Free Storm Child by Sharon Sant

don’t want to look
at you.  Stay there!’ 
    Georgina’s crying became louder
but Charlotte ignored it. There were also pencil marks over the wood of the
table and all over the floor and, angry as Charlotte was, she knew that it
would have to be cleaned before her mother returned. She was supposed to be
watching her, after all, and her mother would not accept any excuses. Muttering
under her breath, she ran to the outhouse and fetched a hard brush and a bucket
of freezing cold soapy water and began scrubbing on her return.  All the
while, she could hear Georgina crying, but the sound became a whine that
Charlotte ignored, as she would ignore an annoying fly.
    So when the sound stopped, she
thought nothing of it.  And when she had finished her cleaning and went to
tip the water away, she did not think to check where Georgina was. As she
collected her drawing equipment and put the paints away, deciding to give up
for the day as dusk was moving in, no thought of Georgina crossed her
mind.  Finally, when the house had been silent for perhaps twenty minutes
as Charlotte had busied herself, putting things straight, she finally wondered
why it was so quiet. 
    The porch door was open. 
She realised that it must have been open the whole time she had been tidying.
After a quick check around the house, hoping against hope that her worst fears
would not be realised, Charlotte dashed into the tiny garden. No sign of
Georgina. Then all round the outside of the house, then out onto the heath,
calling her name desperately.  But there was no reply, no tiny figure
anywhere.
    Georgina had gone.
    Then, that sound again, a hollow
moan that gradually lengthened into a chilling howl, coming from the direction
of the dark woods that bordered the heath, a sound that made Charlotte shudder
and her skin prick into tiny bumps all over.  She had let Georgina out on
the heath alone and she dared not think what might be waiting out there for
her.

 
    Ten
     
     
    Polly threw another carrot into the bowl, her gaze on the
darkening sky outside the window.  ‘He shoulda been back by now.’
    ‘He’s been caught,’ Annie said,
digging into a sack of potatoes and producing a handful.  She took them
over to the sink where Polly was washing vegetables for Ernesto’s dinner.
    ‘I’ll bet he has. I don’t fancy bein ’ the one to tell Ernie, though.’  She looked at
Annie. 
    ‘Me neither.’
    ‘Someone’s got to.’
    ‘What d’you think he’ll do?’ 
    ‘The best Isaac can hope for is
that Ernesto leaves him there to rot.’
    Annie’s eyes widened. ‘They’ll
deport him!’
    ‘Probably,’ Polly returned, her
face unreadable as she resumed her task.
    Annie stared at her in silence.
‘We could go and get him,’ she said finally.
    Polly fished out the last clean
potato and tipped the sludgy contents of the bucket down the sink. ‘An’ then we
get arrested an’ all.’
    ‘You’re clever, Polly, you can
think of something.’
    ‘An’ you have magic but I don’t
hear you offerin ’ to use it.’
    ‘I don’t.’ Annie turned away from
Polly’s fierce gaze.
    ‘You don’t trust me but I’m the
only family you got.  Sooner you understand that the better.’
    Annie’s mouth worked silently for
a moment. ‘You’re going to leave Isaac there?’ Polly nodded. ‘What about
Ernesto?’
    ‘Pretend you don’t know anythin ’ about it.’
    ‘ D’you think he’ll go and get Isaac?’
    Polly threw back her head in a
mirthless laugh.  ‘Not ruddy likely!  Ernesto ain’t as pure as the first snow. His face ain’t one he’ll
be wantin ’ to show in any jailhouse any time soon.’
    Annie regarded Polly
thoughtfully. ‘He’s mixed up in criminal goin’s on?  I never seen ‘ im leave the house.’
    Polly tapped the side of her
nose. ‘That’s ‘cause you ain’t lookin ’ at the right times, sweet.  Ernesto’s
got plenty of dealing goin ’ on.’
    ‘What kind of deals?’
    Polly shrugged as she reached