Colin approached the door of the stable and heard Margaretha’s voice. From the mysterious, slightly playful tone, she seemed to be telling a story. He stopped to listen, but he couldn’t understand any of it.
“Colin.” She seemed to blush uncomfortably at the sight of him. “I didn’t know you were standing there.” She let out a strained chuckle, as if she was relieved.
He pushed the door open while she and the little boy stood up.
“You are dripping wet. You will catch a deadly chill.” She closed the door behind him, leaving it open a bit to let in some light.
“I set some snares, and now we will have to wait to see if they catch anything.”
“That is so clever. I would never know how to do such a thing. But now you must get out of those wet clothes. You’re shaking. Toby helped me find some dry clothes and a blanket. And in the same trunk there were some men’s clothes.” She bent and picked up a bundle and held it out to him. “No, don’t touch it.” She pulled it back. “You will get them wet. Toby will carry them for you. You can go in the corner and put them on. I won’t be able to see you.”
She turned and said something to the boy, who motioned to Colin to follow him, then took the dry clothes and disappeared into the dark corner of the stable.
Colin followed him until it was too dark to see anything, then stood still as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Toby — that was the child’s name, apparently — had led him into an unused horse stall. He shoved the clothes into Colin’s hands and left, closing the door behind him.
Colin shucked his cold, wet clothes and managed, after much fumbling, to figure out what manner of clothes he had been given — a long tunic and hose — and put them on. Finally, when he was sure he was covered from neck to foot, he made his way back to Margaretha and Toby.
“You must be so cold. You were out in the rain for a long time. You take the blanket.” She took the blanket from around her shoulders.
“I don’t need it.”
“Nonsense. You’re shivering.” She wrapped it around him and held the ends together in front of his chest. Her voice was breathy as she said, “And your hair is still wet.” She stared into his eyes.
He took the ends of the blanket in his hand.
She let go, breaking contact with him and stepping back. The little boy was gazing languidly at them, his eyes half closed.
“I’ll help him get to sleep,” she said softly, although the boy would certainly not understand her English. “He’s very tired.”
She called the boy over to the corner, sat against a huge mound of hay, and took him into her lap.
Seeing the boy’s bare arms and feet, Colin said, “There’s no sense in you two being cold.” He sat close beside her, pulling the horse blanket around Margaretha and the child. He also wrapped his arms around them, on top of the blanket, and leaned his shoulder against the wall and his back against the hay.
“Thank you.” She turned to look at him, bringing her face within inches of his.
She immediately turned away. She spoke to the child in German, that strange, guttural language which actually sounded lilting and sweet coming from her. She talked softly for several minutes, until the boy’s eyes closed and his breathing became regular and heavy with sleep.
“Why don’t you go to sleep too,” he whispered against her hair. “I can keep watch. If I hear someone coming, I’ll wake you.” She felt like heaven against his chest, warm and comfortable.
Turning her head to the other side where he couldn’t look into her eyes, she whispered, “Do you think the rain will stop soon? I don’t like wasting so much time, but it would be difficult to travel in this cold rain.”
“I hope it will stop soon.”
She had been sitting rather tensely, her back against his chest, but now she started to relax a little.
“I found a place in the woods, a rock outcropping, where we can cook the game, if my snares yield some.”
“What is a ‘rock outcropping’?”
“Big rocks creating a natural shelter.”
“Oh. That is good.” She relaxed some more, leaning farther back, the boy still sleeping peacefully with her arms wrapped around him, the same way Colin’s arms were wrapped around her.
She was quiet. He wondered if she was falling asleep. It gave him a warm feeling to think she trusted him enough to fall asleep in his arms. Truly, she was the most gentle, compassionate, sincere girl he had ever met.
But dwelling on her character qualities was dangerous.
“I’m sorry about what happened to your friend, John,” she said softly.
That was the last thing they had talked about that morning before it started raining. “John was a good man.”
“I have never had anyone close to me die. I had a sister who drowned, but it happened when I was a baby. I know it must be terrible to lose a friend.”
“Yes. It was even worse because I . . . I was responsible. He would have been home, well and content, if I had not brought him here.”