Ava turned and started walking slowly toward the building, fully aware of the small footsteps behind her. Relief washed over her chest. No matter what had happened to this child, at least she was safe now.
Or as safe as Ava could make her, anyway.
The orphanage was cool and dim after the bright sunshine outside. Ava led the girl down the narrow hallway to the kitchens, where Mrs. Crawford—the elderly woman who ran the place—was kneading bread dough with practiced efficiency.
“Ava, dear, I thought ye were...” Mrs. Crawford looked up and froze when she saw the child. “Who’s this wee lamb?”
The girl’s whole body tensed up. Her eyes quickly moved to the doorway behind her, muscles tight as if she was prepared to run.
“It’s all right,” Ava said softly, positioning herself between the child and Mrs. Crawford. “This is Mrs. Crawford. She runs the orphanage. She’s very kind.”
Ava turned to Mrs. Crawford. “Can we talk somewhere private?”
“Private?” Mrs. Crawford wiped her hands on her apron, and the sudden movement made the girl flinch, shrinking back against the wall. Mrs. Crawford noticed immediately and paused, her expression softening with understanding.
“Och, poor wee thing. I’m sorry, darlin’. I didnae mean to startle ye.” She moved slowly, deliberately, as she turned toward the larder. “Does it look like I’ve got time for private conversations? Whatever ye need to say, say it quick.”
“I found her wanderin’ outside. She doesnae seem to speak, and I think she’s lost.” Ava pulled out a chair at the wooden table. “Iwas hopin’ we could give her somethin’ to eat while I figure out where she belongs.”
“Of course, of course. Poor wee thing, look at her… Sit down, darlin’. Let’s get some food in yer belly.”
“Go on,” Ava encouraged, pulling out the chair a bit more. “Ye can sit here, right next to me.”
Slowly, the child climbed into the chair. She sat rigidly, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes watching every movement Mrs. Crawford made.
“Here we are.” Mrs. Crawford set down a plate with thick slices of bread, a generous portion of cheese, and two golden bannocks. “Eat as much as ye like, sweetheart. There’s plenty more where that came from.”
The girl stared at the food like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“It’s all right,” Ava said softly, taking the seat beside her. “It’s for ye.”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, with movements so quick they were almost desperate, the girl grabbed a piece of bread and bit into it. She slipped a crust into her sleeve and chewed the rest frantically, her eyes never leaving the plate, as if afraid someone might take it away.
But even as she ate, her gaze kept flicking to the doorway.
Every time footsteps passed in the hall outside, her shoulders tensed. When a door slammed somewhere in the building, she jerked so violently she nearly dropped her bread.
Ava’s chest ached watching her.
This wasn’t just hunger. It was someone who had learned to expect the worst—someone who understood that safety could be taken away in an instant.
Someone just like Ava had been.
“Slow down, sweetheart,” she murmured. “The food’s nae goin’ anywhere. Take yer time.”
The girl’s shoulders tensed as she held bread halfway to her mouth and looked at Ava uncertainly.
“I mean it. Nay one’s goin’ to take it from ye. Eat as much as ye want, but try to slow down a wee bit, aye? I daenae want ye to make yerself sick.”
Mrs. Crawford caught Ava’s eye and tilted her head toward the hallway. Ava nodded and gently touched the girl’s shoulder. The child flinched but didn’t pull away.
“I’m just goin’ to talk to Mrs. Crawford for a moment. I’ll be right over there, see? Where ye can still see me. All right?”
A small nod, though the girl’s eyes tracked Ava’s every movement as she crossed to where Mrs. Crawford waited.
“Poor wee thing,” Mrs. Crawford whispered, her weathered face creased with concern. “Where do ye think she came from?”
