Free Lady of Milkweed Manor by Julie Klassen Page B

night, Charlotte arose from bed, lit a candle, and made her way to the foundling ward. As soon as she opened the heavy door, the sound of crying reached out to her. She stepped in quickly, shutting the door behind her.
    Was this the crying she had heard those other nights? Not likely this far from her room. She moved to the first room of sleeping infants. One was crying, and another awoke to join the first, the cries mingling in an ear-piercing refrain. Charlotte stepped back into the hall and saw a mobcapped Mrs. Krebs struggling to fix a feeding tube with sleep-smeared eyes. “Go and fetch Ruthie for me, will you, Charlotte? It’s her turn. Second door on the right.”
    Charlotte soon returned with the sleepy red-haired woman, who sat down and began nursing the two crying infants. Charlotte walked down the row of cribs and saw another infant lying awake, a boy according to the small card with the child’s sex and date of admission pinned to the side of the crib. Occasionally a card contained a name, if the child had been given one, but it was rare. This little boy lay on his back, looking around the room peacefully, taking in the commotion with calm ease. Charlotte paused, looking down at the child, his eyes bright in the candlelight.
     
    Mrs. Krebs sighed. “Fixed the feeder up for nothing, looks like. Usually when one cries a whole choir wake with it. But only two so far, and Ruthie can manage a pair on her own.”
    “Would you mind if I fed this one?” Charlotte asked quietly.
    “Isn’t fussing.”
    “I know, but he’s awake and so am I.”
    “Suit yourself.” Mrs. Krebs set the feeding tube on the table and left the room.
    Charlotte picked up the swaddled infant, who seemed light as a kitten in her arms. She sat with him in the rocking chair nearest the table, and he immediately turned toward her, molding himself to her body. At first she pulled away, back pressed hard against the chair, feeling embarrassed as the infant rooted against her nightdress. She looked around, feeling guilty, though of what she wasn’t sure. But no one was watching. Ruthie was facing the other direction and seemed to have nodded off even while she nursed, and Mrs. Krebs had taken herself back to bed.
    Charlotte relaxed and allowed herself to draw the infant close. She felt a sharp longing, and wished she could nurse this little one. She ran a finger along his smooth cheek and he turned toward it, taking its tip between his lips. The force of the suction was surprisingly strong. He took her finger farther in until she felt the wet ridges of the roof of his mouth and his tongue tugging along the underside of her finger. She wondered how it would feel, if it would hurt or be pleasant, when she finally nursed her own child.
    “You’ll have to settle for goat’s milk tonight,” Charlotte whispered. She pulled her finger from his mouth with a slick popping noise and picked up the feeding tube from the nearby table. She adjusted it, lowering the open end toward the baby’s mouth.
    “Here you are,” she murmured and smiled when the little one began drinking the milk in earnest.
     
    “If you were my handsome boy, I would not let you out of my sight.” She closed her eyes as she fed the baby. Dear God in heaven, she silently prayed, please watch over this dear, helpless child.
    Daniel Taylor stood in the darkness, watching Charlotte. Unable to return to sleep after a trying day and worse evening, he had roamed the manor’s corridors. As he passed through the quiet ward, he had been surprised to see her there, especially at this hour. Aware of his hasty dress and need of a wash and shave, he did not make his presence known. He had seen many women hand feed or nurse infants over the years from beautiful young girls to ancient nuns-why did he feel so oddly transfixed by the sight of Charlotte Lamb feeding a foundling?
     
    Milkweeds are considered field pests, hard to eradicate and a threat to stock. But many people would