The woman lowered her eyes.
For a brief moment, she appeared deeply moved.
Then she took a small bite of the sandwich.
Andre looked toward the west.
The sky remained clear, but the wind had begun to move faster across the plain.
“We should get going before it gets colder.”
She nodded.
“Could you tell me the way?”
“I’ll take you.”
“Oh, you needn’t do that.
You’ve already been very kind.”
Andre lifted the bicycle from the fence.
“Road’s easier when somebody knows where they’re going.”
The woman gave a quiet laugh.
“That is certainly true.”
They began walking together.
Andre pushed the bicycle on her left while she walked carefully beside him.
Whenever they reached a patch of ice, he slowed and offered his arm, making sure she could keep her balance without feeling helpless.
The road stretched before them, pale beneath the afternoon sun.
For a time, they said little.
The woman seemed content simply to listen to the clicking chain and the distant sound of cattle moving somewhere beyond the hills.
After several minutes, she looked at the bicycle.
“How old is that?”
“Older than I am, I think.”
“Does it belong to you?”
Andre glanced down at the faded frame.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“And she gave it to you?”
He shook his head.
“She passed away last spring.”
The woman looked at him with sudden tenderness.
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded.
“Thank you.”
There was no way to explain how much he missed her without saying too much to someone he had only just met.
Yet the woman did not hurry him.
She simply continued walking at his side.
After a while, she asked, “What was she like?”
Andre looked toward the distant mountains.
“She was always busy.
Even when she was tired, she’d find something somebody needed.”
“That sounds like a generous woman.”
“She was.”
He adjusted his grip on the handlebars.
“Sometimes I used to get angry with her for giving things away.
We’d have barely enough bread for breakfast, and she’d hear about another family struggling and send half of it over.”
The old woman listened carefully.
“Did you ever ask her why?”
“All the time.”
“What did she say?”
Andre smiled faintly.
“She said an empty plate was easier to fill than an empty heart.”
The woman stopped walking.
Andre turned toward her.
“Are you all right?”
She nodded, though her expression had changed.
“Yes.
That is a beautiful thing to say.”
He looked at the bicycle again.
“I didn’t understand it much when I was younger.”
“And now?”
He considered the question.
“I think I understand it a little better.”
They resumed walking.
The woman introduced herself as Evelyn.
She did not mention a surname, and Andre did not think to ask for one.
Out on a lonely winter road, names seemed less important than the simple fact that they were both trying to reach town before nightfall.
She explained that she had arrived earlier that day and wanted to visit a place she remembered from her youth.
“Things have changed more than I expected,” she admitted.
“Town grows a little every year.”
“It does.”
She looked across the fields.
“But the land seems much the same.”
Andre followed her gaze.
The hills were bare, the fences uneven, and a few scattered ranch buildings stood against the enormous sky.
To him, the view was familiar enough to seem ordinary, but Evelyn looked at it as though she were seeing something precious.
“Did you live around here?” he asked.
“A long time ago.”
“On a ranch?”
“A little farm west of town.
My father planted wheat, and my mother kept a garden that never seemed to know when to give up.”
Andre laughed.
“Sounds like my mother’s flowers.”
“She loved flowers?”
“Very much.
Even when the soil was bad.”
Evelyn smiled.
“My mother used to say the earth rewarded patience.”
“Mine used to say that about people.”
They exchanged a look, and something warm passed between them.
Neither knew much about the other’s life, but both understood what it meant to carry the words of someone who was gone.
They reached a narrow section of road where snow had melted and frozen again beneath the shade of several trees.
Andre stepped ahead.
“Take my hand here.”
Evelyn obeyed.
As she placed her foot on the icy ground, her shoe slipped sideways.
Andre quickly caught her elbow and steadied her before she could lose her balance.
She let out a startled breath.
“Oh, my goodness.”
“Easy.
I’ve got you.”
For a moment she leaned against his arm.
When she regained her footing, she looked embarrassed.
“I’m afraid I’m causing you trouble.”
Andre shook his head.
“You’re not.”
“You must have work to return to.”
He hesitated.
That was all the answer she needed.
“Then I really should insist that you go.”
Andre looked toward town, still hidden behind the ridge.
Mr.
Sullivan would soon be expecting him.
The promised work might already have been given to somebody else, and the little wooden box at home would remain just as nearly empty as it had been that morning.
He thought of Willa sitting beside the stove, waiting for him to return.
Then he looked at Evelyn’s tired face and her thin coat.
“Work can wait a little,” he said.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone.”
She held his gaze.
There was something in her expression that Andre could not quite understand.
Gratitude, certainly, but also a kind of sadness.
“You’re very much like your mother, aren’t you?”
He looked away.
“I hope so.”
They continued along the road.
The wind grew stronger as the afternoon faded.
Andre moved to the side facing the open plains so that his body shielded Evelyn from the worst of it, and when they came to a gentle rise, he slowed without being asked.
She noticed all of it.
The way he checked the ground before she stepped onto it.
The way he pretended not to see her growing exhaustion.
The way he spoke about ordinary things whenever her breathing became difficult, giving her time to recover without drawing attention to her weakness.