“YOU’RE BIGGER THAN MY HOUSE,” SHE SAID—THEN THE MOUNTAIN GIANT FELL TO HIS KNEES AND CRIED

PART 2 — THE MAN WHO HAD FORGOTTEN HOW TO BE WELCOMED

Maren placed the bowl of soup on the table.

“Let me see your arm.”

Torin looked at the wound, then at her.

“It ain’t worth troubling over.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He hesitated.

Maren fetched a clean cloth, warm water, and the small tin of supplies she kept beneath the kitchen shelf.

“I’ve seen enough injuries to know when one needs attention. Sit still.”

Torin obeyed.

His enormous hands rested awkwardly on his knees while Maren carefully examined his arm. The wound was infected, and the surrounding skin was H๏τ. She cleaned it as gently as she could, then covered it with a fresh dressing.

“You need a proper doctor,” she said. “This could become serious.”

Torin stared at the floor.

“Doctors cost money.”

“So does being ill.”

He almost smiled.

Almost.

When she finished, Maren placed the soup in front of him again.

“Now eat.”

He looked at the bowl as though he had been handed something precious.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He took one spoonful.

Then another.

By the time he reached the bottom, his shoulders had begun to relax.

Maren sat across from him.

“Who did that to you?”

Torin stopped eating.

For a long moment, the only sound was the rain beating against the roof.

“Men from Black Hollow.”

Maren knew the name.

Black Hollow was a settlement several miles beyond the ridge, where a timber company had established a camp. Its workers sometimes came through the valley, but most locals avoided them.

“Why?”

“Because I wouldn’t sign a paper.”

“What paper?”

Torin rubbed his thumb against the edge of the bowl.

“They wanted me to sell my land.”

Maren frowned.

“You own land?”

“A little. Up past the northern ridge. My father’s cabin, a patch of timber, and a spring.”

“Then why would they hurt you over a piece of paper?”

“Because the spring runs through the valley. Their new mill needs water.”

He looked toward the window.

“They offered me money. More than I’d ever seen. I refused.”

“Why?”

“Because the spring feeds three farms. And because my father told me never to sell something that keeps other people alive.”

Maren studied him.

“You could have told them no without getting yourself beaten.”

“I did.”

His voice was quiet.

“They didn’t like hearing it twice.”

The storm continued through the night.

Maren prepared a blanket for Torin on the narrow floor beside the stove. She gave him the only pillow she owned and kept her own place on the small bed.

He protested.

“You need that more than I do.”

“I have a mattress. You’ll have the floor.”

“I’ve slept on worse.”

“That doesn’t make it comfortable.”

Torin looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite understand.

“People usually tell me to sleep outside.”

Maren pulled the blanket straight.

“Then people have been making foolish decisions.”

He said nothing.

But long after Maren had gone to bed, she heard him whisper something into the darkness.

“Thank you for not asking me to leave.”

At dawn, the rain had stopped.

Maren woke to find the fire burning and the room unusually warm.

Torin was standing outside, splitting the small pile of wood beside her wall.

His injured arm was wrapped, and he was using his other hand.

“Stop that!” Maren called through the open doorway.

He immediately lowered the axe.

“You need rest.”

“Your wood was nearly gone.”

“I know where I keep it.”

“I thought I’d help.”

“You can help by not making your arm worse.”

Torin looked down.

“Sorry.”

Maren sighed.

“You apologize more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

He seemed embarrᴀssed.

“Habit.”

She brought him a cup of coffee.

“Sit. Tell me something about your father.”

For the first time, Torin’s expression changed completely.

“He was a quiet man. Smaller than me. Couldn’t reach the top shelf without a stool.”

Maren smiled.

“He sounds familiar.”

“He taught me to mend fences, repair roofs, and never judge a person by the size of their house.”

Torin glanced at her little stone home.

“He would’ve liked this place.”

“Why?”

“Because someone lives here who knows how to make it warm.”

Maren looked away.

She wasn’t accustomed to compliments.

Not since her husband had left, taking most of their savings and leaving her with a house that seemed to grow colder every winter.

She changed the subject.

“Do you have family?”

Torin’s face grew still.

“I had a brother.”

“Had?”

“His name was Elias. He died when we were young men.”

Maren waited.

“He was the one who could talk to anybody. I was the one people stared at. He used to stand beside me whenever someone laughed.”

Torin swallowed.

“After he died, I stopped going where people gathered.”

“Why?”

“Because he was the only person who made me feel like I belonged.”

Maren looked at the giant sitting on her little wooden chair.

“And you thought you had to spend the rest of your life alone?”

Torin shrugged.

“Seemed easier than hoping.”

By midday, Maren insisted on taking him to the doctor in the village.

Torin refused at first.

But when she explained that his arm needed proper treatment, he finally agreed.

They had barely reached the road when a wagon came rattling toward them.

Two men sat on the front bench.

Maren recognized one of them as Silas Crowe, the foreman from Black Hollow.

The wagon stopped.

“Well, look what the mountain dragged out,” Silas called.

Torin’s shoulders stiffened.

Maren stepped slightly in front of him.

“You need something?”

Silas looked her over.

“Just wondering whether you’ve seen a fellow who owes our company a little money.”

Torin said nothing.

Silas grinned.

“Big fellow. Doesn’t talk much. Hard to miss.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble finding him,” Maren replied.

The second man laughed.

Silas didn’t.

“Careful, ma’am. That man isn’t the sort you want in your house.”

Maren’s expression hardened.

“He was a guest.”

“He’s a thief.”

Torin finally raised his head.

“I never stole from you.”

“You took something that belongs to the company.”

“I took back my father’s papers.”

Silas leaned forward.

“Those papers aren’t yours anymore.”

Maren noticed Torin’s hands тιԍнтening.

“What papers?” she asked.

Silas ignored her.

“Come along, Torin. The boss wants to settle this.”

“No.”

The word was quiet.

But it was firm.

Silas’s smile disappeared.

“You’ll regret that.”

He flicked the reins, and the wagon rolled away.

Maren watched until it disappeared around the bend.

Then she turned to Torin.

“What did you take?”

Torin reached inside his coat and removed a small leather packet.

“My father’s land deed. And the original agreement with the mill.”

“Why would they want those?”

“Because the agreement says the spring can never be diverted without the consent of every household that depends on it.”

Maren looked at the packet.

“Then they can’t build their mill?”

“Not the way they planned.”

He lowered his voice.

“They already started digging. If they finish, the water will be gone by summer.”

Maren understood now.

This wasn’t simply a dispute over a piece of land.

It was about the whole valley.

“Then we need to show those papers to someone who can stop them.”

Torin looked at her.

“You don’t understand. Those men know everybody in town.”

“Then we’ll find someone they don’t control.”

He stared at her for a long moment.

“You’d do that for me?”

Maren glanced at his bandaged arm.

“I’d do it for anyone whose home was being taken.”

Then she added, “Besides, you still owe me a proper explanation for why you think my house is too small for you.”

For the first time, Torin laughed.

It was a deep, unexpected sound.

And Maren found herself smiling.

But when they reached the village, a boy came running down the road.

“Miss Maren! There’s a man at your house!”

She stopped.

“Who?”

The boy was breathless.

“He says he knows Torin. Says he’s his brother.”

Torin went completely pale.

Because Elias had been ᴅᴇᴀᴅ for twenty years.

And the man waiting outside Maren’s little stone house was wearing Elias’s old silver ring.