"The barn's behind the house," he replied, keeping his distance. "There's some clean straw and some old blankets in the corner. You can stay there until dawn."
The man bowed his head.
—May God bless you.
He disappeared into the mist with the children clutched to his chest, and Elena closed the door, trying to convince herself she'd done enough.
He poured the remaining lukewarm coffee into the coffee pot and sat down at the wooden table where he had often heard his parents discuss crops, rain, and debt. The house was too quiet, as it had always been since they had both died.
He looked out the window, towards the barn.
The wind whistled through the planks.
He thought about the children.
He thought of their small hands, their cold cheeks, the way the man protected them with his body.
He tried to sleep. He couldn't.
She tossed and turned in the sheets, imagining them lying on the damp straw as the night grew colder. Finally, with a sigh of self-displeasure, she put on her shawl, grabbed the lamp, and went out.
The barn smelled of hay and earth.
The man was sitting on the floor, the cufflinks in his lap, covering them with his worn coat. When he saw her enter, he immediately stood up.
-Lady…
"Get up," Elena said with a firmness that barely concealed her compassion. "Take the children inside. It's too cold in here. I won't be able to sleep knowing that two little ones are freezing in my barn."
The man's eyes filled with tears. He wanted to answer, but he simply nodded.
A few minutes later, the warmth of the fireplace enveloped them. Elena prepared a makeshift bed in the living room with clean blankets and old pillows. The man placed the children in it with reverent care, as if the fate of the world depended on that gesture.
Before closing her bedroom door, Elena looked once more.
Finally the three were at peace.
