Ingred waited for the crowd to thin. Then he approached.
"I need wood," he said.
Croft stared at her for a long time. His expression was unreadable.
"You're alive," he said.
"YES."
"I heard about Arnison. He said you saved his life. He said your cabin was warm enough to bring him back to life." Croft paused. "He said you lined the walls with sheep's wool."
"Yes, I did."
Croft was a calm man.
"The old Hendrickson property," he said finally. "Twenty miles north of town. The family left in November, back to Minnesota. Their woodpile is still there. Three cords, maybe four. No one's claimed it."
Ingred stared at him. "I can't pay for four cords."
"I know."
Croft took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt. "Consider it a credit. You can pay me back in wool next fall. At market price."
"Why?"
Croft put his glasses back on and looked her straight in the eye.
"Because I told you you'd freeze to death. And you didn't. Because everyone I know with more resources and more possibilities is dead or ruined, and you're here in my shop begging for wood to get through the winter." He shook his head slowly. "I've been in this area for 18 years. I've seen a lot of people trying to survive. Most fail. Those who don't..." He paused. "Those who don't usually have money, family, or fortune. You have none of that. You just have sheep, stubbornness, and an idea that should have killed you."
He looked at the wall as if he saw something beyond it.
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