Soren was clearing a space on the counter when Rowan came through the door. The lamp from yesterday stood on the repair shelf, still lit. At the far end of the shop, the larger frame had been opened across most of the bench.
Rowan laid his notebook at the clear end. Soren dried his hands before opening it, lifting the clean sheet away from the drawing. He turned the page toward the window.
“You’ve opened the lane out.”
“I went back when the light reached the upper end.”
Soren studied the page again. Rowan leaned against the counter while he looked.
“I’ve never noticed how much you can see from that seat,” Soren said. “Usually there’s someone in front of me by the time I reach it.”
“There were people yesterday.”
“You left them out?”
“They kept moving.”
“That does make them troublesome.” Soren returned the book. “Tell me when you choose another place.”
He put the drying cloth behind the counter and came back with his key. Rowan glanced toward the open frame.
“Did it hold?”
“For part of the afternoon. I’ve changed one joining. I’ll try it again when we get back.” Soren came round the counter. “Breakfast first.”
This morning they needed no directions and were not asked to move a bench. Soren chose the place beneath the window again. Rowan put his notebook clear of the dishes, and they ate while the people around them settled into the day.
Soren had a customer coming for a repair before midday. He spoke of what still needed checking and the larger frame he intended to work on afterward. Rowan told him he meant to call on Corren.
“You remember the lane?”
“Yes.”
They finished the meal without trying to fill all the time between it. At the crossing, Soren turned back toward the shop. Rowan watched him stop to let a cart through, then continued along the way they had taken yesterday.
Corren’s lane bent beyond the first few doors. Rowan had drawn the bend beneath the name in his notebook, but did not need to look. Farther up, a low wall enclosed a garden beside the house. The gate was open.
Someone stood inside with both hands resting on a wooden bench. Rowan recognized the broad back before the man straightened.
“Corren?”
He turned. For a moment his face remained intent on what he had been doing. Then he looked more closely at Rowan.
“Well. Come through.”
Rowan entered and offered his hand. Corren took it, smiling now.
“From the Pass?”
“I arrived the day before yesterday.”
“I heard someone was coming. I didn’t hear it was you.” He released Rowan’s hand and looked at the book beneath his arm. “Put that on the step. It’s dry.”
The bench stood across a narrow path between the planted ground and the house. One end had been raised on a flat piece of wood. Beyond it, the path turned toward a water barrel. Lighter marks on the paving showed where its feet had rested before.
“Have I come at a bad time?” Rowan asked.
“Only if you meant to sit down. I’m moving it under there.” Corren indicated the shade beside the wall. “I keep bringing a chair out after midday. The bench can go where I actually use it.”
Rowan set down the notebook and went to the opposite end. He looked from the bench to the shaded ground, then stepped back to judge the turn beside the house.
“This way. We can keep the legs out of the plants.”
Corren shifted his grip. Together they lifted it, set it down once to change their holds, and brought it beneath the shade. It rocked on the uneven paving. Rowan tried the wood beneath one foot, found it too thick, and held the bench while Corren brought a thinner piece from inside.
When they lowered it again, the seat held steady. Corren sat at one end and tested the other with his hand.
“Yes. That will do.”
Rowan brushed dirt from his palm. “I thought you were going to make me explain the turn before we lifted it.”
“I was watching you look.”
“Last time you asked.”
“Last time there was an anchor in the way.” Corren glanced at him. “And a good deal less room.”
Rowan laughed. He remembered the patience with which Corren had waited beside the damaged stone while he reconsidered the river approach. It had seemed the easier side until he thought about where the weight would go if the root gave.
“I kept using what you showed me there,” he said. “It saved another stone farther up that circuit.”
“Same arrangement?”
“No. Same question.”
Corren nodded and moved along the bench. Rowan fetched his notebook from the step and sat beside him. The garden wall screened most of the lane. They could hear feet passing, but had to look toward the gate to see who was there.
“Vessa said you’d gone west,” Rowan said. “I didn’t know you’d come here afterward.”
“Neither did I when I left.” Corren looked along the cleared path. “I stayed here on the way through. Found a room, then another reason not to leave it. This house came later.”
“You bought it?”
“Yes. The garden looked smaller until I had to tend it.”
Rowan glanced over the planted beds. There were stakes still to be driven along one edge and a coil of cord on the doorstep. Most of the ground had been worked recently. Close to the house, leaves had begun crowding a path scarcely wide enough for a person.
“Is all that yours?”
“No. Edda puts things in when she runs out of room next door. She assures me I’ll want them. Usually I do, though we differ about how many.”
He pointed out the patch that belonged to her, then the plants she had brought him to try. Rowan asked about one growing close to the wall. He had seen it higher up, where the ground remained damp beneath the trees. Corren had been told it preferred shade, but its leaves had begun yellowing here.
“The roots may be too warm,” Rowan said. “Where I knew it, the bank stayed cool even when the sun reached the leaves.”
Corren crouched to touch the soil. Rowan came beside him and pressed his fingers deeper beneath the surface. The earth was damp enough, warmer than he expected so close to the shaded wall.
“I watered it this morning,” Corren said.
“I don’t think it wants more. You could move one nearer the barrel and see.”
Corren looked across the garden. “She’ll object. She has plans for that end.”
“You could ask for room.”
“I could.” He stood, brushing soil from his hand. “I might show her the leaves first.”
He spoke without the patient cadence Rowan remembered from the anchor. There was a little irritation in it and something he appeared to enjoy. Rowan looked back at the plant. He could tell what he had seen in the forest, but he had never tried bringing one to a garden.
“I’d move only one,” he added.
“Yes. I’d rather not lose them all following your good advice.”
Rowan grinned. “Neither would I.”
Corren fetched water from inside, bringing a second cup without asking. He put them on the step within reach and sat down again.
“How long were you at the Pass?”
Rowan told him. The number sounded different spoken from this garden, with the station and its wet paths beyond the mountain range. He could divide those years by winters, by changes in the wardens walking beside him, by repairs that had become part of the ground. Corren remembered one of the people who had served there early in Rowan’s posting. He had met her farther west since.
“She was still complaining about a shelter roof,” he said.
“She would. We repaired it twice before taking that whole side down.”
“Did that settle it?”
“It kept the water out. She found other things.”
Corren laughed, and Rowan remembered her returning from a circuit with a pot she had lent to someone months before. He told that story while Corren drank. The borrower had filled it with stew before giving it back. She maintained that she had lent him a pot, not ordered her dinner.
“Did you ever lend her anything?” Corren asked.
“Only things I wanted back.”
They spoke of the paths changing beneath the trees and the people who noticed different parts of those changes. Corren had not worked the forest at Cresting Pass, and Rowan had to place some of it for him. He opened the notebook to a rough outline behind the new drawing. With a few marks he showed the slope above the station, the river gorge and the western circuit beyond the ridge.
Corren turned the book to put the river farther from him.
“This is where you spent most of your time?”
Rowan touched the forested reach. “Up here. The station is easier to find from the road.”
“And to get back to?”
“Sometimes. It depends where you’ve been.”
Corren looked more closely at the way down. “I’d have come round that rise.”
“You can. After rain, this way is firmer.” Rowan drew the turn that looked longer on the page and had saved him time often enough. “The water goes underneath.”
Corren followed it with his finger. “You’ve had years to learn that.”
“Yes.”
Corren studied the outline while he asked where the trees thinned. Rowan showed him the higher clearing and the sheltered hollow beyond it. He had put these places into Vessa’s account carefully before leaving. Here he found himself describing what the map would not carry: the quiet beneath the hollow’s trees after snow, the light on the upper ground when he emerged late in the afternoon.
“Would you go back?” Corren asked.
“To walk it, certainly.”
“I meant to live.”
Rowan rested the charcoal on the page. “Vessa left that open.”
“And you?”
“I’m still thinking.”
Corren let him. He looked again at the outline, then handed back the book. Rowan closed it without adding anything.
A woman came through the gate carrying a spade. She had soil on one sleeve and a folded cloth balanced across her shoulder.
“There you are,” she said to Corren. “I meant to bring this yesterday.”
She set the spade beside the barrel, then stopped at the empty stretch of path.
“You’ve moved it.”
“It’s in the shade.”
“I can get past with the basket now.” She looked at Rowan. “Did you help?”
“Yes.”
“Good. He’s been talking about that since the weather turned.”
Corren introduced him to Edda. She had lived next door long enough that the plants beyond the path were referred to simply as hers. Rowan moved his cup while she sat briefly at the other end of the bench. The seat remained steady.
“That’s better,” she said. “I’ll have to think of something else for him to complain about.”
“The plants by the wall,” Corren said.
She looked toward them. “What about them?”
“He’s seen them growing higher up.” Corren indicated Rowan. “They may want cooler ground.”
Rowan explained where he knew them. She listened, then went to look at the leaves. After checking the soil, she stood with her hands resting against her hips.
“The barrel end would do.”
“You had something planned for it,” Corren said.
“I can put that elsewhere. How much room?”
“For one,” Rowan said. “To begin with.”
She nodded and looked along the bed. By the time she left, she and Corren had agreed where to try it and which part of the path needed keeping clear. Corren asked her to bring the basket later rather than carrying everything in her arms. She told him to leave the gate open.
He watched her go and shook his head.
“What?” Rowan asked.
“I was prepared for more argument.”
“Would you prefer her to come back?”
Corren smiled. “No.”
He lifted the coil of cord from the doorstep and marked the space they had agreed on. Rowan held the far end clear of the leaves. It took very little time. Corren left the spade where it stood.
“That can be done this afternoon.”
Rowan looked toward the gate. Sunlight had begun reaching the paving there, though the bench remained shaded. He had been here longer than he intended.
“I should let you get on.”
“I’ve got on.” Corren glanced at the bench. “Come again when you’ve seen more of the place.”
“I will.”
“And tell Vessa you found me. She still sends word as if I’m likely to vanish between letters.”
Rowan smiled and picked up his book. “She’d like an answer.”
“She usually gets one.”
At the gate, Rowan paused. “Do you still take work on the lines?”
“Some. Not a circuit.” Corren rested his hand against the post. “Ask when you know what you need. I’ll tell you whether I can help.”
Rowan nodded and went out.
At the turn in the lane, Rowan stopped beside the wall and opened the notebook. Beneath Corren’s directions he added the broad hands, the garden and the way he had watched the bench move without telling Rowan how. Corren had been a teacher in Rowan’s memory. He had not thought to imagine him arguing about plants.
He wrote Edda’s name beside the neighboring gate and noted the yellowing leaves she had checked before agreeing to move anything. He left room beneath both names.
The lane brought him back toward the crossing. He recognized the courtyard Soren had shown him and the narrow street beyond it. The shop would be busy now; he continued toward the lodging, meaning to leave the notebook and repair his pack before the afternoon.
A folded note had been left for him there. Est could see him after the midday meal, if it suited him. She had given a place near the crossing and asked him to send word if he could not come.
He went upstairs with the note.
The room was warm where sunlight reached the floor. Rowan put the note on the table and took the strap from his pack. It was dry now. He opened the failed seam with the knife, cut back the frayed thread, and set the needle through sound leather.
By the time he finished, there was still time to eat. He put away the tools and placed Est’s directions inside the notebook, keeping them clear of the drawing.
Then he washed the dirt from his hands and went out again.