Martha did not answer.
Gerald sneered. “I leave for one week and come back to find you feeding gutter rats and entertaining rich strangers.”
One of the suited men stepped forward, but Tommy stopped him with a small motion.
“Mr. Hale,” Tommy said politely, “we are old acquaintances of your wife.”
Gerald laughed. “My wife doesn’t have acquaintances. She has debts.”
The words hit Martha harder than the wind. She lowered her head, used to swallowing humiliation.
But Tommy’s face changed.
“We knew her before she was your wife,” he said.
Gerald folded his arms. “And what business is that of yours?”
Tommy reached into his coat and removed an old folded paper, yellow with age. He opened it carefully.
Martha’s eyes widened.
It was a receipt. Twelve years old. Two loaves, one pot of broth, one blanket, three nights’ shelter. At the bottom, in her own handwriting, were the words:
Pay me back when life is kind to you.
Her hand flew to her mouth.
Gerald barked out a laugh. “So that’s it? You came all this way to settle a soup debt?”
“No,” Tommy said. “We came to settle a life debt.”