3. The Boy
The Boy
Helena
Jesus said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these.”
The back door creaks open, and Eli steps inside. He gives me a nod. “Men will be in soon. Need a hand with anything?”
I slide the last of the buns into a woven basket on the island. “I think I’m all set. Thanks, though.”
Eli moves closer, surveying the spread. He takes a carrot from the vegetable tray, crunching it as he gives me a warm smile. “Looks good,” he says approvingly.
“I didn’t have much time, but no one’s ever complained about hamburgers and potatoes,” I say, setting a stack of plates at the end of the island.
“Simple is good around here,” he replies, eyes crinkling. “I’ll get washed up.”
Eli disappears down the hallway just as the low, steady thud of boots echoes up the back steps. My pulse quickens; I double-check everything one last time, forcing myself to look busy at the sink as I hear them enter.
From the corner of my eye, I watch the men file in, hanging their hats without a second glance before they gravitate toward the food. One of them breaks off from the group. He appears to be around my age with light brown hair, curious eyes, and a friendly grin that catches my attention.
“Everything looks real good, ma’am,” he says kindly, stepping closer.
I meet his gaze, matching his smile. “Thank you. If anything’s missing, let me know.”
He chuckles, extending a hand. “Will do. I’m Marcel.”
My fingers brush his in a quick handshake. “Helena.”
His eyes linger, an intensity in them I feel down to my bones. My cheeks warm under his stare until a low, gravelly voice cuts through the air.
“That’s enough, Marcel. Go eat.”
My eyes shift to Silas, standing across the island with his arms crossed, focused on Marcel.
His voice is deep and thick. The sound is like a dark cloak wrapping around you.
His presence is commanding, his jaw tight.
Marcel shifts away, making his plate quietly before joining the others at the table, leaving Silas and me in tense solitude.
Silas’s gaze pins me in place. “Don’t entertain them,” he mutters.
“He was only being polite.” I lift my chin, meeting his deep blue eyes—a stark contrast against the jet-black hair that frames his face.
I couldn’t help but notice his strong jaw and day-old stubble when I met him earlier.
Compared to the other men, he is notably tall and muscular.
His harsh demeanor is at odds with his handsome features.
“Polite doesn’t warrant conversation,” he replies flatly.
The urge to snap back flares, but before I can respond, I hear small footsteps approach.
“Ms. Helena?”
I tear my gaze away from Silas, granting myself one last defiant look, before turning to see a young boy looking up at me.
Kiran. He has his father’s dark hair but none of Silas’s storminess; his eyes are a light brown, his smile gentle.
My eyes land on the faded scar that traces along his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt collar.
I feel the pain in my own scar that spans my back as I bend to meet him, extending my hand.
“You must be Kiran.”
He shakes my hand with a shy smile. “Yes, that’s me.”
“It’s nice to meet you. Are you hungry?” He nods eagerly. “Go sit down, and I’ll bring you a plate.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replies, heading toward the table.
“Wash your hands, son,” Silas directs, his tone softening.
“Yes, sir.” Kiran heads to the sink, water splashing as he washes up.
Silas reaches for a plate beside me, filling it in silence as I prepare Kiran’s.
When he’s done, he takes the plate from my hands, carrying it to Kiran before sitting at the head of the table, a wordless command in his every move.
The men fall into a steady rhythm, the quiet broken only by Eli and Marcel’s easy conversation with Kiran.
From where I stand, I watch Silas—his gaze often drifts to the boy, the corner of his mouth upturning occasionally.
In the light of the kitchen, his silhouette cuts a shadow as dark and rough as the mountains surrounding this place.
And though he hardly looks my way, a tension hums in the space between us, an unspoken warning woven into the silence.
I start a pot of coffee as the men finish their meal.
Collecting the used plates, I slip into the quiet rhythm of washing dishes, then tuck the leftover food into the refrigerator.
One by one, the men fill their thermoses with coffee and head outside without so much as a nod, except for Marcel, who flashes a quick, simple smile before he steps out.
Kiran pads over to the sink with his empty plate, his eyes bright as he hands it to me. “Lunch was good, Ms. Helena.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Kiran. ”
Silas approaches next, his presence filling the kitchen. He hands me his plate. “Come sit with us at the table.”
I dry my hands, pour myself a cup of coffee, and follow him, sitting beside him at the wooden table. Kiran watches us curiously from his seat. Silas leans back, focusing on his son with a calm intensity that charges the air.
“Kiran,” he begins, his voice low. “Ms. Helena is here to help us for the summer. She’ll work with you on your schoolwork, keep your learning steady.”
Kiran shifts, glancing between the two of us. “Okay.”
Silas’s gaze sharpens, holding the boy’s attention. “You’re to mind her, show her respect. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Kiran replies, nodding.
Silas turns to me. “You’ll only need to prepare lunch and dinner. The men can handle breakfast. Let Eli know what you need; he places the orders for the ranch every Thursday. Weekends and holidays are yours and, of course, you’ll be compensated as the paperwork from the agency states.”
“That sounds fair,” I reply.
“Kiran, any questions for Ms. Helena?” Silas asks.
Kiran hesitates, then looks up at me, curious. “Where’s your family, Ms. Helena?”
My smile softens, though I feel the faint ache of memory. “I don’t really have a family anymore, so I help families like yours.”
His face falls a little, but he nods, thoughtful. “Oh.”
“May I ask you a question?” I say, trying to bring back his smile.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your favorite animal?”
His face lights up, the shadow of sadness forgotten. “Tigers. I learned about them in a lesson once. They’re strong.”
“Good choice.” I grin, glancing at Silas. “That’s all I have for now.”
“Head back to the shop, Kiran,” Silas says, tipping his head toward the door.
“Yes, sir. Bye, Ms. Helena!” Kiran grabs his coat and darts outside, his footsteps echoing in the cold silence that settles in his absence.
I turn back to Silas, and his gaze feels heavier now, his eyes fixed on me as if searching for answers before he speaks.
“I’d like for you to work out a structure for Kiran.
Ruth could only teach him a couple days a week, so he spends most of his time out with Marcel, fixing trucks or mending fences. ”
“Has he ever been to school?” I wonder, studying his face.
“No, with the work around the ranch, we opted for homeschooling.” His expression softens, a rare flicker of something vulnerable breaking through. “He’s curious, but he needs the right focus. If you run into trouble, let me know.”
“I will,” I reply, holding his gaze as I take a slow sip of coffee.
After a moment, his voice drops, quiet and probing. “What happened to your family?”
My eyes raise to meet his. “They passed away in a fire.”
He nods slowly, his eyes darkening. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He leans back, regarding me with an assessing gaze. “If you need anything, Eli or I can help. But I best get back outside.”
“Thank you.”
As he leaves, I watch from the window as he fixes his hat, his strides steady as he walks toward the paddock, each step heavy, shadowed by the endless fields and winter-bare trees.
His world is harsh, uncompromising, like the land itself.
Just horses, cattle, and the quiet, raw honesty of survival.
After he disappears from view, I rummage through the freezer, finding four chickens to defrost for tonight’s dinner.
I start a list in my mind of everything I need to get settled.
Inventory of the pantry, cleaning schedule, meal rotation, and revise some lesson plans to be suitable for a six year old. I have my work cut out for me.