“After we finish eating, Mama still has to clean up the kitchen.
The weather is nice this afternoon, so once I’m done, I’ll help you outside for a little while.
You’ve been lying in this room all night.
Some sunlight will do you good.”
As Martha spoke, she tore off a small piece of rye bread.
She had barely taken two bites before she instinctively began pushing some of the remaining beans on her plate toward Elena.
Elena noticed immediately and moved her own plate out of reach.
“Didn’t we already agree?
You eat your own food.
You’re not allowed to give it to me.”
Martha paused.
Seeing how serious her daughter looked, she could only pull the plate back.
“All right.
I won’t give you any.
Whatever you say.”
Only then did Elena nod in satisfaction.
“I’ll go outside with you later.”
Since arriving in this world, she had spent most of her time lying in this small bedroom.
She had caught a glimpse of the old orchard cottage and its surroundings through the open door earlier, but that was hardly the same as actually going outside.
Her fever was gone now.
Although her body was still weak, a little movement should not hurt.
It would also give her a chance to become familiar with her surroundings and see what kind of place she would be living in from now on.
The two continued eating.
Before long, Elena’s bowl of oatmeal was empty.
Only a small piece remained from the two slices of rye bread, and she had finished every last bit of the stewed beans and cabbage.
She put down her wooden spoon and looked at the empty bowl.
A moment later, she realized something.
She was still hungry.
In her previous life, what she had just eaten would have been enough for a full meal.
But in this body, all she felt was that her stomach was no longer completely empty.
She was nowhere near full.
The original Elena’s appetite really was impressive.
“Still hungry?”
Martha needed only one look at the empty bowl to know.
She had raised Elena since birth.
Naturally, she knew exactly how much her daughter usually ate.
Without thinking, Martha picked up the small piece of rye bread left on her own plate and held it out.
“Mama still has some.
You can have it.”
“No.
I’m full.”
Elena quickly stopped her.
Martha clearly did not believe her.
“Really?”
“Really.”
Elena nodded firmly.
To prove it, she even patted her stomach.
“If I eat any more, my stomach might burst.”
The moment she did, however, her palm sank into the thick softness around her waist.
Elena’s expression became slightly strange.
She looked down.
Through the rough fabric of her dress, she casually pinched her side.
Soft flesh filled her fingers.
Until now, she had spent most of her time lying weakly in bed.
She knew the original Elena was overweight, but she had not truly understood just how much.
Now that she was sitting upright and had actually felt her waist for herself, the reality became much clearer.
No wonder getting up from the floor earlier had taken so much effort.
What Elena found harder to understand was how someone from a family that lived this frugally, eating such simple food every day, had managed to become this heavy.
She searched through the memories that had recently returned.
The answer came quickly.
The original Elena had always eaten more than most people.
Her parents adored her.
Whenever the household had eggs, cheese, or slightly softer white bread, they would try to save a little extra for her.
Even when the family divided up rye bread and oatmeal, Martha and Thomas often quietly gave part of their own portions to their daughter.
On top of that, because of Elena’s condition, she rarely went into the wheat fields with the rest of the family.
She simply did not move as much as everyone else.
She ate more and worked less.
Over time, the result was inevitable.
Elena quietly withdrew her hand.
Once her body had fully recovered, she would have to start doing something about her weight.
Not simply because of how she looked.
Her current size was already affecting her movement.
In her previous life, Elena had been accustomed to a body that was fast, agile, and responsive.
Now even getting out of bed took effort.
She found the difference extremely uncomfortable.
But this was hardly the time to think about losing weight.
She had fallen down a slope only yesterday, injured her head, and spent the night burning with fever.
Her body needed to recover first.
Anything else could wait.
Once mother and daughter finished lunch, Martha gathered the bowls and plates before taking a thicker wool coat from the old wooden cabinet.
Elena was wearing a faded old dress.
It was simple, loose around the waist, and long enough to reach her ankles.
Several carefully stitched repairs could be seen along the sleeves and sides.
Martha helped her into the coat, then bent down to put on her worn brown leather shoes.
The leather was deeply creased, and the soles had clearly been repaired before, but they were still usable.
“There’s a breeze outside.
Your fever has only just gone down, so you can’t stay out for too long.”
Martha straightened Elena’s collar.
“I know.”
Elena answered obediently.
Hearing such a clear response brought another smile to Martha’s face.
She carried the used dishes out of the bedroom and went to clean the kitchen.
Before long, footsteps sounded on the wooden floor again.
When Martha returned, she was carrying a short old wooden stool.
The stool had clearly been around for years.
Its seat had been worn smooth, and one of its legs was slightly shorter than the others.
Martha found a flat piece of stone and placed it beneath the short leg before pressing down on the seat a few times.
The stool wobbled.
She adjusted the stone and tried again.
Once she was satisfied that it was finally stable, she folded an old piece of wool cloth and laid it across the seat.
Elena watched the entire process from the bed.
Her gaze lingered on the repaired stool leg for an extra two seconds.
“All right.”
Martha, completely unaware of her daughter’s complicated expression, came over and took her arm.
“Mama will help you outside.”
“Okay.”
Elena did not refuse.
This body was still weak.
There was no reason to prove anything and risk falling again.
The two slowly left the bedroom.
Afternoon sunlight streamed through the open cottage door, bright enough that Elena instinctively narrowed her eyes.
Once her vision adjusted, she followed Martha outside for the first time.
The old orchard and the western side of Miller Farm opened before her.
The cottage was even older than it had looked from inside.
Its gray-brown stone walls had endured years of wind and rain.
Much of the mortar between the stones had worn away, and several sections had clearly been repaired.
The sloping roof was covered in dark wooden shingles of different ages.
Near the chimney, several newer pieces were noticeably lighter than the rest.
The kitchen occupied one side of the cottage.
Neatly chopped firewood was stacked against the outside wall beneath a simple wooden shelter that kept off the rain.
Beyond the cottage, the old orchard stretched across this part of Miller Farm.
Several hens wandered near the wooden fence, occasionally pecking at grass seeds and insects in the dirt.
The ground in front of the cottage had been packed hard by years of footsteps.
Small stones were scattered throughout the earth.
There was no high wall around the property, only a low stone boundary and simple wooden fencing.
Farther beyond the orchard stretched fields of ripe wheat.
Golden heads of grain swayed in waves beneath the autumn wind.
From where she stood, Elena could also make out the main farmhouse and the farm buildings farther across Miller Farm.
Near them stood the barn and animal shed.
An old wooden cart was already loaded with rope, empty grain sacks, and several sickles for the afternoon’s work.
The old horse that pulled it stood near a stone water trough, drinking slowly.
Farther away, Elena could make out the rooftops of other farmhouses in Oakridge Village, along with the low gray bell tower of the church.
A cool breeze blew across her face.
The air carried the mixed scents of dry grass, soil, firewood, and grain.
Elena took a deep breath.
Even the lingering heaviness in her head seemed to clear a little.
It really was much more comfortable outside.
The autumn sunlight was warm without being harsh.
Elena narrowed her eyes contentedly and rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen the stiffness from spending so long in bed.
Just then, a startled cry came from farther across the farm.
“Good Lord!”
A second later came a loud crash.
A wooden bucket hit the ground, spilling dirty dishwater everywhere.
Elena turned toward the sound.
A middle-aged woman of around forty stood near the main farmhouse kitchen.
She was of average build and wore a faded dark dress beneath a linen apron.
Both were marked with the stains of housework, and several uneven patches had been sewn onto her sleeves.
Her hair had been loosely pinned behind her head.
Several damp strands clung to the sides of her face, and there was even a streak of soot across her right cheek.
At that moment, she was staring directly at Elena in disbelief.
Clearly, she had not expected the girl who had been lying in bed with a terrible fever yesterday to be walking outside today.
“You…”
The woman stared for several seconds before finally managing to say her name.
“Elena?”
At the same time, the original Elena’s memories stirred.
Elena quickly recognized her.
Bertha Miller.
Her eldest uncle’s wife.
“Her fever’s gone, Bertha.”
Martha quickly explained.
“The doctor said she’d start getting better once the fever came down.
The sun is nice today, so I thought I’d help her outside to sit for a little while.”
Bertha glanced down at the overturned bucket, then back at Elena.
“When they carried her home yesterday, she barely responded.
I thought…”
She stopped halfway.
Perhaps she realized that whatever she had been about to say would sound unlucky, because she did not finish the sentence.
Still, she could not stop looking Elena up and down.
Her startled shout had apparently been loud enough to carry into the main farmhouse.
An irritated voice soon came from inside.
“Bertha, what are you shouting about now?”
A wooden window near the main room swung open.
Agnes appeared with a dark expression.
She quickly noticed Elena standing beside Martha.
The old woman paused too, but recovered almost immediately.
“She’s awake.
So what?
Didn’t the doctor say yesterday that once the fever came down, she probably wouldn’t be in serious danger?”
Then she turned her attention to Martha, frowning.
“She only just got over the fever.
Why aren’t you keeping her in bed?”
Martha quickly explained.
“She was lying down all night.
The weather is good today, so I thought I’d let her sit outside for a little while.
We won’t stay long.”
Agnes looked Elena over several times.
“Then don’t let her wander around.
She only fell down that slope yesterday and still has a wound on her head.
If she falls again today, this family doesn’t have money to keep sending for the doctor every other day.”
The words were hardly pleasant, but it was obvious that she was reminding Martha to be careful with Elena.
Martha understood.
“I know.
I’ll watch her.”
Only then did Agnes stop complaining.
Her gaze lingered on Elena for another moment before she closed the window again.
Bertha had finally recovered from her surprise as well.
She glanced at the bucket on the ground, muttered something under her breath, and bent down to pick it up.
Martha turned toward Elena.
“You’re still weak.
You shouldn’t stand too long.
Let’s get you sitting down.”
“All right.”
Elena followed her gaze toward the old wooden stool beside the stone wall.
Her steps slowed.
She looked at the stool.
Then down at herself.
Finally, her eyes settled on the short leg balanced on that small piece of stone.
really hold her?
The thought had barely crossed her mind when Martha had already helped her over to it.
Elena did not sit immediately.
Instead, she pressed one hand against the seat.
The stool gave a slight wobble.
She fell silent.
Martha did not seem concerned.
She assumed Elena was only worried that it might tip over.
“Mama already fixed it.
It won’t fall.”
Elena looked at the questionable leg one more time.
In the end, she carefully turned around and slowly lowered herself onto the stool.
At first, nothing happened.
The stool was old, but it held her.
Elena quietly relaxed.
Perhaps she had been worrying for nothing.
Then—
Crack.
Elena froze.
Very slowly, she looked down.
Crack.
This time, Martha heard it too.
Mother and daughter both looked at the unfortunate stool beneath Elena.
The next moment, the stone beneath the short leg suddenly slipped out.
The entire stool lurched violently to one side.
“Elena!”
Martha’s face changed as she reached for her.
But Elena reacted faster.
The instant her balance shifted, years of training from her previous life took over before she could even think.
One foot shot out to the side.
At the same time, she planted a hand against the nearby stone wall.
Using both for support, she shifted her weight and forced herself upright just before the stool completely overturned.
Bang!
The wooden stool crashed onto the ground.
One of its already-weakened legs finally split apart.
Elena looked down at what was now a three-legged stool.
For a moment, she said nothing.
She had just been wondering whether she might break it by sitting on it.
Now…
Technically, she had not broken it with her weight.
But the difference somehow did not feel very important.
The corner of Elena’s mouth twitched.
Martha could not have cared less about the stool.
“Elena, are you all right?”
She hurried over and grabbed her daughter’s arm, immediately checking her from head to toe.
“Did you hurt yourself?
Does your hand hurt?
Did you twist your ankle?
Let Mama see.”
Elena was about to tell her she was fine when she caught sight of Bertha near the main farmhouse.
The woman was still holding the bucket she had just picked up.
And she was staring at Elena with a strange expression.
Elena’s thoughts sharpened immediately.
Damn.
She had almost forgotten what she had asked Martha to keep secret.
The original Elena had been heavy, clumsy, and slow to react.
If something like this had happened before, she would never have managed to plant her foot, catch herself against the wall, and regain her balance in time.
Most likely, she would still have been trying to understand what was happening when both she and the stool hit the ground.
What Elena had just done had been pure instinct.
She had reacted too quickly.
Realizing this, Elena swallowed the words I’m fine before they could leave her mouth.
Her expression changed almost immediately.
Her lips trembled slightly, and a confused, frightened look appeared in her eyes.
Then she wrapped her arms around Martha and shrank into her mother’s embrace.
“Mama…”
She deliberately made her voice less clear.
“Scared…”
At first, Martha did not understand.
She thought Elena had genuinely been frightened and immediately hugged her.
“It’s all right.
It’s all right.
Mama’s here.”
Then Elena used the movement of leaning against her to tap Martha twice lightly on the back.
When Bertha could not see her face, Elena lifted her eyes and quickly winked.
Martha finally understood.
She remembered what she had promised upstairs.
No one else was supposed to know that Elena had recovered.
Martha immediately played along, gently patting her daughter’s back the way she used to.
“Don’t be scared.
It was only the stool.
You didn’t fall, so everything’s fine.”
Bertha watched them for a while.
The suspicion that had begun to appear on her face gradually faded.
What happened just now had probably been nothing more than luck.
After all, Elena still seemed exactly the same as before.
One little scare, and all she knew how to do was hide in her mother’s arms.
Bertha soon lost interest.
She picked up the bucket and went back toward the main farmhouse.
Only after Bertha had moved away did Elena relax slightly.
Still, she did not immediately lift her head from Martha’s shoulder.
She had only been outside for a short while, yet she had already met her aunt Bertha and gained a clearer understanding of Agnes’s attitude toward her.
There were still plenty of other people in the Miller family she had yet to properly meet.
But there was no hurry.
They all lived on the same farm.
Sooner or later, she would have the chance to observe them one by one.
The old Elena had never known how to study the people around her.
She had never understood the meaning hidden behind their words.
But Elena was different now.
She could see.
She could understand.
For the moment, she simply had to learn one thing— how to pretend that she couldn’t.