Eleanor swept the church steps at dawn, her small mirror tucked in her apron pocket. She paused, opened it, and checked her lipstick. Today might be the day a friend arrived. She wanted to be ready. At the edge of the path, she saw fresh boot prints pressed into the damp earth. Someone had walked by while she worked inside. She knelt and traced the tread with her finger. A stranger, again. No knock, no greeting, just marks left behind. She did not know if this walker would have been kind, or only polite. She had no way to tell. Eleanor stood and tucked the mirror away. She decided she would no longer wait by the door. Tomorrow, she would walk the village paths herself and learn the faces that passed her by.