The crackle of dry wood under the weight of the basket blended with the dull echo of footsteps in the stone corridor. Isak carried the bundle over his left arm with quiet dignity, his fingers red from the cold, his breath held steady. His blue uniform, trimmed with grey, was clean and well-fitted; the white shirt buttoned all the way to the collar. Though it was work attire, there was something almost ceremonial in his bearing, as if he sensed that this day, heavy with autumnal omens, would be unlike the others.

He had already lit two of the house’s hearths—one in the library, another in the smaller parlour—and was now headed to the great hall, where preparations for the wedding supper were underway. The air smelled of warm wax and freshly baked bread, but also of new perfumes, foreign to the house. The new residents, daughters of Mr. Otto’s future wife, had arrived only a few hours earlier. Isak had seen them for the first time not long ago, only from a distance.

He recalled the eldest in particular—Elvira—whom Agnes had introduced with polite, slightly forced enthusiasm. “This is Elvira,” she had said, and he, startled by the young woman’s direct gaze, had barely managed a nod before lowering his head. “He’s Isak—he takes care of my horses,” Agnes added. He had simply inclined his head slightly and, with a poorly concealed blush in his cheeks, withdrew from the hallway, wishing no one would pay him any particular attention.

The house, though beautiful, felt different that day.

After setting down the firewood, Isak stepped outside through a side door that opened into the rear courtyard, intending to take a moment of air. The grounds behind the estate stretched toward a small wooded patch, where moss clung to the thick roots of the trees and the air carried that damp scent so particular to autumn. The sun was descending slowly between the bare branches, and the light was grey and golden.

That was when he heard lighter footsteps behind him. He turned his head, curious, and found a figure he had not expected. One of the newcomers, younger than Elvira but no longer a child, had stopped a few paces away from him. She wore a thin coat, not quite suited for the chill, and her hair—though pinned up—moved slightly with the breeze. She had followed her sisters, but had lagged behind. Her eyes—curious, perhaps a little lost—watched him attentively, without mistrust, but with the restraint of someone who has yet to learn who is safe to smile at.

Out of courtesy, Isak inclined his head.

“Good day,” he said gently. His voice was steadier when speaking to animals, but there was a sincere kindness in his tone, as if he wished to ensure he would not startle her. “I’m Isak. I work here… mostly in the stables.”

She did not respond at once, but neither did she seem uncomfortable. She merely looked at him, as though expecting something more. And then, not entirely sure why—perhaps by instinct, or because her gaze was less haughty than the others’—he tilted his head slightly and asked:

“Do you know how to ride, miss?”

She shook her head with a faint motion. It was an honest no, without shame or pretension.

Isak offered the smallest of smiles. “I could teach you,” he offered, his tone as simple as the proposal itself. “There’s a calm mare—her name is Silja. I think you’d like her.”

Saying this, he lowered his gaze for a moment, as though afraid he had spoken out of turn. He tightened his fingers around the cap still in his hand and added, more quietly: “Forgive me if I am too forward. I only thought… it might be of some use.”

The wind stirred dry leaves around them. In the distance, within the house, voices echoed—some cheerful, others uncertain. Isak heard them, but paid them no mind. In that moment, with the scent of firewood in the air and the stillness of the trees around them, the only thing that mattered was whether the young lady would say yes.