Free Here Comes a Candle by Jane Aiken Hodge

out. It was pleasant here in the sun, with unknown trees in young leaf around her. It was good, after the fatigue of the journey, just to sit for a while and think about as little as possible. It was too peaceful to last. Suddenly, her head went up at the sound of r unning footsteps. A moment later, a child burst into view on a path that wound away through the trees in the direction of the house. She was running like a mad thing, head down, hair flying, small fists clenched. A small child. Five years old? Six? Sarah, of course. And now Kate heard a voice— Arabella ’ s deep, unmistakable voice calling impatiently from the direction of the house: “ Sarah! Sarah! Where are you, child? ”
    Sarah had almost reached the temple. Surely she was not heading for the river? But on the cold thought, she stopped, panting, outside the temple, looked up, and saw Kate. Instinctively, Kate neither moved nor spoke, but merely sat there, calmly s milin g, one hand held out in—what, greeting, propitiation? Their eyes met and held, the child ’ s gray and steady for a moment before they shifted to look, oddly, to somewhere behind Kate ’ s left shoulder. And then, nearer, Arabella ’ s voice, angry now: “ Sarah! Sarah! ”
    The child was watching Kate sideways, to see what she would do. She did nothing, but merely sat there passive, hoping she looked as friendly, as compassionate as she felt. At any rate, Sarah seemed to have come to a decision. She edged around, keeping as far from Kate as she could, and then, with a last glance—pleading, perhaps?—dived into the little temple and hid with the ease of long practice in a corner behind the altar.
    And only just in time. Arabella now appeared at the corner of the path, her mouth open to call again: “ Sarah—oh! ” She saw Kate. “ You! ” And then, formally. “ Good morning, Mrs. Croston. I hope you slept well. ” It was more reproach than question. “ I ’ m looking for Sarah. Wretched child: never there when you want her. I hope you realize what you have taken on, Mrs. Croston. ”
    “ I think I am beginning to. ” Odd to feel so violent a relief that she had not been asked point blank whether she had seen the child. It seemed as if she could feel terror behind her in the little temple. And yet—this was Sarah ’ s mother. Fantastic not to tell her at once where the child was. But she was not going to.
    “ It ’ s just a question of time, ” Arabella went on. “ It will become impossible. It ’ s bad enough already. You must have heard what went on last night. How can I invite guests to the house when that kind of scene happens two nights out of three? There ’ s an admirable asylum in Boston ... But I don ’ t mean to discourage you, Mrs. Croston. Do your best—I am sure you will—and when you are beaten, tell my husband. Perhaps he will believe you .” She turned away, elegant in her dark blue morning dress, and called again. “ Sarah! Sarah! Come here this instant! ” Kate sat very still on her bench, watching the tall figure move away toward the river. Aware of a little stir of movement behind her in the temple, she automatically held out a warning backward hand. Shocking to be doing this.
    Arabella was coming back. “ It ’ s just too bad. ” She shrugged trim shoulders. “ I had meant her to have the treat of driving out with me. It would have given you a morning ’ s peace, at least; but there it is. You might as well see at once how things are. I wish you joy of your charge. Mrs. Croston. ”
    “ Thank you. ” But already Arabella had turned to sweep away, skirts fastidiously held up from the damp grass.
    And Kate, who had risen to speak to her, sat down again on the cold marble, trying to control a spasm of rage. How could a mother speak thus of her own child? Appalling, too, to think that Sarah had heard it all. But then, how much did she understand? Here, at least, was a chance to find out. “ She ’ s gone now. ” She said it