The girl pressed it to her chest, trying to hold it the way Grandma Evelyn held the neighbor’s baby when it was tiny.
— Hold on tight,
She said to the baby, though she knew it probably couldn’t follow the request.
— We need to go home.
And she headed back along the forest path, supporting her precious burden. Each step was difficult. Fear of the unknown, of Grandma Evelyn’s anger, of the responsibility, squeezed her heart.
But at the same time, a strange, warm feeling spread inside. Something like joy and pride combined. As if she’d found not just a baby in the forest, but a real miracle.
Emily walked slowly, afraid to stumble, afraid to disturb the little one. The sun had risen high now, the forest gradually fell behind, and the panorama of the town opened before her. Small houses with smoking chimneys, gardens, front yards with flowers, sheds, and fences.
Her hometown, which suddenly seemed completely different. As if she were looking at it from a bird’s-eye view. Her heart beat harder as she approached the familiar porch.
Suddenly, the baby in her arms stirred, and a quiet squeak like a kitten’s meow came from the bundle.
— Shh, little one!
Whispered Emily.
— We’re almost home.
The gate creaked with its familiar sound, letting the girl into the yard. The path to the porch seemed endlessly long. Three steps, the creaky veranda door, five more steps to the front door.
Emily stopped, catching her breath. «What will Grandma say? Will she punish her for bringing home a stranger’s child? Send her back to the forest?» «No,» thought Emily. «Grandma would never send away a child.
She’s stern, but kind.» In the kitchen, pots clattered. Evelyn was preparing lunch.
Emily took a deep breath, hugged the bundle tighter to her chest, and knocked on the door.
— Come in, whoever it is!
Came Grandma Evelyn’s familiar voice. Emily pushed the door with her shoulder and crossed the threshold of home.
Evelyn stood at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a cast-iron pot and humming an old tune without words. Just the melody, one she remembered from childhood. Her broad shoulders, accustomed to the burdens of rural life, trembled slightly in time with the hum.
Years had etched a map of wrinkles on her face. Each one testified to what she’d endured—the death of her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law. Each was a path of tears she’d cried at night, so she could be strong for her granddaughter during the day.
The door opened slowly. Evelyn, without turning, continued stirring the stew.
— Emily, is that you! Where have the devils taken you since morning?
She broke off mid-sentence when she turned and saw her granddaughter with a blue bundle in her arms.
The spoon froze in the air. Time stopped. Emily stood in the doorway, clutching the bundle from which a tiny face peeked.
Her eyes, wide open, frightened yet full of hope, met her grandmother’s.
— Grandma, I…
The girl began, but her voice trembled. Evelyn slowly lowered the spoon into the pot.
Wiped her hands on her embroidered apron. Mechanically, as she always did. But her gaze didn’t leave the bundle.
— What is this?
She asked, though she could see perfectly well what her granddaughter held.
— A baby!
Whispered Emily.
— I found him in the forest. A city man came in a car and left him under a pine.
Evelyn was silent. For a long time, so long that Emily began shifting from foot to foot, and the baby in the bundle whimpered.
— Bring him inside!
Evelyn finally forced out, stepping away from the stove. From her movement, the floorboard creaked like the cry of a long-dead tree. Something creaked inside her too.
A weary, much-experienced heart that suddenly felt the weight of new responsibility.
— Lay him on the bed!
She added more quietly, pointing to her bed by the window, covered with a patchwork quilt she’d sewn as a dowry for her daughter. Emily carefully, as if carrying a treasure, crossed the room and placed the bundle on the bed.
The blanket sagged under the baby’s weight, accepting him into its soft folds like an embrace. Evelyn, brushing off her hands, approached the bed. Her movements were slow, heavy, as if old age had suddenly piled on her shoulders with all its weight.
But her eyes looked sharply, appraisingly.
— Tell me!
She commanded, sitting next to the baby. Everything as it was, and Emily told.
About wandering the forest looking for toys. About seeing the black car. About how the city man left the bundle under the pine.
Evelyn listened silently, without interrupting, only her hands, strong hands with knobby fingers, fidgeted with the edge of her apron.
— Did you get a good look at him? This man?
She asked when Emily finished.
— Tall, in a suit. Hair slicked back,
The girl answered. Then added:
— He was scared, Grandma. Kept looking around.
Evelyn nodded, as if this confirmed some of her thoughts. Then she resolutely leaned over the baby and began unwrapping the blanket.
The tiny body in a white onesie stirred. Eyes opened, dark and deep like the pool by the old mill where Evelyn had swum as a girl. The baby didn’t cry, just looked at her with such attention, such seemingly unchildlike understanding, that Evelyn’s chest tightened.
— A boy!
She said, peeking under the diaper. Two or three months, no more. Her experienced hands felt the child, checking for signs of hunger or illness.
The baby was well-cared for, clean, clearly not abandoned or forgotten until the moment he ended up under the pine. Something glinted on the child’s neck when Evelyn turned him for a better look. A thin chain with a small locket.
Evelyn carefully took the locket in her hands.
— Silver!
She murmured. Real.
The locket was oval-shaped, with letters «A» and «V» engraved on it. Evelyn pressed a tiny catch on the side, and the locket opened. Inside were two miniature photographs.
One of a middle-aged man, with the same dark, attentive gaze as the baby’s. The other of an elderly couple, likely his parents. Evelyn’s fingers trembled.
She knew the man in the photo. Victor. One of two city names that had surfaced in conversations with her daughter before her flight to the city.
Victor and Dennis. Friends-rivals, both courting her Sophia. Both wealthy, both from the city, both promising the stars.
— I sense trouble,
She whispered, folding the blanket around the child.
— I sense this bundle didn’t come to us for good.
How long ago that was.
Her Sophia had left for the city with one guy, but sent a letter saying she’d married the other. Dennis, she recalled, was the name of the one she married. And Victor, she’d seen only once, when he came courting.
Sat at this same table, drank tea from a cracked cup, was shy but couldn’t take his eyes off Sophia. And now his family locket on the neck of the baby her granddaughter found in the forest. Such coincidences don’t happen.
— Grandma, can we keep him?
Nadia’s voice pulled Evelyn from her thoughts.
— Foolish girl,
Evelyn shook her head.
— A human child. Not a stray kitten to keep.
She rose heavily from the bed, her joints cracking, reminding her of her age and fatigue.
— We need to find his family,
She said resolutely.
— This boy has a family. We’re not thieves to take other people’s children.
Evelyn headed to the old dresser in the corner, pulled out the bottom drawer, the one she always kept closed. Rummaged among old letters, embroidered handkerchiefs, photographs darkened by time. And finally pulled out a small notebook in a worn cover.
— Sophia’s,
She explained in response to her granddaughter’s questioning look.
— Your mother’s.
Emily held her breath.
She almost never saw her mother’s things. Evelyn kept them separate, like relics, not allowing them to be touched. Grandma flipped through the pages, covered in small handwriting, sometimes stopping, reading the entries.
Finally found what she was looking for.
— Here,
She said, pointing a finger at a line.
— Victor Abernathy. City number. Need to call.
She snapped the notebook shut and glanced at the baby, who by then had fallen asleep.
— The paramedic should be home now,
Evelyn murmured, as if reasoning with herself.
— He has a phone. I’ll run over, make the call.
She looked at Emily with a long gaze, in which so much was read. Worry, fatigue, resignation to new trials, and the amazing resilience of this aging woman who’d buried her husband and daughter, raising her granddaughter in poverty but with dignity.
— You,
She said sternly.
— Sit here and watch him. Don’t go anywhere, don’t open the door to anyone. If he wakes, don’t panic, just rock him. Can’t give him our milk. Too young. If he cries, dip this cloth in water and let him suck.
She handed Emily a clean rag, a scrap from an old sheet.
— I’ll be back quick,
Evelyn added more softly.
— Main thing, keep an eye on him.
Emily nodded. In her gaze was such determination, such readiness to protect this tiny being, that Evelyn involuntarily smiled.
— Oh, my heart!
She said, smoothing her granddaughter’s tousled hair.
— Why do adventures always find you?
She quickly changed into a clean blouse, to appear decent in public, as she said. Threw a shawl over her head and disappeared behind the door. Emily was left alone with the baby.
The house was quiet, only the wall clock ticked, and the logs crackled in the stove. The girl sat on the edge of the bed, afraid to disturb the baby’s sleep. She’d never seen such small children up close before.
No babies had been born in their town for a long time. The young folks left for the city, leaving only the old timers, and folks like her and Grandma Evelyn, without the means to leave. Emily cautiously extended her hand and touched the baby’s cheek.
The skin was tender, velvety, so warm she wanted to press her lips to it. The little one smacked its lips in sleep, and Emily jerked her hand back, afraid she’d woken it. But the baby kept sleeping.
And Emily, growing bolder, began examining its face. Tiny nose, arched brows, fluffy lashes on closed lids. Fingers clenched into fists, so small they could fit in a thimble.
«Like a doll,» thought Emily. «But not porcelain, a real, live one.» Then came another thought, strange and exciting.
I was like this too. Just as small, just as helpless. And for the first time, she truly pondered her mother—not the fairy-tale image Grandma Evelyn had created in her stories, but a real woman who’d held her in her arms when she was as tiny as this boy.
The baby stirred, its eyelids fluttered, and it opened its eyes. Dark, deep, they stared at Emily with such bewilderment, such a question, that the girl hurried to speak, as if answering:
— Hi, little one. I’m Emily. I found you in the forest. Don’t be afraid, it’s safe here.
Her voice, quiet and melodic, seemed to calm the baby.
It didn’t cry, just blinked and kept looking at her.
— You know,
Continued Emily,
— when I was little like you, my mom went to the sky. She has important work there. Herding clouds so the rain comes on time. And dad went to collect songs. He wanders the whole world, listening to birds sing, the sea roar, children laugh, then makes songs from those sounds and gives them to people so they won’t be sad.
This was a story Emily had made up herself, building on Grandma Evelyn’s fairy tale about her parents. A story that helped her not feel abandoned and forgotten.
— And where did you come from?
She asked the baby.
— Flew from the moon? Or born from a flower, like Thumbelina?
The baby, of course, didn’t answer, but its lips stretched into a toothless smile, and Emily laughed with delight.
— You need a name,
She decided.
— I can’t just call you baby or boy. Let’s name you…
She pondered, recalling names from books she’d read in the school library.
— Let’s name you William. Billy. A beautiful flower, blue like your eyes.
The little one smiled again, and Emily took it as agreement.
— Billy,
She repeated, tasting the name.
— Good name. Suits you.
She carefully ran her finger over the tiny palm, and the baby’s little fingers closed around her finger. This touch, this trust from the small being, pierced Emily with such a feeling of tenderness and protectiveness that she’d never felt before.
— I’ll take care of you, Billy,
She whispered, leaning closer to the baby.
— I promise.
His fingers squeezed her finger, as if sealing the vow. And Emily understood that no matter what happened next, wherever fate took this child, part of her heart would always belong to him.
Meanwhile, Evelyn walked down the town street to the paramedic’s house, clutching her daughter’s notebook tightly and feeling the burden of the past grow heavier with each step, the past she’d tried so hard to bury for so long. Memories brought back images of bygone days. The summer of 1985 had been hot.
Dust settled on the apple tree leaves, the creek ran low, and the air hummed with crickets and promises of change. In the small house on the town’s edge, seventeen-year-old Sophia twirled before the cracked mirror, trying on her only fancy dress.
— Mom, don’t nag,
She tossed over her shoulder to Evelyn, who stood in the doorway with arms crossed.
— Let me have fun for once in my life.
The dress, sewn from a bolt of cotton bought at the fair, hugged her slim waist tightly and accentuated the clean line of her shoulders. Sophia turned, checking how the skirt sat.
Evelyn pursed her lips.
— Fun won’t fill your belly. Tomorrow we have hay to turn. And Nina Peterson is getting married. Need to help.
— Always work,
Snapped Sophia, tossing her light brown braid.
— When do I get to live? I’m seventeen, and what have I seen besides cow tails and potatoes?