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“I hope this request won’t sound too presumptuous.” She pulled her shawl more closely around her shoulders, trying to block the fierce wind.

“You won’t know if you don’t ask.” The response was both teasing and entirely sincere.

“I wondered if you might be willing to not wear your uniform tomorrow.”

He looked surprised but not offended. What a relief to know he didn’t immediately assume the worst. “It’s all the clothing I have.”

“Well, that does leave us with something of a predicament. You see, my brother fought for the Union, and he did not survive the war.” She made the explanation quickly, not entirely trusting the steadiness of her emotions connected to Josiah’s death. “My mother’s grief is still very raw, and I worry that seeing your uniform would be a painful reminder for her.”

Even beneath his thick whiskers and dirt, she could see empathy pulling at his features. “If I am making difficulties for you, I will understand. If you’d rather I go—”

“Oh, no. Not at all.” She set her hand on his arm, intending to add emphasis to her words. But the connection set her heart to a quick staccato rhythm. She snatched her hand back, confused at the unexpected frisson of awareness. After all, she didn’t even know this man.

“Then I’ll try to think of a way to not upset your mother with my appearance,” Gregory said. “And I’ll put these things away as you requested, as well as thank you for the meal.”

She smiled a bit. “Perhaps you ought to hold off thanking me until you’ve tasted it. You may consider yourself ill paid for your labor.”

“I am quite certain that will not be the case.”

For a man in such a state of dinginess, who lived from one odd job to the next, he spoke with a decidedly educated accent.

He pulled down the ladder and carried it toward the barn. Helene remained on the porch, watching him go. Everything about his appearance and situation ought to have inspired at least a little wariness. Why was it, then, that she felt pulled to him instead? There was something almost familiar about him. He’d not indicated that he knew her, and she was certain she didn’t know him.

The question spun about in her mind as she dished out a bowl of soup and spread a layer of butter on two thick slices of bread. It was not a fancy meal, but it would be filling for him. She stepped back through the door to bring it to him just as he stepped onto the porch.

She held the soup bowl and plate of bread out to him. “I would normally invite you to take your meal in the kitchen, but I’ve not yet worked out how to appease my mother’s emotions should she catch sight of you.”

He nodded his understanding. “I am sorry I don’t have anything else to wear. I truly do not wish to cause you or your mother any distress.”

As quick as a flash of lightning, Helene had an idea. “Wait here a moment,” she said and spun about, moving swiftly back into the house. She hurried up the stairs and to the trapdoor in the attic floor, then opened it and climbed the ladder that led up. She swatted at the swirls of dust twisting in the air all around her and crossed to a small trunk pushed into the corner.

The hinges protested as she lifted the lid. She’d bought the trunk and all of its contents at a rail station three years earlier. It had been abandoned, and the station manager had been happy to be rid of it for a pittance. She’d hoped the odds and ends would be useful as scrap fabric or for making a quilt. Fortunately, she and her mother had not yet cut down the man’s shirt and pair of men’s trousers inside.

She pulled them out, flicking them unfolded. A quick survey told her they’d likely be a bit too large for Gregory. But too big was far preferable to too small. They were nothing fine nor fashionable, but she felt absolutely certain he would appreciate them just the same.

Helene tucked the garments under her arm and closed the lid of the trunk once more. She had the attic shut up in no time and quickly made her way toward the stairs. She stopped in the hallway and pulled open the linen closet. She took a towel and washcloth from the shelves, then bent low to pull a cake of soap from the small bucket of them kept in the corner.

Her hands and arms full, Helene returned to the back porch. Gregory didn’t see her when she first arrived, too intent as he was on eating his soup and bread. Her heart ached at the obvious hunger in his posture. How long had he gone without a true meal?

“I have a few things,” she said, stepping over to where he sat on the back step.

His eyes met hers then dropped to the various bundles she carried.

“Please do not take this amiss, but I’ve brought you some soap.” She sat on the step. “I thought you could use a bath.”

Far from being offended, he laughed, and the sound was deep and rumbling. She couldn’t stop herself from grinning. He had a wonderful, joyous laugh.

“I am not at all offended,” he said, his tone light and amused. “Believe me, I am well aware of how bad I smell.”

She set the soap, towel, and cloth on the porch, then laid the clothes across her lap. “These are some old clothes we happen to have inherited. I am positive they will be too large for you, but it is a change of clothes, and that must be a welcome thing.”

“I haven’t worked enough to have earned a change of clothes,” he protested.

“Then consider them a loan,” she said, though she fully intended to find a way of making him keep them.

“You would do all of this for a stranger?” It was not shock nor accusation that colored his words, but an unmistakable, tender degree of approval.

She could feel her cheeks heat. Fair skin never was good at keeping secrets. Unable to account for the feelings this particular stranger inspired in her, she covered the confusion with a lighthearted reply. “I am doing it for myself, if you must know. These items mean I no longer have to endure the smell of you nor the sight of your raggedy attire.”