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 the open door. “They are living in a cave. What are we going to do? Colton can’t be even ten. He can’t take care of Lily all by himself.” She covered her face with both hands. Her weeping intensified.
Her freely expressed emotions pointed out his own hollowed-out aching within. No doubt she’d never before seen ragged, grimy children begging. But he had. Urchins—both white and black—had come into camp begging even for hardtack, the worst food ever.
He closed his eyes, trying to block out the memories. Then he looked at his wife. What did one do with a weeping woman? He recalled the few times he’d seen his mother cry and how his father had handled it.
Uncertain, he put an arm around her and patted her back, mimicking his father’s words. “There, there.”
It worked.
She stepped closer and rested her head against his chest, quieting. The fragrance she always wore, which reminded him of lilacs, floated up from her hair. He nearly bent and kissed the top of her head. But he held himself in check. His father had never kissed his mother when comforting her. And Asa and Judith were married but not close...his fault.
“Asa, what are we going to do? We can’t let two little children continue to live in a cave in the woods.”
She spoke the truth. In the past he could give only what he had in his knapsack to the orphans of the war, but now he had a house and food to share. Yet he didn’t know what to say, so he patted her shoulder some more.
“You were very wise about the pie and chores,” she said, glancing up.
I was? he thought.
“I could see Colton understood that. When I invited them to lunch, he didn’t want to come, but Lily came right along. Someone, some man, has mistreated him. You noticed that, too?”
Asa considered this. “You’re right. He came with me but kept his distance, always out of arm’s reach. And we’re assuming that they are orphans, but they might have run away.”
Judith pressed her face into his shirt again. Then straightened. “I hate to think that, but yes, some parents or guardians can be ill-tempered.”
Asa almost lost himself looking into her eyes, which shone with tears of concern.
“I think the offer of payment by chores reassured him that you—we—weren’t trying to pull something over on him.” She looked at Asa, obviously asking for a reply.
“It worked.” Those were the only words that came to him.
She nodded. And then sighed and wiped her cheeks with her handkerchief. “I’m sorry to break down like that. I just was so shocked to see children living there. And on top of that, I’m worried that I still haven’t heard from home. We sent that letter weeks ago.”
Judith began twisting the hankie in both hands. “Emma wrote Father, too. No reply.”
Asa shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t like talking about family. “What do you think is keeping him from answering?”
She mangled the lacy scrap of linen some more.
“You can tell me, Judith.” His words mocked him. He expected her to trust him, but he didn’t want to trust her. Bile rose in his throat.
She moved to sit at Asa’s work table. “My brother returned from the war with a bride from Kentucky.” She pursed her lips as if hesitant to say more.
Asa said nothing. He couldn’t coax her to talk. It felt dishonest of him.
“My sister-in-law, Mabel Joy, is a contentious woman. That’s all I’ll say.”
“Maybe your father can’t write...” As soon as the words left his mouth, and he saw her stricken look, he knew he’d said exactly the wrong thing. Contrite, he patted her back again. “Might just be that men aren’t good at writing letters.”
Again his own words slapped him. He had yet to write his own parents to tell them he’d married Judith. Guilt froze him in place. What kind of son didn’t even write his parents when he got married? Had his bride noticed that?
Judith touched his sleeve. “You are probably right. Father was never one to write letters. And if Mabel Joy were a kind woman, she’d have written back or coaxed him into doing so.” She sighed.
“Is there a neighbor you could write, or a relative?” Asa suggested.
Judith’s eyes brightened. “Of course. Why didn’t I think of that?” She squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Asa. I’ll write to our neighbor, and I know she’ll write back and give me all the news.” She sent him a trembly smile. “So, what should we do about these children?”
He could do nothing but say the truth. “Let’s both think on it.”
She
