**When Elisa got off that train, she thought she would find a husband, but what she found was much bigger…**
When Elisa got off that train, she thought she would find a husband, but what she found was much bigger. What no one imagined was that this woman would change the lives of seven children and a man who had already stopped believing in love. Welcome to *Cuentos de Época*. Subscribe and tell me: has life ever taken you to an unexpected place that ended up being your true home? The whistle of the train cut through the dry air of the Clearwater station. Dust, smoke, and suffocating heat mingled in that place lost among barren hills and dirt roads.
Elisa tightly held the handles of her two suitcases as her heart raced as if it wanted to escape her chest. She had read that letter over and over again during the journey. It promised a modest home, a hardworking husband with rough hands but a kind heart, a safe roof, hot meals, and even some chickens that would guarantee fresh eggs every morning. It sounded like the opportunity of her life, her last chance. But when the train stopped and the doors opened with a metallic creak, no one was there waiting. No man with a hat, no horse tied to a post, no sign with her name. Only seven children in line, small and thin, some barefoot, others in worn-out shoes that seemed to inherit generations of dust and misery. Faces stained with dirt, hair tousled by the wind, and enormous eyes filled with something Elisa had never seen before. It wasn’t exactly fear or sadness; it was abandonment.
The oldest, a boy about 12 years old, held a baby wrapped in an old blanket in his arms. He stepped forward, took a deep breath, and looking her directly in the eyes, uttered the phrase that would split Elisa’s life in two: “Are you Elisa Henderson?” She could barely respond, “Yes.” Her voice trembled more than her hands. The boy looked down, pressed his lips together, and let out the words as if tearing off a bandage: “Dad died.” A heavy silence fell like an invisible thunder. Elisa felt the world tilt beneath her feet. “What? What did you say?” she stammered, almost voiceless. “He died three days ago. Snake bite. We buried him ourselves.” His tone didn’t tremble; it sounded empty, as if that phrase had been said many times in his head.
Elisa put a hand to her chest. No, it couldn’t be. Not after all, not after that journey, that letter, that promise. “It can’t be. He… he wrote to me. We were going to get married. He…” But her voice broke, choked by a knot of anguish. The boy nodded, his gaze hard and old, far too old for someone who hadn’t finished being a child. “He knew. That’s why he wrote to you when he was already sick. He said that maybe even if he wasn’t here, you would still come.” The words hit like stones. Elisa took a deep breath, looking at the others. Two eight-year-old twins were hugging tightly, as if their bodies were the only wall protecting them from the world. A smaller girl of about five held a frayed piece of fabric, pressing it against her chest as if it were a treasure. Another freckled red-haired boy, with a distrustful look, held his chin high, though his eyes shone with unshed tears. And the smallest, the baby, slept oblivious to everything, with dirty cheeks and messy hair.
“Don’t you have anyone else?” Elisa asked, feeling her throat close. The oldest shook his head. “No, we don’t.” The train behind her let out another long whistle, as if reminding her that she could still get on and leave, but her legs wouldn’t move. Her gaze remained fixed on those seven broken little faces, waiting, waiting for something they didn’t even know how to ask for. “And the house?” she asked more as a whisper than as a real question. The boy pointed beyond the hills. “It’s there. It’s not very big,” but he swallowed. “It’s all we have.”
Elisa took a breath. Her chest rose and fell as if she had run miles. “Well, I’m not very big either,” she replied with a broken smile filled with fear, doubt, and something else—something she didn’t yet understand. Without saying another word, the boy let go of the baby’s arm and took one of Elisa’s suitcases with the other hand, as if that scene had already played out in his mind many times. The other six lined up behind him in complete silence, and then they began to walk. Elisa followed him. Their footsteps crunched on the dry earth. With each meter they advanced, it pulled her further away from her old life and closer to something she didn’t even know how to name. She wasn’t coming for love, she wasn’t coming for a home, she wasn’t coming for security; she was coming because maybe life was taking her exactly where she was needed the most.
The journey from the station to the house was longer than Elisa had imagined. The dry earth creaked under her boots, and each step seemed to sink her deeper into a reality she hadn’t asked for but was beginning to feel as her own. No one spoke. The wind whistled through the dry trees, lifting little clouds of dust that stuck to their clothes and souls. The children walked in a line like little soldiers of life, used to moving forward without asking questions, without expecting answers. Elisa glanced at each of them. The oldest, carrying the baby with a confidence that no child should have. His name was Noah, he had told her. His eyes were a dark brown but had a dull shine, as if they had once shone brighter and now only embers remained. The twins held hands, taking short but firm steps. Their names were Abigail and Amelia. They were identical, but there was something in their eyes that differentiated them. One seemed tougher, the other more fragile. The smallest, about five years old, walked hugging a piece of fabric that she pressed against her chest as if her life depended on it. No one had told her name yet. The freckled boy with red hair and a constantly raised chin was named Samuel. He kept his gaze alert, as if expecting the world to throw them another blow at any moment. The sixth was Benjamin, about three years old, who walked holding onto one of the twins’ dresses, taking unsteady steps but without complaining. And finally, the baby in Noah’s arms, the smallest of all, barely opened his eyes, oblivious to the weight that life had placed on his siblings.
When they reached the top of the hill, Elisa could see the house—or what had once been one. It was smaller than she had imagined. A wooden cabin with a slanted roof, the boards bleached by the sun, and a door hanging crooked, barely held by a rusty hinge. The cracked chimney looked like it was about to collapse. A broken fence surrounded a dry plot of land where once, perhaps, there had been a garden or some animals. She didn’t step forward. She pushed the door open, which creaked as if protesting being opened, and entered without saying a word. The others followed her one by one, as if it were a well-known ritual. Elisa took a deep breath before crossing the threshold. And what she found inside squeezed her heart.
The interior was dark, with the windows covered by old rags that barely let any light through. The air smelled of ashes, dampness, and sadness. There was a rickety wooden table surrounded by mismatched benches. In the center, seven empty plates were perfectly aligned, as if someone had placed them there waiting for a miracle. Next to the fireplace, a wooden drawer served as a cradle. There, the baby she didn’t carry was carefully placed. The walls were adorned only with damp stains and some empty hooks where perhaps pots or tools once hung. In one corner, a cold wood stove. In another, a pile of worn blankets that were probably all the beds they had.
Noah dropped the suitcase to the floor with a heavy sigh. “This was Dad’s place,” he said, pointing to the only backed chair located at the head of the table. Elisa felt a knot in her throat. “So it stays empty,” she replied, lowering her voice. Noah nodded silently. Suddenly, the smallest girl, the one who hadn’t spoken the entire journey, approached, tightly holding the blanket she had with her. Her large dark eyes looked at Elisa with a mixture of distrust and hope. “I… I’m Lucy,” she said almost in a whisper. “Mom used to say that I knew how to take care of things.” Elisa crouched down to her height, stroked her cheek, and smiled, even though her heart trembled inside. “Then will you help me take care of you, okay?” Lucy nodded without letting go of her blanket.
Elisa stood up, took a deep breath, and approached the corner where the kitchen seemed to be. She opened one of the cupboards only to find it empty. Nothing—no flour, no rice, no legumes—just an old bag of salt and a jar with something that looked more like dust than sugar. She turned to the children. “What have you eaten these days?” Abigail answered without looking up. “When Dad died, Samuel caught a rabbit.” “But it’s gone now,” Samuel crossed his arms, his jaw tense as if refusing to accept that what he did was enough when deep down he knew it wasn’t.
Elisa closed her eyes, reached into her travel bag, and pulled out the only thing she had saved during the entire trip: a small piece of jerky and a handful of herbs. She had reserved it for herself in case the journey was longer than expected. But it was no longer for her. She placed a pot on the stove, filled it with water from the only bucket in the corner, awkwardly lit the fire, and began to cook, adding the meat, the herbs, and stirring as the smell gradually filled the air, changing the atmosphere. For the first time since she entered the house, it no longer smelled of sadness; it smelled of home.
The children sat around the table in complete silence. She didn’t hold the baby in her arms, rocking him gently. Abigail and Amelia held hands. Samuel kept his eyes fixed on the pot as if his life depended on it. Lucy continued hugging her blanket. Benjamin, the three-year-old, climbed onto the bench and looked at Elisa as if she were the most important person in the world. When she served the first plate, she didn’t say much. “Eat slowly. Let your stomach remember how to do it.” And they obeyed without protesting, without speaking, without looking up.
Elisa didn’t eat. She stood next to the door, watching her stomach growl. But she let it growl. That food wasn’t for her; it was for them, to let them know that for even a moment, someone—someone—had decided to stay. And while she watched them, something inside her chest began to change, something that had no name but that perhaps resembled love.
The afternoon slowly fell, painting the sky with an intense orange that mixed with violet and pink tones. From the small window of the cabin, Elisa watched as the sun disappeared behind the hills while the shadows stretched, and the wind brought a cold that seeped through every crack in the house. Inside, the atmosphere had changed. Where there had once been silence and fear, there now floated a soft murmur of spoons against plates and small satisfied sighs. It wasn’t a feast by any means, but after days of hunger, that simple broth tasted like glory.
When they finished eating, Noah stood up, took the pots, and without saying anything, went out to the well behind the house to fetch water and wash the utensils. Samuel followed him, carrying the plates. It wasn’t an order; it was simply the custom of those who knew that if they didn’t do it, no one else would. Elisa stayed inside with the twins, Lucy, Benjamin, and the baby, who slept soundly in the wooden box next to the fire. She watched the girls as they folded the blankets they would use to sleep. Their movements were clumsy but determined. There was something deeply sad about seeing such small children performing tasks that didn’t belong to them.
“Where did your dad used to sleep?” Elisa asked, looking around. Abigail pointed to a corner by the window where there was a thin mattress covered with a patched blanket. “There,” she whispered. He nodded slowly. Then he looked toward the pile of blankets stacked at the other end of the cabin. “And you all here?” Amelia replied, pointing to the floor. Lucy’s voice interrupted the moment. “Sometimes when it was very cold, we all slept together, hugging.” Elisa felt something break inside her chest. She crouched down, stroked Lucy’s tangled hair, and took a deep breath, forcing herself not to cry. Not now, not in front of them.
When Noah and Samuel returned, the sun had completely disappeared. Darkness fell quickly, and with it, a different silence. Outside, crickets chirped, and the wind shook the dry branches, making the wood of the roof creak as if it were about to collapse. She closed the door with the old wooden bar that served as a lock. Then she looked at Elisa with the seriousness of someone who knows that life doesn’t give a break. “You should stay here for the night. Tomorrow, if you want, you can leave.” Elisa looked at him intently. That phrase, although said with apparent indifference, carried an implicit plea disguised as resignation. “I’m not leaving,” she replied firmly, much firmer than she felt inside. “Not tonight, not tomorrow.”
Samuel frowned. “Really?” he asked, crossing his arms as if he couldn’t believe it. “Really,” she affirmed with a sigh. Then she added, “For now, we need to prepare where to sleep.” The twins began to spread the blankets on the floor. Lucy ran to the baby’s box to make sure he was well covered. Benjamin dragged a nearly torn pillow to the nearest corner by the fire. Elisa took off her shoes, stretched her sore muscles from the journey, and helped distribute the blankets. It wasn’t comfortable; it wasn’t enough, but it was what they had. “Tomorrow,” she said while arranging one of the blankets over the smaller ones, “we’ll see what we can do to improve this place.”
Noah, who was sitting in his father’s empty chair, stared fixedly at the fire. “Why?” he murmured suddenly. “Why didn’t you leave when you found out Dad had died?” Elisa looked at him, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say because she didn’t even have a clear answer herself. “Maybe because when I saw your faces, I understood that the reason I came wasn’t just to marry.” Samuel let out a bitter laugh. “Well, there’s not much worth it here.” Elisa stood up, crossed her arms, and looked at him seriously. “You’re wrong. There are seven things here that are worth more than anything else in this world.”
Samuel looked up, confused. “Seven?” She smiled, tired but sincere. “Yes, you.” For a second, the silence was absolute. Not even the wind dared to interrupt. Noah lowered his gaze, swallowing hard. The twins hugged each other in silence. Lucy cuddled next to the baby, stroking his little head. Benjamin, who was already fighting off sleep, let himself fall onto a blanket, closing his eyes. “Goodnight,” whispered Elisa, turning off the oil lamp. There was no response, just the sound of seven hearts beating in the middle of a night that, for the first time in a long time, didn’t feel so frightening.
The first ray of sunlight filtered through a crack in the old window, painting a golden line that crossed the dusty room. Elisa opened her eyes slowly, feeling her body stiff from sleeping on the floor but with a strange sense of calm. For a moment, she didn’t remember where she was until she turned her head and saw around her seven little bodies wrapped in patched blankets, some still breathing with that slow rhythm of deep sleep. Others, like Samuel, were already awake, sitting silently with their knees pulled up to their chests and their gaze fixed on the door. Noah was also awake, cradling the baby with automatic movements as if he had done that his whole life.
Elisa slowly sat up, rubbed her eyes, and looked around. The smell of dampness was still there, now mixed with the faint smoke from the embers still smoldering in the fireplace. “Do you always wake up this early?” she asked, breaking the silence. “No,” Samuel nodded without looking at her. “If we don’t, there’s no breakfast.” His voice was simple, like someone stating an inevitable fact. Samuel stood up and walked to the door. He opened it forcefully, letting the cold morning air sweep away some of the rancid smell from inside. “If we don’t hunt or find something today, we don’t eat,” he added, shrugging.
Elisa stood up, shook the dust off her skirt, and took a deep breath. “Then let’s see what we can do,” she said more to herself than to them, following behind Samuel and Noah. Outside, the image was even more desolate than the one she remembered from the previous afternoon. The land was dry, the fence half-fallen, and the old chicken coop was empty. Not a single chicken, just a skeleton of wood eaten away by time. In the distance, a small garden that once might have been fertile was now nothing more than cracked earth and some dried stalks. Elisa brought a hand to her forehead, breathing deeply. She felt overwhelmed, but there was something in her that wouldn’t let her sink, a strength she had never imagined possessing. “Did you ever plant anything here?” Noah asked. She nodded. “Dad, before Mom died, used to plant corn. There were also carrots and potatoes, but without water…” She shrugged. “Everything dried up.”
Samuel kicked a stone in frustration. “The rains aren’t like they used to be.” Elisa crossed her arms, looking around. “And what happened to the chickens?” She lowered her gaze. “We sold them when Mom got sick. It was the last thing we had.” She swallowed hard. “It was that or die of hunger.” Silence fell like a weight on the three of them. Only the wind dared to move, making the old wood of the empty chicken coop creak. Elisa looked toward the house, where from the window she could see the twins peering out, watching them in silence. Lucy hugged her blanket while Benjamin tried to climb the window frame to see as well. She took a deep breath, and then she said it: “This can’t go on like this.”
Noah looked at her, frowning. “And what are we supposed to do?” Elisa looked at him intently, with a determination that surprised even her. “We’re going to rebuild this place.” Samuel let out a bitter laugh. “With what?” he asked, throwing his arms open. “We have no money, no food, nothing.” “We have hands,” Elisa replied firmly. “And as long as those hands can move, we can do something.” She pressed her lips together. “This isn’t easy. It’s not just about wanting to. Here, things are tough. No one helps; no one gives anything.” She held his gaze. “Then we’ll do it alone.”
Samuel shook his head in disbelief, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did he. Both knew deep down that they had no other choice. “Today,” Elisa continued, breathing deeply, “we’re going to clean the land. We’ll pull out the weeds, fix the fence, see if that chicken coop can be raised again.” And then she looked at Noah. “You’ll show me where the well is, what tools there are, if there are any left.” He hesitated for a few seconds but finally nodded. “Okay.”
When they returned to the house, the girls were already organizing the blankets. Without saying anything to them, Elisa started giving instructions. “Abigail, Amelia, help me take out everything that doesn’t work from here. Lucy, you can help clean the table and sweep. Benjamin, you stay with the baby, okay?” Benjamin nodded as if that task made him feel important. The children didn’t protest. It wasn’t that they trusted her blindly, but there was something in her voice, in her attitude, that seemed different from everything they knew. And as the hours passed, something began to change. They pulled out the weeds, straightened part of the fence with fallen trunks, found an old rusty but useful shovel, cleaned the well that still had a bit of water, even if it was dirty.
Even Samuel, who had initially refused, ended up on the roof fixing some tiles that were about to fall. It wasn’t perfect; it wasn’t even enough. But when the sun began to set again and the house looked a little less wrecked than in the morning, they all felt the same thing. For the first time in a long time, they had done something more than survive.
The dawn came colder than usual. A cold breeze slipped through the cracks of the cabin, making the aged wood creak. Despite the work from the previous day, the place still felt fragile, as if it could collapse with the first whisper of the wind. Elisa opened her eyes upon hearing the baby’s cry. He was already awake, rocking him in her arms while the twins tried to light the stove to heat some water. Samuel, as usual, was sitting in the corner, silently observing everything with a furrowed brow, as if he were carrying a burden too heavy for his young age.
Elisa slowly sat up. Every muscle in her body ached. Sleeping on the floor and working from dawn until dusk had reminded her that her previous life was far behind. “Today,” she said as she stretched, “we’re going to look for food.” She didn’t look up. “Where? There’s nothing.” “In the town,” she replied decisively. The words left an uncomfortable silence in the air. Samuel clicked his tongue. “They won’t give us anything. The people there don’t help. They don’t care.” Elisa looked at him intently. “Then I won’t ask. I’m going to work, offer what I know how to do.” Amelia, who had remained silent until then, asked in a soft voice, “And what if they don’t want to?”
Elisa crouched down in front of her, took her small hands, and smiled, even though her heart trembled. “Then we’ll learn to do everything ourselves, but first, we’re going to try.” The girls nodded, and Noah, after a few seconds of silence, sighed. “I’ll go with you.” Samuel jumped up suddenly. “No, I’m going.” He crossed his arms. “You stay with the others. He knows how to take care of the baby better than I do.” Elisa looked at him, surprised. She hadn’t expected that from Samuel. But she understood; in his own way, he didn’t trust the world. He didn’t want her to go alone, and he didn’t want to leave the little ones unprotected. “Okay,” she agreed. “You’re coming with me.”
They prepared a small bag with the few items they could offer: a woven wicker basket, some old tools, and a couple of good-condition blankets that they could trade if necessary. Before leaving, Noah approached Elisa. “Be careful,” he said quietly. “Some in the town aren’t good.” Elisa nodded. “I know, but we have no other option.”
They walked nearly an hour to reach the town. The road was lined with barren hills, dry bushes, and twisted trees that seemed to whisper forgotten secrets carried by the wind. When they arrived, they noticed that something wasn’t right. The looks were even colder than before, the whispers more venomous. “Look at her,” murmured someone, not low enough. “The new one,” replied another, “the one who came from the train. What does she think she’s going to find here?” Samuel clenched his fists, but Elisa held his arm. “No, don’t respond.”
They approached the largest store. Behind the counter, a middle-aged man with a gruff face received them without looking up. “What do you want?” Elisa took a deep breath. “I’ve come to offer work. Cleaning, sewing, cooking, washing—whatever. We just need food.” The man looked her up and down, then glanced at Samuel and let out a sarcastic laugh. “Work? Nobody gives anything away here, ma’am.” “I’m not asking for charity,” she replied, keeping her composure. “I’m offering my hands.”
The man paused, as if considering the proposal, but then shook his head. “There’s no work for you here.” Samuel gritted his teeth. “I told you,” he murmured, filled with anger. Elisa didn’t give up. She went from store to store, knocking on every door, talking to everyone she encountered. Some ignored her, others looked at her with disdain, and one or two simply turned away before she could even finish her sentence. Just when they were about to give up, a voice stopped them.
“Are you the woman who arrived on the train?” asked an elderly woman with white hair pulled back in a bun, standing in front of the church in town. Elisa nodded, exhausted. “Yes, it’s me.” The woman looked at her for a few seconds in silence, as if trying to read something in her eyes. Then she nodded. “Follow me.”
Without fully understanding, Elisa and Samuel followed her to a small house on the outskirts of town. The garden was overgrown, but it was evident that it had once been beautiful. “I need help,” said the woman, opening the door. “My back no longer allows me to do many things. If you clean my house and tidy the garden, I can give you some food and maybe something more.” Elisa’s eyes filled with tears, but she held them back. “Thank you, really, thank you.”
The woman nodded. “Don’t thank me yet. The work will be hard.” Samuel didn’t say anything, but the tension in his body began to relax. For the first time since they set foot in that town, someone hadn’t looked at them like they were trash. And as they began to clean that overgrown garden, Elisa knew that maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.
Elisa and Samuel worked for hours, pulling weeds, sweeping dry leaves, organizing rusty tools that were scattered around the garden, and taking out bags full of old rags and useless things from the dusty interior of that house. The woman, who was named Mrs. Agnes, didn’t talk much. She moved slowly, leaning on a cane, but her eyes tracked every movement with an attention that seemed impossible for her age. She observed, evaluated, but didn’t judge. When Elisa scrubbed the wooden floor of the living room, Agnes approached, and after a few seconds of silence, asked, “Why did you stay?”
Elisa paused, squeezed the cloth between her hands, and took a deep breath before answering. “Because I couldn’t leave. When I saw those children, I understood that fate didn’t bring me here for a man; it brought me here for them.” Agnes looked at her for a few more seconds, then nodded, as if confirming what she already suspected. “You’re doing well,” she said simply before turning away.
By evening, the house was unrecognizable—not perfect, but much cleaner, organized, and above all, alive. Agnes handed them a small sack with bread, a bit of rice, some crooked carrots, and a jar of honey. It wasn’t much, but for them, it was a treasure. When Elisa was about to say goodbye, Agnes stopped her. “Take this.” She handed her a small bundle wrapped in cloth. “These are seeds. They won’t save you today, but they will tomorrow.”
Elisa took them with shining eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she whispered, pressing the package against her chest. “Don’t thank me yet. Just promise me you won’t give up.” The woman looked at her seriously. “This place is crueler than it seems.”
Samuel, who had remained silent until then, asked with a furrowed brow, “Why do you say that?” Agnes sighed, leaning more heavily on her cane. “Because there are people who can’t stand to see others rise. Believe me, they’ve already started looking at you.” Elisa felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening cold.
As they began the journey back, the silence between them was dense, filled with unspoken thoughts. Samuel carried the sack of food slung over his shoulder, glancing back as if expecting someone to follow them. “Do you think the people in town will do something?” Samuel finally broke the silence. Elisa took a deep breath. “I don’t know, but we’ll be ready.”
When they reached the top of the hill, the cabin appeared before their eyes, and something inside them ignited. The twins ran toward them with open arms, followed by Lucy, who nearly tripped in her hurry to catch up. “We’re back!” they shouted. “Did you bring food?” asked Benjamin with wide eyes. Elisa left the seeds safely inside the house and opened the sack. The children crowded around with excitement painted on their faces. Noah took the baby and cradled him while smiling for the first time in days.
“Today,” said Elisa, looking at each of them, “this house is becoming a home again.” The girls began to unload, Samuel assigned tasks without anyone asking him to, Lucy caressed the carrots as if they were jewels, and Benjamin, excited, was already asking when they would eat bread. But while the makeshift family celebrated, Noah, who remained by the door, frowned. Something moved in the distance—a figure, a shadow, not close enough to distinguish but not far enough to ignore.
Elisa called out in a tense voice, “Look!” She approached, and together they watched the silhouette of a man on horseback over on the opposite hill. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t approaching, just watching. “Who is that?” asked Samuel, who also approached, clenching his fists. “I don’t know,” Elisa replied in a low voice, feeling a chill run down her spine. The man slowly turned his horse and disappeared among the trees as if he had never been there.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. The wind rustled the dry leaves. The silence became so thick it almost hurt. Until Noah, with a hardened face, said in a low but clear voice, “They’re watching us.” And suddenly, Elisa understood something: the seeds, the bread, and the honey were just the first step because what was coming wasn’t just hunger; it was something much more dangerous.
Night fell faster than usual. A harsh, cold wind blew from the hills, making the old wood of the cabin creak. Elisa couldn’t shake the image of that figure on horseback watching them from a distance. Noah, Samuel, and she spent hours checking every corner of the house, reinforcing the door with what little they had—a fallen old plank and some bent nails. The windows were secured with logs and stacked boxes. It wasn’t much, but at least it gave the impression that they wouldn’t be caught off guard so easily.
The rest of the children sensed the change in the atmosphere. The twins no longer played or laughed; Lucy, with her blanket hugged to her chest, didn’t leave the baby’s side. Benjamin asked again and again, “Are they coming? Are they going to take us?” Elisa would crouch down, hug him tightly, and always replied the same, “No one is going to take you. No one.” But even she wasn’t sure if that was true.
Shortly after midnight, a loud bang broke the silence. Bam! The wood of the fence splintered, then another bang, and another. She didn’t peek through the window’s crack. “It’s two,” she whispered. “Two men are kicking the fence, checking.” Samuel gritted his teeth, his face hardened with rage. “I knew this would happen,” he murmured as he searched for the biggest stick he could find. Elisa took a deep breath. Her heart was pounding so hard she felt it might break her chest. She clenched her fists, approached the door, and signaled for all the children to keep quiet.
Outside, a hoarse, mocking voice rang clear as metal. “We know you’re there, woman,” said one of them. “This isn’t yours. You have no right to be here. Go back where you came from,” added another in an even more threatening tone. “This land was already promised, and no one wants a burden like you and those brats.” Elisa swallowed hard, looking at Noah, who was holding the baby tightly, then at Samuel, who was trembling—not from fear but from contained fury. “What do we do?” Noah asked in a barely audible voice.
Elisa closed her eyes for a second. Then, with a determination she never thought she’d have, she lifted her head, walked to the door, and opened it. Yes, she opened it. The two men, surprised, stood in silence for a second. They were tall, dirty, with worn-out hats and boots full of mud. One of them had a whip coiled at his waist; the other, a short knife hanging from his belt. “Do you have a problem?” Elisa asked, looking them directly in the eyes. “More than you can imagine,” replied the one with the knife. “This land was in debt. Your husband owed us a lot, and now you and those brats are occupying something that doesn’t belong to you.”
Elisa took a deep breath, standing firm. “We’re not leaving.” The other man stepped forward. “Listen, woman, we’re going to tell you only once. You have three days. Three. Either you leave here, or we drag you out. With all those brats crying behind you,” added the other with a twisted smile. Samuel stepped forward, gripping the stick so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Try it,” he spat, with rage rising in his throat. The man let out a laugh. “Look at the little mouse. You want to be a lion?”
Elisa extended an arm, blocking Samuel. “No.” Her voice was firm, almost cutting. “We’re not afraid of you.” The men exchanged glances. One spat on the ground. “Then choose well, woman. You have three days.” Without saying another word, they turned, kicked the already broken fence, and left, disappearing into the shadows of the hill. Elisa slammed the door shut, breathing heavily. She wasn’t trembling; she didn’t know if it was from fear or impotence.
Samuel threw the stick to the ground in anger. “Damn them!” he shouted. “Do they want to take everything from us?” As always, Elisa crouched down, held him by the shoulders, and forced him to look at her. “Listen to me, Samuel.” Her voice was filled with strength. “They are not going to decide what happens to us. They are not going to decide if we stay or if we leave.” Samuel was breathing heavily, his eyes filled with rage and tears. “And if they come back?”
Elisa clenched her teeth. “Then this is where we start to fight for real.” The room fell silent. They all looked at each other, fear yes, but also something new, something they didn’t know how to put into words, something that dangerously resembled hope. And while the fire in the fireplace crackled, Elisa knew with absolute certainty that there was no turning back. Not this time.
The next morning dawned heavy, with a gray sky and a wind that seemed to announce a storm. But it wasn’t just the weather. There was something in the air, a dense feeling as if the whole world was holding its breath before something big. Elisa hadn’t slept much. Her body was begging for rest, but her mind wouldn’t allow it. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the faces of those two men, the clear threat in their words, the disdain in their gazes.
While she prepared some hot water with the last pieces of wood left, Noah sat beside her, holding the baby who was babbling innocently, oblivious to the fear filling the cabin. “And now what are we going to do?” Noah asked, his voice laden with worry. Elisa looked at him, and though her heart trembled, her face remained firm. “We can’t wait around. They’re not going to give up, and neither are we.”
Samuel, who had been awake since before dawn, peeked out the window constantly like a sentinel. “I don’t see anyone, but they’re there.” “I know,” he gritted his teeth in anger. “They’re always there.” Elisa took a deep breath. “I’m going to the town.” “Alone?” Noah asked, alarmed. “No, you’re coming with me,” she said, looking at him decisively. “Samuel stays
