Colton caught up with Judith but did not approach Asa. He waited till he and Lily were done. When Asa stepped away from the basin and went to pump more water into the pitcher, Colton washed his hands, but stuck close to Judith, still watchful of his sister. That told Judith much. They did not deem her a threat, but the man of the house might be.
Soon the four of them with clean hands sat at the table, the children side by side on a bench, which was usually tucked away against the wall. Asa offered his customary brief grace, and then Judith began to dish up bowls of the beans, fragrant with molasses, and thick slices of bread. The contrast between the children’s clean hands and their grimy faces and matted hair caused Judith to itch to give both children a good scrubbing, brushing and combing.
“Can I have butter on my bread?” Lily asked.
“You may if you say please,” Judith replied automatically.
“Please, can I have butter on my bread?” Lily asked.
Judith buttered a slice thickly and set it on the girl’s plate.
“What do you say?” Asa prompted, sounding stern.
“Thank you,” Lily said, then bit into her bread. “Mmm.”
Grateful for the way Asa had gone along with this unexpected turn of events, Judith still worried. How could they keep the children here? Would Asa want that? What did the town do with orphans here? But were they orphans or runaways? How had these two little ones ended up on their own in a cave?
She chewed mechanically, trying to come up with what to do. The children ate as if starved. The pork and beans disappeared. Soon she was setting a second cake on the table, the first having served as successful bait.
Asa ate his portion and then looked at Colton. “Think you know something about a pie that disappeared from our windowsill?”
Colton jerked up from the bench.
Why had Asa said this? Not knowing and not wanting to contradict him, Judith held her breath. Would the children bolt?
“Sit back down,” Asa said. “I’m not going to turn you over to the sheriff.”
Judith stilled. She did not know what Asa was doing so she had no way of countering it, softening it.
Colton stayed standing, wary.
“We took the pie,” Lily said. “We were really hungry, and Colton’s trap didn’t catch anything. Sorry.” The girl bowed her head and set a forkful of cake back on her plate.
Asa looked to the brother. “That what happened, boy?”
“Yes, sir,” Colton said, facing Asa squarely.
“Then I have a few chores you can do to work off what you owe me...us.”
At first Judith had to swallow a protest, and then she saw the wisdom of this. Or thought she did.
“What kind of chores?” Colton asked.
“I’m sharpening the blade of my plow. You could oil my plow harness.” Asa glanced toward Judith. “You have something Lily can help with?”
“Yes. She can dry the dishes and help me dust,” Judith improvised.
“I can do that,” Lily said, sounding happy that the chores were not beyond her abilities.
Asa looked to Judith, communicating something she couldn’t decipher. “Then we have a deal.” He rose from the table. “Children, thank Mrs. Brant for lunch. Good meal, ma’am,” he said, which was his usual end-of-meal phrase.
The little girl consumed the rest of her cake in two bites. “Good meal, ma’am,” Lily parroted.
Colton sat back down, finished drinking his glass of milk and ate the last bit of cake. “Thank you for the good lunch, Mrs. Brant.” He stood again. “Where’s that harness?”
“Where is that harness, sir?” Asa prompted.
Colton glared, his lower lip protruding. But he repeated the sentence, though with a surly edge.
Judith held her breath. Had Asa gone too far? Would he push the children to run?
Instead, Colton followed Asa outside. Lily drained her glass and popped up. “I can help.”
Judith rose and carried most of the dishes to the dry sink and counter. Lily followed her like a shadow and watched her intently. “I like your house,” the little girl said.
“Thank you. I do, too.”
The two of them chatted. Lily seemed happy to contribute her part, but she avoided all questions about her family. Once the little girl looked about to cry, so Judith returned the conversation to something light and easy.
The afternoon was far along when Colton appeared at the open cabin door. “You done with your chores, Lily?”
Lily looked up at Judith, her expression begging her to say no.
But the chores were done. “Yes, but won’t you stay—”
“We gotta go,” Colton insisted. He waved insistently at his little sister. “Come on.”
Lily left Judith’s side and went to her brother. Just before they left, she turned. “Thanks...thanks.”
Colton took his sister’s hand, and the two of them headed back to the forest.
Judith stepped outside and watched them go. Would they return to the cave or would they move on, afraid of...what? Who had made them afraid? Her heart hurt for them.
Asa remained in the barn.
Judith rarely ventured there, sensing that her new husband liked his privacy. Being married to a stranger who wouldn’t reveal anything about his past or thoughts often became awkward. The barn was his haven, hers the kitchen. But now she entered the barn, her emotions a storm.
Asa stood near his upturned plow in the shadowy interior that smelled like a clean barn should, earthy with the distinctive scent of horses and cows. Everything in the barn reflected Asa’s desire for neatness and order. The walls were adorned with pegs that sported all manner of tools and horse paraphernalia. She paused in the doorway, looking at him. She tried to come up with a way to introduce the subject of the children and what to do about them. Two children that young would not thrive living in a cave. And though spring and summer were ahead, winter would come again. Her husband did not like to talk, but they must discuss this. The children had come to their window. God had brought Colton and Lily to them. She cleared her throat and prayed for inspiration.
* * *
Hearing her come in, Asa, sitting at his small, slender work table, gazed at Judith, seeing her silhouette outlined in sunshine. Already knowing her tender heart, he shouldn’t have been surprised at her showing up with two ragamuffins. “Where’d you find them?” he asked.
She filled him in on the cake trap she’d set to catch the pie-and-shirt thief.
Fear for her, and anger, ricocheted through him. He stood. “You did that without telling me?” he snapped. “What if it hadn’t been children but a man...a tramp? Someone who might have hurt you.” He closed the distance between them.
“I don’t know why I didn’t tell you.” She lifted her hands in a helpless motion. “I guess I’m used to taking care of things myself. Father hasn’t been strong for a long time. My brother was gone to war. I’m the oldest.”
He drew a few deep breaths, calming himself.
“If a man had come, I would have stayed in the springhouse.” She looked up at him—and burst into tears.
He didn’t know what to do. “I didn’t mean to make you cry—”
“You didn’t.” She wept on, waving her hand toward