The Eve Before

Chapter 5

The snow had quieted to a soft, whispering fall by the time they stepped outside. Evelyn clutched the thick woolen blanket around her shoulders, the hem of her dress brushing wet cobblestones as she walked beside Jacob. She kept her head slightly down, not wanting to meet the curious gazes she could already feel on her.

People were out now—bundled townsfolk clearing paths or chatting from stoops.

“Morning, Jacob!”

“Ah, survived the storm, did you?”

“How’s the bakery? Smelled it from three doors down!”

Jacob responded with that same open warmth. A tip of the hat here, a chuckle there. “Still standing,” he called back to one man. “And yes, the best cinnamon rolls in the county"

Evelyn felt the glances. She tried to shrink into the blanket, but it didn’t help. Her heels tapped awkwardly against the street, still damp from melting snow, they clearly weren't made for situations like this. She took them off again and tried to match his long strides

Jacob walked confidently, unbothered, until they reached a modest two-story cottage at the corner of a quiet lane. The house was charming in a way only old homes could be—its dark wooden beams etched with age, shutters painted pale blue, and smoke curling from the brick chimney. A small picket fence enclosed a garden now buried under snow. It felt like a Christmas movie and she hated it.

Before they even reached the porch, the front door flew open.

“Jacob!” a voice called out. A young girl—tall, auburn-haired, with flour-dusted sleeves—rushed down the steps. Her eyes were warm until they landed on Evelyn.

She stopped short.

“Who is she?" She whispered.

Jacob glanced at Evelyn, then back at Clara. “This is Evelyn,” he said calmly. “She needed help.”

Clara’s brows pulled together, eyes flicking between the blanket around Evelyn’s shoulders and her bare feet.

“In the snow?” she muttered. “Help from where?”

“It’s a long story,” Jacob said, brushing past her gently and opening the door wider. “We can talk inside.”

Clara stepped aside reluctantly, watching as Evelyn hesitated at the threshold.

The warmth from within drifted out—roasted herbs, the faint smell of drying wood, and something sweet. Evelyn stepped in quietly, unsure of what to do with her hands or where to look. Everything inside felt too real and too old.

Clara closed the door behind her, arms folded. “I’ll get a towel. And something warmer.”

Jacob nodded his thanks, then looked at Evelyn. “You’ll be alright here.”

She nodded, still clutching the blanket like armor.

Clara returned moments later with a thick shawl and a pair of wool socks. “You’ll catch your death like that,” she said, not unkindly this time, handing them over. “Sit. The kettle’s still hot.”

Evelyn murmured, “Thank you,” and sat on the edge of the couch, trying to take up as little space as possible.

"I'm Clara, his sister" She said as soon as Jacob left the room.

"I'm Eve... Evelyn"

"Where are you fr—"

" Enough Clara, she's had a tough night, allow her rest" Jacob said from somewhere inside the house.

Clara paused, studying Evelyn’s tired face. Then, with a small, understanding smile, she reached out and gently patted her shoulder.

“Rest a bit. I’ll get things ready.”

With that, Clara turned and left the room, the soft rustle of her skirts fading into the quiet of the house.

***

Light crept through the windowpanes, casting a golden hue across the wooden floor. Evelyn stirred, stretching slightly beneath the thick blanket, her body still aching but warm at last. For a moment, she forgot where she was—then it all came rushing back.

The storm. The bakery. Jacob. Clara.

As if to reassure her she wasn't imagining things,

Clara stepped inside, carrying a small stack of neatly folded clothes and a towel. “The bathroom’s just down the hall, second door on the left. There’s hot water on the stove. I’ll bring it in.”

Evelyn sat up, grateful and a little overwhelmed. “Thank you, Clara.”

Clara smiled again, her earlier suspicion now softened into kindness. “No trouble at all. These might be a little big on you, but they’re clean. And warm.”

She set the clothes down—a simple woolen dress, a petticoat, undergarments, and a thick knitted sweater.

“I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you need anything.”

Evelyn nodded, clutching the clothes to her chest. “I appreciate it.”

Clara offered one last reassuring smile before slipping out of the room.