Winter Is Past. Ruth Morren Axtell

looked up from studying the puzzle pieces on the lap table between them. She had soon discovered that Rebecca quickly tired of whatever activity she found for them to do and preferred to spend her time chatting.

      “I worked with children, many your age.” She smiled across at the girl lying back against her voluminous pillows. “But none quite like you.”

      Rebecca smiled in return. “What did you do with them? The same as with me?”

      Althea straightened, easing the muscles in her shoulders. “Not quite the same thing. You see, these children don’t live as you do here. Many have no home.”

      Rebecca’s dark eyes widened into pools of wonder. “They don’t? Where do they live, then?”

      “Wherever they can. Some find shelter in a doorway at night, or inside a crate. Some band together and live in an abandoned building. Some find a sort of protection with an adult. Unfortunately that protection comes at a price.” She answered Rebecca’s look of bewilderment. “The adult obliges them to work for them. It usually involves dishonest work, such as stealing.”

      “Stealing?”

      Althea nodded. “Children are quicker than adults. They can be trained to steal someone’s pocketbook or watch.”

      “Doesn’t the person know it?”

      “No. The children are so quick and light-handed, the victim doesn’t feel a thing. ’Tis only later, when they reach for their purse to pay for something, or need to take a look at their watch to see the hour, that they realize these items are gone. By then the children are far away.”

      “What do the children do with the things they steal?”

      “They have to give everything to their protector. That person sells everything to another person. One who doesn’t care that the items are stolen.”

      Rebecca mulled over this information for a few minutes. “What do you do with the children, Miss Althea?”

      Althea laid down the piece she had been trying to fit in the puzzle. “I work with a small group of people who want to help these children. We have a place we call a mission. It’s a building where all people, not just children, can come if they need a home. We give food to those who haven’t enough to eat. We provide schooling for the children who haven’t any school to go to. We have a small infirmary for those who are sick and haven’t anyone to care for them.”

      “Did you do all those things?”

      Althea laughed. “No, not by myself. I do a little bit of everything. I work wherever I’m needed—sometimes in the school, sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes tending the sick. That’s why your papa hired me to come here. He knew—or he was told—that I could nurse you when you weren’t feeling well.”

      Rebecca digested this. “Why did you leave that place? Didn’t the people need you anymore?”

      Althea hesitated. “No. The people still need care. But there are others working there. I wasn’t the only one.” She picked up a puzzle piece and tried it with another. It didn’t fit. “I came to you because I felt this is where I should be.”

      Rebecca looked at her as if not completely satisfied. “How did you know about me?”

      “My brother told me. He and your father used to be very close friends when they were boys.”

      “Is that true? How did they meet?”

      “At school. They were a little older than you, but they were both far from home and a bit lonely, I suspect. Anyway, from what my brother, Tertius, has told me, they became very good friends.”

      “Why haven’t I ever met you, then?”

      “Well, my brother went away for many years, so he and your father didn’t see each other for a long, long time. It’s just recently that they met again.”

      “And that’s when Abba told you about me!”

      “In a way. Your papa and my brother started talking of all the things that had happened to them while they were apart. Your papa told my brother all about you—how smart you were, how lovely, how—” As Althea searched for another adjective, Rebecca finished for her.

      “How I had no mama?”

      Althea closed her mouth and nodded at Rebecca. The little girl’s tone did not sound sad, merely matter-of-fact. “He said he needed someone to look after you while he was at work.”

      Instead of pursuing the subject of her mother, Rebecca’s mind went back to the children. “Didn’t you mind leaving the children to come here?”

      “It was difficult for me to leave the children.” She smoothed the coverlet under her hand. “I love them and I know they still need me.” She smiled at Rebecca’s serious expression. “I could never have left them if I didn’t know so certainly that the Lord wanted me to come here for a while, to be with you as long as you need me.”

      After a little consideration, Rebecca replied, “I’m sorry you had to leave the children, but I’m glad you’re here.”

      “I’m glad I’m here, too. Why don’t you help me find another piece in this puzzle? Look, I think this piece goes here.” Althea handed the girl a piece and indicated the area where she’d been working. Rebecca tried the piece and after a few attempts, got it in.

      “It’s part of the lion’s head!” The emerging scene showed a train of jungle animals marching through a forest of palm trees and other foreign-looking vegetation. After her initial excitement, Rebecca lost interest in the puzzle again.

      “Have you always lived at this mission?”

      Althea glanced at Rebecca, unsurprised at her continued questioning. She’d become accustomed to it in the time she’d spent with the girl and was beginning to understand that her active mind more than made up for the inactivity of her body.

      “No, I’ve only lived there, let’s see, almost six years.”

      “Where did you live before?”

      “I grew up in a big house surrounded by lots of parks and forests,” she said with a smile, picturing the estate in Hertfordshire.

      “Is that where you helped Cook with the tarts?”

      “Yes,” she said, her smile deepening. “I think I spent more time in the kitchen than with the family. Except in summer, when I was outside every chance I got.”

      “Didn’t you have a mama, either?”

      Althea glanced at Rebecca, surprised by her perception. “No, my mama died, too, when I was very young. I was probably about the same age as you,” she added, “just a babe, when I lost her. So, I don’t remember her at all.”

      “I don’t remember my mama, either. Who took care of you if you had no mama?”

      “A nice lady and gentleman. They became my guardians. They were very good to me.”

      Rebecca considered for a moment. “Did they become your brother’s guardians, too?”

      Althea looked down at her hands, considering how to reply. “No. They were his real parents. I—I just came to consider him as my brother, since we grew up together.” Better that than get into the complicated truth of the actual relationship. “I had another brother, too, but he just recently passed away.”

      “That’s too bad,” the girl said softly. “It must be nice to have brothers. I have lots of cousins but no brothers. Mama died too soon.”

      Althea was silent.

      Rebecca soon brightened again as a new thought occurred to her. “Did this brother know my abba, too?”

      Althea smiled. “I daresay not. I believe your papa and Tertius—that is, the younger of my brothers—were only together in school.