Someone’s been cruel to her.
The girl stirred, her eyelids fluttering. They opened, and for a moment, she just stared up at Bridget.
Then she let out a soft cry and scuttled backward, farther into the corner of the pantry. She wrapped her arms around herself and ducked her head, as if by looking away from Bridget, she could make her disappear.
Bridget ached to take the girl in her arms and comfort her, but she knew better than to force that on someone who was clearly so frightened. She stayed where she was. “It’s all right,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you. Did you come in here because you needed something to eat?”
The girl shook her head violently and wrapped her arms more tightly around herself.
“I know you didn’t take anything. It’s all right,” Bridget said. “Why don’t we go sit down at the table, and I’ll get you some broth and some bread. Maybe we can even have some cheese. Would you like that?”
The girl looked up for the first time. Bridget was struck by her bright green eyes.She’s a beauty.
Bridget got to her feet. “Come with me,” she said, filling her voice with the warmth that she knew children always responded to. It had served her well many times in the past. “We’ll get a warm fire going, and I’ll get you a plate of food.”
She wasn’t sure the child would do as she’d been asked, but she was pleasantly surprised—after only a moment’s hesitation, the girl climbed to her feet and followed Bridget out into the kitchen.
“What’s your name?” Bridget asked as she began to light the fire.
The girl didn’t answer.
Bridget turned to face her. Her eyes were wide. “You don’t want to tell me?”
The girl pressed her lips together.
“Can you tell me how old you are?”
No answer.
Bridget’s heart sank. It wasn’t her first experience with a child who didn’t want to speak, and it usually meant the same thing every time. Someone had been hurting her. It explained the bruise on her face, and it made Bridget sick. No matter howmany times she saw things like this, she would never get used to it.
“All right,” she said, finishing with the fire. “We can talk later, once you’ve warmed up a bit. That’s all right. Why don’t you wait here, and I’ll get you some food, all right?”
She went back to the pantry and got out bread, meat, and cheese. That would be enough to get them started. She was about to go back to the kitchen when she noticed the paper pinned to the wall. It was where they kept a list of supplies that needed replenishing, but another idea had suddenly come to her. She ripped off the bottom of the paper and picked up the pen that sat beside it, then went out to the kitchen and gave the food to the girl.
The girl looked down at the plate, then up at Bridget.
“Go ahead and eat,” Bridget encouraged her. “All of that is for you.”
The girl hesitated a moment longer, but then she picked up the bread and tore into it ravenously. Bridget felt a wash of relief. At least she wasn’t so damaged that she couldn’t manage to eat food.
She sat down across from the girl and waited as she ate her fill. Only when she had started to slow down did Bridget set the pen and paper down on the table. The girl looked down at them and then back up.
“Do you know how to write?” Bridget asked. “You could write down your name for me.”
The girl picked up the pen and bit her lip.
Then she bent over the paper and wrote.
She was writing for a long time—too long for it to be a name that she was putting down. She was trying to communicate something.
Bridget waited, anticipation mounting.
The girl finished and pushed the paper across the table to her.
A monster is coming.
The words made the hair on the back of Bridget’s neck stand on end. “A monster?” She drew a breath. “Is it the monster that did this to you?” She reached out to touch the girl’s face.
