I dropped the hatchet through the loop on my belt and held my hand out again, and this time the boy slid his grimy little fingers into my grip. His trust was a warmth blossoming inside me, in spite of the cold, and suddenly I truly understood what Gran had been trying to tell me. I could make a difference. And I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I turned my back on such a responsibility.
I gave the child a reassuring smile, pushing back my own fear as I turned and led him in the direction I’d come from.
We came out of the forest exactly where I’d entered it hours before, on the path that led between the fallow rye field and the empty bean field. Several boys from the village ran by in a little pack, scaring crows from what was left of the dried-up stalks. The boy in my care canted his head to one side, watching them play.
Before we’d made it more than a few feet from the tree line, footsteps thumped toward us from the east, on the dirt path that ran around the outside of the village. “Adele!”
I turned toward Grainger’s voice, relieved for a second before I remembered to close my cloak. To hide my hatchet.
To hide myself.
“What—?” He stopped a few feet away, frowning down at the naked child. “Where’s your mother? And who’s this?”
“Mama’s busy with the Laurents’ order.”
“You went into the dark wood alone?” Grainger frowned, his voice gruff with concern. “If I’d known, I would have come with you. It’s the watch’s duty to escort people who have business traveling in the dark wood.”
“I know. But Gran’s cottage is only a half hour’s walk, and I’ve been many times. And look!” I glanced down at the child whose hand I still held, hoping the distraction would keep Grainger from noticing my broken lamp. From asking questions I couldn’t answer. “I found him in the woods, but he hasn’t said a word so far.”
“You found him in the dark wood?”
“Yes. Near a merchant’s wagon. I think it belonged to his parents. And I don’t think they made it,” I added in a whisper, trying not to choke on all that I was concealing from him.
Grainger knelt in front of the boy, his sword clanging as it grazed the ground. “What’s your name, little one?” But the child only stared up at him with pale blue eyes. “You must be cold. You’re covered in goose bumps.”
Finally, the boy nodded.
Grainger removed his leather cloak. “Is it okay if I wrap you up in this? Bundle you up like a loaf of Adele’s bread?”
The child gave him another mute nod, and I couldn’t resist a smile when Grainger draped his cloak around the boy’s shoulders. It trailed over the grass behind him for at least a foot, but Grainger only tugged the cloak closed and buttoned it, as if the fit were perfect. The child smiled up at him, clearly enamored of the fine garment.
“I’m going to pick you up, okay? If I carry you, we can get you inside faster.” The boy nodded, and his gaze tracked Grainger as he stood. Then Grainger carefully lifted the child into his arms, as if he were carrying a very delicate bundle of firewood. Or a baby.
I tucked the ends of the leather cloak around him, which was when I noticed several spots of blood on the soles of his bare feet. “He’s a little cut up,” I said as I covered them. “But not as much as I’d expect, considering.”
“Where are his clothes?” Grainger asked as we set off down the dirt path into the village.
“I don’t know. He was like that when I found him. Crying. Alone in the dark wood.”
Grainger’s brows drew low over eyes a darker shade of blue than the child’s as we passed the miller’s workshop. “Poor kid. We probably won’t be able to get him back home—wherever that is—before the thaw.”
“I know.”
As we approached the first of the cottages, Madame Gosse, the potter’s wife, paused in her conversation with the thatcher’s wife, Madame Paget, and they turned curious gazes our way.
“Grainger! What have you there?” Madame Paget asked as both women headed for us.
“Adele found a child in the forest,” Grainger said, and I pulled back the hood of his cape to reveal the boy’s face.
“In the dark wood?” Madame Gosse asked. As we might possibly have meant another forest. “What were you doing out there?”
“I was taking a delivery to my grandmother.”
Madame Gosse’s scowl said exactly what she thought of a woman living alone in the woods, and I bit my tongue to keep from defending Gran, who—as it turned out—was perfectly capable of defending herself.
“What was he doing out there?” Madame Paget frowned as Grainger’s cape fell open, and she realized the boy was unclothed. “And bare as the day he was born, in this cold. He was alone?”
“Yes. He hasn’t spoken a word,” I told her. “But I found him near a merchant’s wagon. I don’t think his parents made it, but there doesn’t seem to be a scratch on him.”
“Well then, I’d say he’s blessed beyond reason. A shame about his parents, though.” Madame Paget heaved a grim shrug. “Bring him to my cottage, Grainger. I’ll see that he’s fed and clothed.”
We followed Madame Paget to her cottage next to the church, where she opened the door to let us into the small, warm space. Her home was modest, but it was roomier than mine, because in addition to the room in back where the thatcher and his wife slept, there was a loft where little Jeanne and Romy shared a bed, over the main room.
Jeanne was just a year younger than my sister, and Romy was five. When we came in, both girls looked up from the poppets they were playing with near the hearth, and the moment she saw what Grainger was carrying, Jeanne jumped to her feet, her doll forgotten. “Who’s that, Mama?”
“He hasn’t yet told us his name.” Madame Paget headed straight for the hearth and added a log to the fire. “Jeanne, go get a bucket of water. Take your sister with you.”
Jeanne grabbed a bucket and herded her sister outside.
Grainger set the boy down in front of the hearth, and Madame Paget removed the cloak and handed it back to him, so she could examine the little boy. He shied away from the roaring blaze while she ran her hands down all of his limbs. “He’s frightfully cold, but you’re right—he doesn’t appear to have any injuries. And he doesn’t look sick. Are you hungry, child?”
The boy nodded, eyes wide as he took in all the adults staring down at him in the cramped space.
“Here.” Madame Paget broke off a bit of flat bread from a bowl sitting on a shelf over the hearth, and the boy devoured it in three bites. I uncovered half of my basket and pulled off a small hunk of the venison roast for him.
He ate that just as quickly, then sucked his filthy fingers clean.
Jeanne and Romy came back with a bucket of water while Madame Paget was going through a trunk in the back room. She returned with a clean tunic made of sackcloth just as her daughters set the bucket on the hearth.
“Let’s get you washed off, then we’ll try this on you. It’ll swallow you whole, but that’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”
The boy only blinked at her, and Jeanne giggled.
“Girls, in the loft or outside. It’s getting a bit cramped in here.”