Tala watched from the porch.

He worked slowly, hammering nails into warped wooden posts.

The summer drought had damaged several sections, and coyotes had begun entering the property at night.

After an hour, Tala approached.

She pointed toward one of the posts.

Daniel frowned.

“Something wrong?”

She knelt beside the wood and examined the ground.

Then she pointed toward a cluster of trees farther uphill.

Daniel followed her gaze.

“Those?”

She nodded.

He understood that she wanted different wood.

He shook his head.

“Too far. And I haven’t got a proper saw.”

Tala picked up a broken piece of fencing.

She bent it between her hands.

The dry wood snapped easily.

Then she pointed toward the distant trees again.

Daniel looked at the broken wood.

He sighed.

“All right. Show me.”

They spent the afternoon cutting young branches from a stand of hardy desert trees.

Tala selected the strongest pieces.

She showed Daniel how to brace them against stones and secure them with strips of rawhide.

The resulting fence looked strange.

But it was stronger than the original.

Daniel tested one section with his shoulder.

It barely moved.

He turned toward Tala.

“Where did you learn that?”

She looked toward the mountains.

“Home.”

The word carried more meaning than Daniel could understand.

He did not ask further.

Over the next several days, a quiet routine developed.

Daniel worked the fields.

Tala helped when she chose.

Sometimes she disappeared into the hills for hours and returned carrying roots, berries, or medicinal plants.

At first, Daniel worried.

Then he realized she always came back.

That knowledge affected him more deeply than he expected.

She was free to leave.

Yet each evening, she returned.

One afternoon, Tala found Daniel struggling with the old windmill.

The mechanism had seized, leaving the water trough nearly empty.

Daniel had been trying to repair it for two days.

He stood beneath the tower, staring at the broken gears.

“Stubborn piece of iron,” he muttered.

Tala approached.

She examined the mechanism.

Then she pointed toward a narrow metal pin.

Daniel shook his head.

“Already tried that.”

She pointed again.

He handed her the wrench.

She loosened the pin, removed a bent washer, and turned it over.

Then she replaced the pieces.

Daniel climbed the ladder and tested the mechanism.

The windmill groaned.

Its blades turned.

Water began flowing into the trough.

Daniel stared in disbelief.

Then he laughed.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Tala crossed her arms.

“Good?”

“Very good.”

He looked toward the sky.

“Rebecca, if you’re watching, I hope you’re enjoying this.”

Tala heard the unfamiliar name.

“Rebecca?”

Daniel’s smile faded.

He climbed down slowly.

“My wife.”

Tala watched him.

“Where?”

Daniel looked toward the small hill behind the house.

There, beneath an old oak tree, stood a wooden cross.

He pointed.

Tala followed his gaze.

Understanding passed across her face.

“Dead?”

Daniel nodded.

“Six years.”

Tala lowered her eyes.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then she placed her hand lightly against his arm.

It was a small gesture.

But Daniel felt its warmth long after she withdrew.

That evening, Tala prepared supper.

Daniel had expected another simple meal of beans and cornbread.

Instead, he found a pot of stew simmering over the fire.

The aroma filled the house.

Tala had used dried meat, wild herbs, roots, and vegetables from the garden.

Daniel tasted a spoonful.

His eyes widened.

“Good heavens.”

Tala watched anxiously.

“Bad?”

“No. Wonderful.”

She smiled.

He ate two bowls.

For the first time in years, the kitchen felt alive.

There was conversation, even if much of it consisted of gestures and broken words.

There was laughter.

There was another person moving through the rooms.

After supper, Daniel washed the dishes while Tala sat beside the fire.

He noticed that she was studying the bookshelf.

“Can you read?” he asked.

She looked at him.

He picked up a book and opened it.

“Read.”

Tala shook her head.

He sat beside her.

“This is a book.”

“Book,” she repeated.

He pointed toward a word.

“Home.”

She studied the letters.

Then she repeated the word.

Daniel smiled.

“Would you like to learn?”

Tala considered the question.

Then she nodded.

And so their lessons began.

Each evening, Daniel taught her a few English words.

In return, Tala taught him words from her own language.

His attempts often made her laugh.

Sometimes she became frustrated with English spelling.

Daniel admitted that he did not understand half its rules either.

As the days passed, Tala’s vocabulary grew.

So did her confidence.

She began asking questions.

Why did Daniel live alone?

Why did he refuse to sell his land?

Why did he keep Rebecca’s books?

Why had he spent all his money at the auction?