“I Want a Child From You” — Said the Apache Woman to the Shy Farmer

The sun climbed slowly over the New Mexico plains, warming the quiet fields that Thomas Hail tended every morning without fail. He lived a life so simple and predictable that even the birds seemed to know his routine. Wake before dawn, feed the animals, check the cornrows, speak to no one, and return to a silent wooden house he built with his own hands.

 Thomas was known in town as a shy soul, gentle to the point of disappearing in a crowd. He kept his gaze low, his voice soft, and his world small. People said he was kind, hardworking, and almost painfully humble, but too timid to ever step beyond the borders of his lonely life. That quiet life shattered the moment he saw the tracks near the edge of his field.

 They were light, precise, barefoot, otherworldly in their grace. Thomas knelt down, touching the imprint with a trembling hand. Before he could follow the trail, a sudden shift of shadow caught his eye. He froze, the air stilled. Then, from behind a fallen cedar trunk, a woman stepped out. Not just any woman, an Apache woman, tall and striking, wrapped in deer skin marked with beadwork that glinted in the morning light.

 Her presence was calm, powerful, and so unexpected that Thomas felt his heart leap inside his chest. She didn’t raise a weapon, didn’t flinch or retreat. She simply stood there steady and sure as though she had been waiting for him. Thomas tried to speak, but his throat tightened. He opened his mouth twice, no words coming out.

 The woman’s dark eyes held his with quiet confidence, studying him carefully. “You are the one they told me about,” she said finally. Her English was accented but clear, the farmer with a clean heart. Thomas blinked, confused, startled, wondering who could possibly have spoken about him to an Apache woman. He barely spoke to his neighbors.

The idea of someone talking about his heart felt unreal. Before he could gather his courage to respond, she stepped closer, her voice calm, steady, and strangely gentle. I came to ask you something important. He swallowed hard. His hands shook. The world felt too quiet. My people believe a child must be born to unite two worlds. she continued.

A child of peace, she touched her chest softly. I have chosen you. Thomas felt the ground tilt beneath him. His face warmed, his palms dampened, his breath caught. I want a child from you, she said. The simple, bold words crashed into his shy, sheltered world like thunder. And Thomas Hail, who had never been chosen for anything in his life, could only stand there breathless, caught between fear, disbelief, and something he didn’t yet understand.

Thomas spent the rest of the morning in a days, unsure whether he was awake or lost in some strange fever dream. Yet each time he dared glance over his shoulder, the Apache woman Na was still there, walking silently behind him with a calm assurance that made his heart thump wildly. She carried herself like someone who knew exactly where she belonged, and somehow she had decided that place was beside him.

 When he reached the farmhouse and opened the door, he hesitated, unsure whether to invite her in, but Nelly stepped forward without fear, as if wooden structures and farm tools were nothing new to her. Thomas scrambled awkwardly to offer her water, nearly dropping the tin cup because his hands refused to steady.

 Na accepted it with a nod of thanks, lifting it with graceful fingers that looked both delicate and strong. For a moment he stood there in silence, feeling the weight of her presence fill the small room. He had never been this close to a woman before, let alone one who looked at him with such direct purpose.

 Finally, he forced himself to ask the question burning in his chest. Why me? Naelli placed the cup down and met his eyes with a calm steadiness that made him feel seen in ways he never had before. She told him about the old Apache elder he had helped last winter, the wounded man he had found near the canyon, freezing and starving.

 Thomas remembered carrying him home, feeding him, giving him a blanket, and guiding him back toward the mountains without asking for thanks. He had done it quietly, privately, expecting nothing in return. He hadn’t known that act had rippled far beyond the canyon. “That elder was my mother’s uncle,” she explained.

 He told my people that a kind-hearted farmer saved his life. A man without hatred, a man chosen by the spirits. Thomas swallowed hard. He had never imagined his small act of compassion could become part of someone else’s story, let alone a prophecy. Negle continued, her voice low and certain. A child born from one who protects life and from one who carries the wisdom of my people will be a bridge between worlds.

 My visions led me to you. His cheeks burned, his thoughts tangled. It felt too big, too overwhelming for someone like him. “I’m not special,” he whispered. “You are,” she said softly. “Not because of strength or loudness, but because of your heart.” He couldn’t breathe for a moment. No one had ever spoken to him like that.

 No one had ever chosen him for anything meaningful. Thomas, she said, stepping closer. I am not here to force you. I am here to ask. The choice is yours. The wind outside rattled the old window frame, but inside the house everything felt suspended, quiet, fragile, and waiting. Thomas stood between fear and destiny, unsure which direction his heart would take.

 The days that followed carried a strange mixture of tension, quiet discovery, and an unexpected closeness that Thomas could never have imagined. Naelli did not pressure him, nor did she repeat her request. Instead, she simply lived alongside him as though she were meant to be there. She woke early, helped gather water, fed the animals, and occasionally disappeared into the nearby woods, only to return with herbs or firewood bundled neatly in her arms.

 Her presence became part of the rhythm of the farm, steady as sunrise. Thomas found himself watching her more than he meant to. He admired the way she tied her dark hair with a leather cord before working, the way her footsteps barely disturbed the earth, and how she handled even the stubborn animals with a calm firmness that soothed them.

 She spoke little, but when she did, every word carried intention. Her silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful, like the land itself had taken human shape. One afternoon, while repairing a fence post, Thomas saw Naelli kneeling beside a frightened mare. The animal had been skittish ever since a storm weeks earlier, but Naelli approached without fear.

 She placed her palm gently on the mayor’s neck, whispered something soft in her own language, and the trembling eased. By the time Thomas reached them, the mayor was calm, almost leaning into her hand. Thomas stared, amazed, and for the first time he wondered if her talk of visions and destiny wasn’t as impossible as he once thought. That evening, when the sky glowed with the warm colors of sunset, Thomas sat on the wooden bench outside the house, his mind swirling with questions he had been too afraid to voice.

 Naelli joined him quietly, sitting close enough that he felt her warmth through the space between them. “You still hold fear,” she said gently, her eyes studying the horizon. He nodded slowly. “I’ve lived alone so long. I never imagined being part of something bigger than me, something that matters. I turned to him, her expression soft.

 You think you are small because your voice is quiet. But the spirits do not measure a man by loudness. They see truth in him. You showed truth when you saved my uncle. That truth brought me to you. Thomas felt emotion tighten in his chest. No one had ever seen him the way she did, not as a timid farmer, but as someone worthy of purpose.

 What if I fail? he asked. “You will not,” she answered. “Not if you listen to your heart.” They spoke for hours, sharing fragments of their worlds. She told him of the mountains where her people camped in summer, the stories sung around the fire, the lessons her mother taught her. He told her of his childhood, of planting seeds with his father, of the lonely winters after his parents passed.

When the moon rose high and silver light washed over the fields, Naelli placed her hand gently over Thomas’s. He felt his nervousness melt under her touch, not completely gone, but softened by something warm and steady.