nodded eagerly.

For the next hour, they worked together.

He showed her that the white stones represented the house, the brown ones represented the barn, and the gray ones marked the birch grove.

But there was one stone she couldn’t identify.

It was small, black, and shaped like a narrow triangle.

Whenever Ingrid tried to move it, Einar quickly put it back.

Finally, he took her hand and placed the black stone in her palm.

Then he pointed toward the old shed behind the barn.

Ingrid looked at him.

“Something is there?”

Einar nodded.

Before she could ask more, Jonas appeared at the door.

“What are you doing?”

Einar immediately lowered his head.

Jonas’s expression changed when he saw the black stone.

“Put that away, son.”

The boy froze.

Ingrid looked from father to child.

“Why?”

Jonas crossed the room and gently took the stone.

“It’s nothing.”

But his voice had become unusually firm.

Einar’s eyes filled with distress.

He reached for the stone.

Jonas placed it on the shelf.

“Not today.”

The boy turned away.

Ingrid watched him retreat to the corner.

Something about the moment troubled her.

Later that afternoon, while Jonas was repairing a fence, Ingrid found Elsa preparing vegetables.

“What’s in the old shed?”

Elsa stopped cutting.

“Why do you ask?”

“Einar showed me a stone that seemed to represent it.”

The older woman looked toward the window.

“That shed belonged to Anna.”

“What happened to it?”

“Jonas locked it after she died.”

“Why?”

Elsa wiped her hands on her apron.

“Some places are difficult to enter when the memories inside are still alive.”

Ingrid understood grief.

But she also understood that grief could sometimes become a locked door.

That evening, she returned to Einar’s room.

The boy was sitting beside his stones.

Ingrid placed a small wooden horse beside the circle.

“Would you like to show me something tomorrow?”

Einar considered the offer.

Then he picked up the black stone and placed it in front of her.

He pointed toward the shed again.

This time, he did not look afraid.

He looked determined.

Ingrid gently covered his hand with hers.

“All right,” she whispered. “Tomorrow.”

But when she went downstairs, she found Jonas standing in the kitchen.

He had heard everything.

“You mustn’t go into that shed,” he said.

Ingrid stopped.

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“That isn’t an explanation.”

Jonas looked exhausted.

“Anna died there.”

Ingrid’s heart sank.

He continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

“She was working in the garden shed when the illness took hold. I found her there. Einar was with her.”

Ingrid understood why the room had remained locked.

But she also remembered the little boy’s expression.

“Perhaps Einar isn’t trying to show me where his mother died,” she said. “Perhaps he’s trying to show me something she left behind.”

Jonas looked at her sharply.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because he gave me the stone himself.”

For several seconds, neither spoke.

Then Jonas walked to the staircase.

“Some things are better left buried.”

And Ingrid realized that the silence in the Halvorsen farmhouse was not only Einar’s.

His father was hiding something, too.