Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
“Ava! Ava, ye’re nae playin’ fair!”
“Am too!” Ava laughed, dodging around little Thomas as he lunged for the ball she’d just snatched from his hands. “Ye’re just too slow, wee man!”
“That’s ‘cause yer legs are longer!” six-year-old Maggie protested from where she’d collapsed dramatically on the grass, her freckled face scrunched in mock outrage. “Ye’re cheatin’ by bein’ grown!”
“I cannae help that I’m nae six anymore, Maggie.” Ava tossed the ball high in the air and caught it again, grinning at the circle of children surrounding her in the orphanage yard. “Besides, if ye all worked together instead of… Thomas, no bitin’!”
She’d barely gotten the words out when young Thomas launched himself at her legs with the determination of a tiny warrior.
Ava stumbled, laughing, and the ball flew into the air. Immediately, five children scrambled after it, their shouts of joy echoing off the stone walls of St. Bride’s Church.
“I got it! I got—nay, that’s mine!”
“Ye’re supposed to pass it, Robbie!”
“I am passin’ it! To meself!”
Ava shook her head, still smiling as she watched the chaos unfold.
Afternoons like this, when she had a few hours between her morning chores and her evening shift at the tavern, were her favorite. The orphanage was small, housing maybe a dozen children at any given time, but it was always full of noise, energy, and life.
It was also severely underfunded, which was why Ava spent most of her small wages trying to keep it afloat. But that was a concern for later. Right now, she had—
Who is this?
A small figure stood near the gate, partly hidden by the shadow of the church wall—a child, but not one of theirs. Ava would have recognized every face here. This girl was a stranger.
And she looked utterly lost.
“All right, ye wee demons,” Ava called out, causing several heads to turn. “I need to step away for a moment. Can ye manage nae to kill each other while I’m gone?”
“Aye!” came the chorus of responses, though Thomas immediately tackled Robbie, so Ava had her doubts.
She made her way across the yard, moving slowly to avoid startling the girl. As she drew closer, her chest tightened with worry. The child couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, with dark hair hanging in tangled waves around a too-pale face.
Her dress was decent enough. Nicer than anything the orphanage children wore, but it was dirty and torn at the hem, as if she’d been walking through rough terrain.
Still, it was her eyes that made Ava’s heart tighten.
They were wide and frightened, darting around the yard like she was searching for something or someone.
“Sweetheart,” Ava said softly, crouching down a few feet away so she’d be less intimidating. She kept her voice gentle, the same tone she used with the most skittish of the orphans. “Are ye all right?”
The girl’s eyes locked on her, and she instantly stepped back, her tiny frame tense like a cornered animal.
“Hey, it’s all right. I’m nae goin’ to hurt ye.” Ava held up her hands, showing they were empty. “I just want to make sure ye’re safe. What’s yer name?”
The child stared at her but said nothing. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, and her hands twisted the fabric of her skirt.
“That’s all right, ye daenae have to tell me if ye daenae want to.” Ava offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “I’m Ava. I volunteer here at the orphanage, see?” She gestured to the building behind them. “Those other children playin’? I help take care of them sometimes.”
Still nothing. But the girl’s eyes flickered toward the other children, watching them play with something that seemed like longing.
“Are ye lost, sweetheart?” Ava asked gently. “Did ye get separated from yer family?”
At the word ‘family,’ something changed in the girl’s expression.
Her small body stiffened, shoulders hunched inward as if she were trying to make herself smaller, to disappear.
Ava’s breath caught. She recognized that posture, having learned it herself as a child—how to take up less space and become invisible when ‘family’ brought danger instead of safety.
“It’s all right,” Ava repeated, keeping her voice soothing even as old memories clawed at the edges of her mind. “Whatever happened, we can sort it out. But ye look like ye’ve been walkin’ for a while, aye? And I bet ye’re hungry.”
She paused, studying the child’s hunched posture and the way she held herself as though trying to take up as little space as possible. She recognized those signs; the learned smallness of a child who had been made to feel like a burden.
A warm meal would do a lot for ye, lass.
“When did ye last eat?” Her smile was intended to put the child at ease.
The girl’s shoulders relaxed visibly. A hand moved unconsciously to her stomach, and that told Ava everything she needed to know.
This child was hiding and scared. Just like Ava had, all those years ago.
“Right then. How about this, why daenae ye come inside with me? We’ve got bread and cheese, and I think Mrs. Crawford made some bannocks this mornin’. Do ye like bannocks?”
The girl’s expression didn’t soften, but she gave a tiny nod.
“Wonderful.” Ava slowly stood, still moving carefully. “Will ye come with me? I promise, ye’re safe here. No one’s goin’ to hurt ye or make ye do anythin’ ye daenae want to do.”
The girl hesitated, her eyes studying Ava’s face as if trying to figure out whether she was telling the truth. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her, because after a long moment, she took a cautious step forward.
“That’s it,” Ava encouraged. “That’s a brave lass.”
Another step. Then another. Until finally, the girl was close enough that Ava could have reached out and touched her, though she didn’t. Not yet. This child was like a frightened bird; one wrong move and she’d bolt.
“See? That wasnae so hard.” Ava kept her tone light and warm. “Now, I’m goin’ to walk toward the orphanage, and ye can follow me if ye’d like. Or ye can stay here. Whichever makes ye more comfortable. All right?”
A slight nod.
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. “I was 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?”
“I daenae ken. She willnae speak, I’m nae sure if she can speak, or if she’s just too frightened.” Ava glanced back at the girl, who was now eating more slowly, savoring each bite. “Her clothes are too nice for her to be one of ours, but she’s clearly been through somethin’ terrible.”
“Should we send word to the village? Ask if anyone’s missin’ a child?”
“Aye, but...” Ava frowned. “She was wanderin’ near our village, but those clothes... I daenae recognize them. She might have come from farther away.”
“How far would a wee lass like that travel on her own?”
“I daenae ken. But I’m goin’ to find out.” Ava straightened her shoulders. “First, I’ll see if I can get her to tell me anythin’, or at least write her name if she kens how. Then we can start searchin’ for her family.”
“And if we cannae find them?”
Ava looked at the small girl sitting at the table, her thin fingers carefully breaking apart a bannock.
She thought of all the children here who’d been abandoned, forgotten, or orphaned.
“Then we’ll make sure she’s cared for,” Ava said quietly. “Whatever it takes. She’s nae goin’ to be alone. Nae if I can help it.”
Mrs. Crawford patted her arm affectionately. “Ye’ve got the biggest heart of anyone I ken, Ava lass.”
“Or the smallest brain, lettin’ meself get attached so easily.” But Ava was already smiling as she returned to the table. “Feelin’ better?”
The girl nodded, and this time there was the ghost of a smile on her lips.
“Good. Now, I ken ye daenae want to talk, and that’s perfectly fine. But I need to ken how to help ye find yer family. Do ye ken how to write?”
The girl’s eyes lit up, and she nodded enthusiastically.
Ava felt a surge of relief. “Wonderful! Mrs. Crawford, do we have any paper? So this bonnie lass can write her name.” She turned to the girl. “Then we’ll change yer clothes and make ye comfortable.”
Mrs. Crawford slid a small piece of paper and a pencil across the table. The girl hesitated, then bent over it and wrote, in careful, deliberate letters: Esther.
"Esther." Ava smiled softly. "That's a beautiful name."
Something thugged at her heart. She knew she needed to help her find her family, and she was going to do it fast.
And if anything went wrong, she would shield the girl with all her might.