"I'm a traveler on a road trip. Unfortunately, my car broke down on the highway a few miles away, and my phone has no signal at all. I followed the lights for quite a while before I found your place... Would it be possible to stay here for the night? Or even just borrow your phone to call a tow truck?"
Martha looked at the refined young man outside her door with some surprise. Ever since her husband Jonathan had died, she had been running the farm alone.
Faced with a strange young man late at night, she should, by all rights, have remained highly vigilant.
But for some reason, she sensed no malice or danger in this young man's smile.
In the end, the simple kindness of a Midwestern farmer won out over her wariness.
"Oh, you poor boy. This area is out in the middle of nowhere. It's not safe at night."
Martha opened the door all the way and stepped aside.
"Come on in. It's windy outside. The towing company closed long before now. You can make do with the guest room tonight, and I'll use the landline to call a repair shop for you first thing tomorrow."
"Thank you so much, ma'am. My name is Solomon."
Solomon bowed slightly and politely entered the house.
"Just call me Martha."
The wooden door closed, shutting out the early autumn night wind.
Orange-red flames burned in the fireplace, and the faint, sweet scent of cinnamon and apple pie filled the air.
Solomon unobtrusively surveyed his surroundings: natural wood furniture, a somewhat faded floral sofa, and several framed photographs above the fireplace.
His eyes instantly settled on one photograph. In it, a brawny teenage boy wearing glasses and a brilliant smile stood with a middle-aged couple in front of a