Page 14 of Whispers of Helena
The familiar warm and steady voice pulls me from my thoughts. I turn to find Ruth walking toward me.
I let out a small breath; the tension easing from my shoulders. “It’s nice to be out in the world,” I say, offering a small smile. “How have you been?”
“Busy as ever,” Ruth replies, adjusting the hem of her apron as if she’s just stepped off her shift. Her face is flushed, and her hair’s pulled back in a loose twist, a few strands escaping. “Sorry I haven’t made it out to see you and Kiran. Now that you’re there, I’ve finally had time to catch up on things.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” I say quickly. “Eli’s been incredibly kind and helpful.”
Ruth gives me a knowing look, one corner of her mouth pulling up in a sly smile. “My brother’s always been a sucker for a pretty face.”
Heat creeps up my neck, and I glance away, busying myself with the felt in my hands. “He’s just friendly,” I mumble.
Ruth chuckles softly but doesn’t press further. Her eyes, bright with genuine care, settle on me again. “So, everything’s going well?”
I nod, grateful for the shift in conversation. “Kiran is doing great with his lessons. It was easy to pick up where you two left off.”
“And Silas?” she asks gently, her brows drawing together. Her concern feels like a protective shield, one I hadn’t realized I needed.
I look around, ensuring no one is within earshot. “He’s...fine. Honestly, he barely acknowledges me most days.”
Ruth’s expression softens, and she reaches out, her hand warm as it rests on my arm. “That’s to be expected. He’s been a recluse for so long.” She pauses, her voice dropping. “It’s probably an adjustment for him, having a woman in the house again.”
I lower my eyes, the words striking a chord. “Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells around him,” I admit.
Ruth gives me a reassuring smile. “You’re doing good work, Helena. Just keep taking care of Kiran and stay patient. Silas is like a skittish colt. He needs time to trust again.” Her smile brightens. “Don’t give up on him yet.”
I look up at her, finding solace in her steady gaze. “I don’t give up easily, Ruth. I have a job to do, and I plan to see it through. One way or another, I’ll wear him down.”
“That’s my girl,” she says, her voice filled with pride. Her eyes soften, a touch of maternal comfort in their depths. “Don’t let him scare you off.”
I nod, bolstered by her encouragement. “I won’t.”
Ruth glances at the clock on the wall, her expression shifting. “Well, I’d better get moving. I have a couple more stops before I have to go back to the diner.”
“It was really nice to see you,” I say, meaning it.
“You too, sweetheart. Come by for breakfast one day this week, alright?”
“I’ll do that,” I promise.
With a final nod, Ruth turns and walks toward another aisle,her presence leaving a lingering warmth. I turn back to the spools of thread, more determined than before to be sure I finish what I came to this town to do.
Lessons
Helena
And all thy children shall be taught of theLord; and great shall be the peace of thy children.
Isaiah 54:13
Kiranand I spend our mornings at the kitchen island, pencils, notebooks, crayons scattered across the surface. Our time together each day is my most treasured here. He reads aloud or works through math problems while I prepare lunch, his small voice filling the room with a steady rhythm. There’s a determination in him I admire. He has a sweetness too, as he glances up now and then, hoping for praise. He thrives on it, glowing like a lightbulb when he knows he’s done well.
Today, his focus is onCharlie and the Chocolate Factory. Kiran smooths the page of his book, his brow furrowing only briefly before he begins to read aloud. His voice wavers at first, but by the time he reaches the end of the chapter, a small smile tugs at his lips. “Did I do okay?” he asks, already knowing the answer.
“You did,” I praise. There’s a warmth to him, a brightness that’s difficult to explain but impossible to ignore. I’ve grownclose to the children I’ve cared for before, but with Kiran, it’s different. It’s as if an invisible thread connects us somehow. Like we’re kindred spirits.
He closes the book and slides it aside. His composition notebook waits beside him, and he looks to me for what’s next.
“Write two sentences about what you read,” I tell him.
