The ancient carriage groaned and protested as it made its way down the narrow road, its wooden structure trembling with each bump in the surface. Nora held onto the reins firmly, her jaw clenched as the left wheel teetered precariously. Mrs. Calloway had warned her against using it, she had mentioned that the axle was nearly broken.
Yet, Nora had been adamant.
She craved a sense of purpose. Something tangible. Something that wouldn't require her to confront her emotions, just something to repair.
As the road straightened out, the familiar sound of metal clashing drew her attention. The forge loomed ahead, veiled in smoke and the shimmering heat rising from the glowing coals inside. The aroma of ash and iron filled the air, yet strangely reassuring.
James Ashford glanced up as she arrived.
His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, and soot stained his forearms. His gaze locked with hers, steady and inscrutable.
"You've got more courage than many," he remarked, gesturing toward the carriage. "That thing is barely holding it together."
Nora stepped down, brushing off the dust from her dress. "I've noticed."
James moved closer to the wheel, crouching next to it. His fingers ran along the warped wood, inspecting the spokes as if a doctor were examining an injury.
"This side is in worse shape than I realized," he murmured.
"I was told you could take care of it."
He looked up at her. "I can. But not if you try to take it back up the hill like this."
A hint of a smile appeared on her lips. "Then I guess I'm stuck here."
An exchange occurred between them then. Fleeting. Unspoken. Not quite trust, but the beginnings of something similar.
"Bring it around to the back," he said, rising. "Let's see what can be fixed."
---
The forge's heat enveloped her as she entered, sweat already forming at the nape of her neck. Nora hung back while James retrieved his tools, kneeling by the axle with the familiar skill of someone accustomed to precision.
She observed him as he worked systematic, quiet, and concentrated. He didn't disrupt the stillness with idle chatter, and she felt a sense of relief because of it.
After some time, he spoke without glancing up. "You've been away for a long time."
"My father died," she replied. "I had matters to take care of."
He nodded. "Is that the reason you've been gone for so long?"
There was no sharpness to his inquiry, only gentle curiosity.
Nora paused. "That's the explanation people accept."
James briefly met her gaze, but he didn't push further. The silence returned, filled solely by the soft grinding of metal and the occasional scraping of a tool against wood.
Her fingertips grazed the edge of the frame, worn and jagged from time. "This was my mother's. She used to ride it down this hill when I was a child."
James hesitated, casting a glance her way.
"She shared with me once that riding it gave her a sense of control over her direction," Nora said, her voice quiet. "Even if everything else in her life suggested otherwise."
James cleaned his hands on a rag and stepped closer to stand beside her. "Repairing something doesn't always restore it to what it once was."
"No," Nora acknowledged. "But it can prevent it from deteriorating further."
Their gazes lingered for a moment longer than necessary. The warmth of the forge enveloped them, heavy with more than mere smoke.
"I'll require a few days," he finally declared, stepping back. "I'll strengthen the axle and change the wheel rim."
She nodded in response. "I appreciate it."
Nora faced the door but hesitated at the entrance.
"At the station," she said, her tone softer now. "You didn't have to show kindness. But you did."
He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "You seemed like someone who needed some stability."
Nora opened her mouth as if to respond but a voice resonated in her mind.
Lydia's voice. Frigid. Unwavering. "Some things should never be revisited."
Instead, she stepped outside, the sun hitting her face as she crossed the threshold in silence.
---
James lingered in the doorway long after she had left.
He had intended to keep her at arm's length, he had planned to. But there was something in her tone. A weary sincerity. A fissure she hadn't tried to conceal.
It disturbed him.
Because deep down, beneath the grime and scars, he recognized the feeling well.
And it had been an incredibly long time since anyone else had spoken it aloud.