By dinnertime, the news that Thomas had badly injured both legs and might never walk normally again had already spread from one end of Oakridge Village to the other.
There were few secrets in a small farming village, especially after everything that had happened at Miller Farm that day.
Thomas had driven his wagon to Greenwood before sunrise.
Hours later, the wagon had been found overturned outside town, and Thomas himself had been carried home covered in blood.
Dr.
Brown had been summoned in a hurry, and with so many villagers coming and going from Miller Farm throughout the afternoon, there had been no way to keep the matter quiet.
By the time darkness settled over the village, most households had already heard what had happened.
Some sighed over Thomas’s terrible luck.
Some worried about Martha and the children.
Others simply treated it as something to discuss over supper, exchanging a few comments before moving on to other things.
At Miller Farm, however, the atmosphere was oppressively quiet.
The villagers who had gathered outside during the day had gradually gone home.
The earlier noise, questions, and crying had finally faded away.
A cool autumn wind blew in from the wheat fields, passing over the low stone walls and wooden fences before rustling through the dry hay piled beside the barn.
The fields in the distance had disappeared completely into the darkness.
A thin crescent moon hung over Oakridge Village, its pale light falling across the gray-brown stone walls of the main farmhouse, the old orchard cottage, and the packed earth around the farm, leaving everything in faint, indistinct outlines.
Normally, the family would have been preparing supper by now.
Tonight, however, no one seemed to have much appetite.
The fire in the old orchard cottage kitchen had gone out long ago, and even the oven normally used for baking bread had not been lit again.
After something this serious happened, no one had the heart to think about food.
Most of Miller Farm had fallen into darkness.
Only a few windows still showed faint lamplight, including the spare room at the main farmhouse where Thomas lay.
Dim yellow light shone through the small panes of glass set into the wooden window, looking especially faint against the autumn night.
Elena had been lying alone in her room at the old orchard cottage for a long time, but sleep refused to come.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Thomas as he had looked when they carried him home that afternoon.
His pale face.
The blood around his temple.
And both legs wrapped and immobilized.
Dr.
Brown’s words before leaving also continued to linger in her mind.
Thomas’s life was no longer in immediate danger, but both of his legs were badly injured.
In the worst case, he might never walk normally again.
Eventually, Elena pushed aside the old wool blanket and slowly sat up.
Her body still had not fully recovered.
After everything that had happened during the day, she felt even more exhausted than before.
She sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, waiting for the faint dizziness to pass before putting on her worn leather shoes.
Then she pulled a wool coat around herself and used the bedpost for support as she stood.
She quietly opened the cottage door.
Miller Farm was especially still at night.
There was no longer any movement from the kitchens, barn, or animal shed.
Only the old horse occasionally snorted softly somewhere in the darkness.
Elena stepped outside the old orchard cottage and slowly followed the familiar path across the farm.
She passed the stone wall and crossed the quiet yard before reaching the main farmhouse.
The spare room where Thomas had been placed was on the quieter side of the building.
Its door had not been fully closed.
Elena gave it a gentle push, and it opened without a sound.
Dim lamplight spilled through the doorway.
The room was small and sparsely furnished.
Thomas still lay flat on the wooden bed, his eyes closed, showing no sign of waking.
Martha sat on a low wooden chair beside him, leaning slightly forward.
One hand held her husband’s while the other occasionally rose to wipe the tears from her face.
An old wooden table stood beside the bed.
There was nothing on it except a single oil lamp.
The wick had been turned low.
Its tiny flame flickered gently, barely illuminating the area around the bed while the rest of the room remained covered in shadow.
Elena stepped inside quietly and pulled the door nearly closed behind her.
Martha must have been completely exhausted.
She had cried for hours and had been sitting beside her husband for so long that she did not immediately notice her daughter entering the room.
It was only when Elena reached the bedside that Martha finally looked up.
“Elena?”
Her voice was so hoarse that it barely sounded like her usual voice.
Her eyes were red and swollen, and exhaustion showed clearly on her face.
Yet the moment she saw her daughter, she instinctively frowned.
“Why are you still awake this late?”
“You’ve only just started feeling better.
It’s cold tonight.
Why did you come out again?”
Elena looked at her.
“I couldn’t sleep.
I wanted to see Papa.”
Martha paused.
Perhaps it was the first time she had ever heard her daughter say the word Papa so naturally.
Something complicated passed through her eyes, but in the end, she said nothing and simply nodded.
Elena moved closer to the bed.
Under the weak light of the oil lamp, she carefully studied the unconscious man.
The blood had already been cleaned from Thomas’s face, but it was still obvious that he had been badly hurt.
There were scrapes along his temple and cheek, as well as a dark bruise near his chin.
The blood loss had left him frighteningly pale, and even his lips had little color.
Fortunately, his breathing remained steady.
His legs, which had suffered the worst injuries, had already been treated by Dr.
Brown.
The injured areas had been wrapped and immobilized with cloth, with folded pieces of old fabric placed around them for support.
From the outside, Elena could not see exactly what lay beneath the bandages.
She stared at them for a moment, her brows drawing together.
The injuries were clearly serious.
Even without considering whether Thomas would ever fully recover the use of his legs, the blood loss and other injuries alone would probably keep him in bed for a long time.
And all of this had happened because he had gone to Greenwood that morning to find a doctor and medicine for her.
Elena looked at Thomas’s pale face, and something inside her slowly grew heavy.
Yesterday’s accident had not been her fault.
The original Elena had only been carrying lunch to the wheat fields when a wagon came racing toward her.
In her panic, she had stepped onto loose earth at the edge of the slope and fallen, striking her head.
No matter how one looked at it, Thomas’s accident today could not fairly be blamed on her.
The man lying in this bed had left home before sunrise because he had been worried about his daughter.
While Elena was lost in thought, someone gently took her hand.
She looked down.
It was Martha.
Years of housework and farm labor had left Martha’s hands rough, with thin calluses across her palms and fingertips.
Yet when she held Elena’s hand, her touch was gentle.
The moment she felt Elena’s skin, Martha frowned.
“Why are your hands so cold?”
Her attention had been entirely on her injured husband moments earlier, yet she immediately became anxious.
“Do you have a fever again?”
She lifted her other hand toward Elena’s forehead.
Elena quickly caught it.
“No fever.”
“I checked before I came out.
I’m not hot.
It’s probably just cold tonight.”
In truth, the weather was only part of the reason.
She was hungry.
The oatmeal and rye bread she had eaten at noon had long since been digested.
After the chaos that afternoon, no one had remembered to prepare supper.
And the original Elena had always had a large appetite.
Her current body might be overweight, but it was not particularly strong.
She had fallen down a slope yesterday, suffered a head injury, and spent the entire night burning with fever.
Now, with an empty stomach and little strength left, it was hardly surprising that her hands and feet became cold so easily at night.
“Come here.
Sit beside Mama.”
Martha gave her no chance to refuse.
She shifted aside and pulled another low wooden chair over from the wall, motioning for Elena to sit beside her.
Then she gathered both of Elena’s cool hands between her own and gently rubbed them.
“You’re still recovering.
You shouldn’t be wandering around at night.”
“What if you get sick again?”
Martha murmured worriedly.
Elena did not pull away.
She simply sat there and allowed Martha to warm her hands.
The warmth slowly passed from Martha’s palms into her own, gradually chasing the chill from her fingers.
After a while, Martha slipped one arm around Elena’s shoulders.
A quiet, weary sigh filled the room.
“I never dreamed something like this would happen to your father.”
She looked at Thomas, and her eyes reddened again.
“I was so frightened this afternoon.
All I could think about was your father.
I hardly paid any attention to you.”
She lowered her eyes toward Elena.
“You’re not even fully recovered yourself.
You haven’t had supper, you haven’t taken your medicine, and now your hands are freezing…”
Her voice gradually broke.
“My poor child…”
Elena lowered her eyes and remained silent for a moment.
She had not expected this.
Thomas was lying badly injured in bed, and Martha herself looked ready to collapse from exhaustion.
Yet even now, she still remembered that her daughter had missed supper.
She remembered that Elena had not taken her medicine.
Even the slightest chill in Elena’s hands was enough to make her worry that the fever had returned.
In her previous life, Elena had never been cared for like this.
She had lost her family when she was very young.
After being taken in by the organization, she had trained, carried out missions, and gradually learned to handle everything on her own.
If she became sick, she took medicine herself.
If she was injured, she treated the wound herself.
If she was exhausted, she found somewhere to rest.
Whatever happened, she dealt with it alone.
After enough years, she had stopped thinking there was anything unusual about living that way.
Yet now, on this poor country farm, inside a dim room where the family could barely afford to burn more than one oil lamp, there was someone who was barely holding herself together and still worried about whether Elena had eaten.
Someone who became anxious simply because her hands were cold.
Elena suddenly felt a faint sting behind her nose.
The feeling was unfamiliar.
She instinctively turned her face aside and blinked several times, forcing back the moisture gathering in her eyes.
When she looked back again, her expression had returned to normal.
Only her eyes looked a little brighter beneath the yellow lamplight.
“Mama, you don’t need to worry about me.”
Elena spoke softly.
“I’m sixteen.
I’m not a little child anymore.
I can take care of myself.”
Martha looked at her.
Elena continued, “You stay here and take care of Papa.
If I’m hungry, I can find something to eat.
If I’m cold, I know how to put on more clothes.
I won’t let myself get sick again.”
A trace of comfort finally appeared in Martha’s eyes.
The old Elena would never have said something like this.
She had barely been able to manage her own needs, much less comfort her parents.
But Martha’s relief did not last long.
The moment she turned and saw Thomas lying unconscious on the bed, her tears began falling again.
“But your father’s legs…”
Her voice trembled.
“Dr.
Brown said both of them are badly injured.”
“If they don’t heal…
if he can never work in the fields again…”
She could not finish.
Only her thin shoulders continued to shake.
Elena understood exactly what she was afraid of.
Their immediate family was not just Thomas, Martha, and Elena.
Elena also had two younger brothers.
Ethan was eight.
Noah was three.
A few days earlier, their maternal grandfather had taken the two boys to stay with him for a short visit, so neither of them knew what had happened yet.
If Thomas truly lost the use of his legs, it would mean far more than having an injured man to care for.
Thomas had always been one of the family’s main workers.
The heaviest work in the fields, hauling grain, repairing tools, driving the wagon, and countless other jobs that required strength all depended on him.
If he could no longer do those things, someone else would have to take over his work.
But their family of five would still need food.
Thomas would need medicine.
He would need months of care and rest.
Sooner or later, much of that burden would fall on Martha.
Elena looked at her mother’s thin frame.
She knew perfectly well that Martha could not easily carry all of it alone.
“Mama.”
Elena gently pulled her now-warm hands free, then took Martha’s hand instead.
“Don’t think about the worst outcome yet.”
Martha looked at her.
“Dr.
Brown said Papa’s legs aren’t completely beyond hope.”
Elena’s voice remained calm.
“If there’s still hope, then there’s still something we can do.”
“The most important thing right now is for Papa to wake up and regain his strength.
We can think about everything else afterward.”
Martha looked at her daughter for a long moment before finally nodding.
“All right.”
She said nothing more.
But Elena could tell that a few reassuring words had not truly eased her fears.
Dr.
Brown had already explained the situation clearly that afternoon.
If Thomas could be taken to a larger city and examined by a surgeon experienced with severe bone injuries, they might be able to determine exactly how badly his legs had been damaged.
There might even be a chance for recovery.
But the Millers were only an ordinary farming family in Oakridge Village.
Even their daily food and clothing had to be carefully rationed.
Taking a badly injured man to a distant city, finding a better doctor, and paying for treatment that might continue for weeks or months was another matter entirely.
It was not a problem that could be solved simply by saying they would find a way.
Martha clearly understood that as well.
She simply did not want to burden her daughter with those worries.
Elena had only just recovered from her fever.
After all these years, she had finally awakened from that confused state, able to speak clearly and understand what was happening around her.
Martha had waited so long for this day.
How could she bear to make Elena worry about money and her father’s injuries the moment she became well?
What Martha did not know was that Elena understood every worry she left unspoken.
Elena did not continue trying to comfort her.
Some problems could not be solved with comforting words.
When faced with a real crisis, reassurance alone changed nothing.
If she wanted to change the outcome, she needed to find an actual solution.
Her gaze returned to Thomas’s immobilized legs.
The room was too dim.
Her own body and mind had not fully recovered, and Dr.
Brown had only treated Thomas’s injuries that afternoon.
This was clearly not the time to disturb the bandages or move his legs unnecessarily.
She needed to wait for the right opportunity.
When Dr.
Brown returned in a few days to examine the injuries and change the dressings, Elena could find a way to remain nearby and see Thomas’s legs for herself.
In her previous life, her training had included emergency medicine and trauma care.
She knew how to deal with fractures, immobilization, bleeding, and other common injuries.
Of course, emergency training was no substitute for an experienced surgeon.
But it could at least help her recognize certain obvious problems.
Until she understood Thomas’s injuries more clearly, she refused to accept that a warning that he might never walk normally again meant his legs were beyond saving.
She needed to see the injuries first.
Elena quietly watched Thomas.
Since arriving in this world, she had not even had the chance to exchange a single real word with her father.
But the memories left behind by the original Elena had already shown her how deeply this man had loved his daughter.
Whenever the family divided the rye bread, Thomas sometimes broke off part of his own share and slipped it to Elena when no one was looking.
If there were eggs or cheese, he always tried to make sure she got a little more.
Other people might have called her stupid, but Thomas had never treated his daughter as a burden.
When she fell down the slope yesterday and developed a fever, he stayed awake for most of the night.
Then, before dawn this morning, he drove all the way to Greenwood to find medicine and a doctor for her.
That was how this accident had happened.
Elena remembered all of it.
Now that she had become Elena and accepted the love Thomas and Martha had always given their daughter, she would not take that love for granted.
No matter what it took, she would find a way.
At the very least, she would not give up until Thomas’s injuries had been properly assessed.
This family had already endured enough.
It could not afford to lose Thomas too.
The room gradually fell silent.
Martha remained beside the bed, holding her husband’s rough hand.
Elena sat beside her.
Neither mother nor daughter spoke again.
They simply watched the unconscious Thomas, each lost in her own thoughts.
The oil lamp continued to burn quietly on the table.
Every now and then, the tiny flame trembled when a faint draft slipped through the gap beneath the door.
Elena had no idea how much time had passed when a soft sound suddenly came from the nearly closed door.
She raised her head.
The wooden door slowly opened a crack from the outside.
Then a tall figure turned sideways and stepped into the room.