Elena changed her dress, letting the damp undergarments fall to the floor. She paused for a moment, her fingers brushing over her own skin as a whispered question escaped her lips. Am I still… attractive to men? Could I… have another chance?
The thought startled her, and she shook her head quickly, pressing it to the side. No, no… I shouldn't think like that. She hurried to pull on a fresh dress, smoothing the fabric over her shoulders.
I don't have much… she thought, glancing at herself in the small, cracked mirror. Maybe I should buy a few things… but I must stay humble, even if this job pays better than anything I've had before.
She checked her pocket. Only a few coins remained. I must be frugal for now, until I have enough to buy what I truly need. Carefully, she placed the coins into the small drawer beneath the table, closing it softly.
Satisfied, she climbed into bed, tucking herself beneath the thin blankets. The warmth of the fire lingered in the room, and Elena let her eyes close. Sleep came slowly, but for the first time in many nights, it came without the suffocating weight of grief pressing on her chest.
As morning light spilled through the cottage windows, Elena set about cooking the meat she had bought, preparing a hearty stew — enough to last a few meals. The savory aroma filled the small room, bringing a small smile to her lips.
A knock came at the door.
"Lady Elena?"
She opened it to find him standing there — Coren — and beside him another man, tall and broad-shouldered. Behind them on the road stood a farm horse, pulling a small carriage loaded with items.
"Lady Elena," Coren began, tipping his hat, "I took some time and asked Mister Leo if he had any bathtubs. We found one in his storage, along with a few things you might need."
"Oh no, you didn't need to! I… I don't have money for all that," Elena hurriedly protested.
Coren smiled, removing his hat. "Of course not. We'll talk about payment later." He swished his hand toward the carriage, and two strong boys jumped out, beginning to carry the items toward her cottage.
"But… but…" Elena started, flustered.
"No buts," Coren said firmly, yet kindly. "You need to live properly."
"Well… yes," Elena admitted, cheeks warming.
"So," he continued with a faint twinkle in his eye, "don't hold back. You need this."
She held back no longer, realizing he would not let her refuse.
The carpenter stepped forward, extending a strong hand. "I'm Leo. If you need anything made of wood later, you'll find me in the village — or in the evening at the pub." He smiled warmly.
Elena nodded, slightly embarrassed but grateful.
"Wait… we have a pub in the village?" she asked, curiosity brightening her voice.
Both men chuckled. "Well, yes," Coren said. "It's the biggest house in the village. We gather there — eat, sing, sometimes dance, have dinner. We use it for many things."
Elena let out a small laugh, imagining the tiny village coming alive in the evenings. For the first time, life felt expansive, warm, and full of possibility.
...
The sun was high in the sky when Elena returned from the village after they showed her the pub house, the warm light was spilling over the fields and cottages. She carried a small pail of water, the effort leaving her slightly flushed, but the need for a proper bath had become impossible to ignore.
Along the path by the river, she noticed a group of children she taught at school, splashing each other with water and laughing freely. One boy flicked water toward her, grinning.
"Stop that!" Elena called out, trying to sound stern, though her voice carried a soft edge of amusement. "You'll catch a cold if you play like that!"
The children only laughed louder and ran toward the village, leaving her alone with the river, its gentle flow glimmering in the sunlight. She knelt to scoop water into her bucket, the cool liquid spilling over her hands, a stark contrast to the warmth she longed for.
Back at her cottage, she found two sturdy buckets and began filling them from the river, balancing them carefully as she carried them through the small wooden doorway. Her arms ached slightly, but each step brought her closer to the comfort she hadn't known in years.
As the afternoon sun began to dip lower, she poured warm water into the small basin she had prepared, letting steam curl lazily into the air. She undressed slowly, the quiet of the cottage surrounding her like a protective embrace. The warm water welcomed her, seeping into tired muscles and calming her mind.
For the first time in years, she let herself linger in the bath. Her thoughts drifted back to the town, to the suffocating smoke, to her husband before he had left, to the boys she had lost. Her hands trembled slightly as a tear rolled down her cheek. She whispered their names softly, letting the sorrow mingle with the relief of the warmth around her.
After a long while, Elena rose, wiping herself gently, feeling lighter somehow. The bath had cleansed more than the dirt from her journey; it had washed over some of the lingering shadows of grief she carried. She wrapped herself in a fresh dress, climbed into bed, and let the quiet of her cottage lull her into sleep, a rare, deep sleep that had eluded her for so long.
Another week passed, and Elena felt herself settling more deeply into the rhythm of the village. Mornings were filled with the laughter and chatter of children at school, afternoons with the sun warming the earth as she tended her small garden, and evenings brought the quiet peace of her little cottage. With each day, the tension that had gripped her for so long loosened, replaced by a quiet sense of belonging she had never known in the smoky town she had left behind.
One afternoon, as she was carrying water from the river to tend her budding flower patch, an elderly woman approached her path. Her face was lined with age, but her eyes twinkled with warmth.
"Miss Elena," the woman said gently, "I hope I'm not disturbing you. I wondered if you might visit me for a cup of tea?"
Elena's lips curved into a soft smile. "Of course, I'd like that very much."
She followed the woman along a narrow path lined with flowering bushes, arriving at a cozy cottage whose chimney puffed thin curls of smoke into the sky. Inside, the aroma of herbs and baking bread wrapped around her like a familiar blanket. They settled across from each other at a small wooden table, steaming cups in hand.
As the afternoon passed, they talked quietly about life in the village, about the changing seasons, and about small joys and worries that came with daily living. Elena found herself laughing at the woman's dry humor and nodding in agreement at her gentle wisdom.
It felt strange, in a comforting way, to share her thoughts and hear a voice respond with kindness instead of indifference. For the first time in a long while, she felt that fragile, precious thing: friendship.
By the time she left, carrying a small bundle of herbs the woman had pressed into her hands, Elena's heart felt lighter. The village was no longer just a place she had come to for work; it was becoming home.