If the baby’s mother belonged to the trading family that Edwin dislikes, then perhaps Ellen thought she was saving the child. With Maryanne and the others, rescue would have been warranted. With the child, though …
We were back to the problem Dalton and I discussed yesterday. At what point do you declare parents unfit? The baby is healthy, showing absolutely no signs of neglect or abuse. Yet, according to Edwin, the family prostitutes its daughters. If he’s right about that, then looking after a baby girl is little different than treating your sled dogs well.
What if that is the sort of situation we find? A child who will grow up to that sort of life?
For now, I need to focus on finding the baby’s parents. I hope Cypher can shed more light on that.
TWENTY
I talk to Phil about Maryanne. I’m trying to play fair with all parties, especially in light of the “Whoops, guess the council “isn’t responsible for hostiles” revelation. I’m feeling sheepish about that, and in response, I decide to be aboveboard regarding Maryanne’s presence.
I explain to Phil. He responds with a shake of his head and zero questions, as if he’s beyond surprise when it comes to Rockton. He’ll tell the council Maryanne is here and sees no issue with that. It’s a humanitarian gesture.
At one time, I’d have thought Phil incapable of understanding that concept. While he doesn’t exactly trip over himself to offer her hospitality, he doesn’t question giving her a house for the night, food, fresh clothing and supplies come morning.
I’ve brought the baby back from Jen’s, and Maryanne is resting, so I’ve requisitioned a men’s parka from the supply shop, put the baby into the front sling we fashioned yesterday, and tucked her under the jacket. We’re both restless, and walking with her seemed like a fine solution, though it might suggest that I have far more experience with puppies than babies.
She doesn’t sleep, but she settles in with only the occasional grunt to let me know she’s there.
Walking through town means more stopping-and-greeting than actual movement, especially when I have a baby strapped to my chest. It’s like walking Storm—even after a year, people still stop me to give her a pat. The baby doesn’t want to be patted. She conveys that with a yowl the first time a resident’s icy fingers touch her cheek.
So I take her out of town. There’s a path that runs just beyond the forest edge, one that residents are allowed to use if they really feel the need to commune with nature. I can go farther, of course—perks of being law enforcement—but with the baby, I’ll stick close. It’s also dark. Not night yet—not even dinnertime—but dark nonetheless.
I see the glow of Dalton’s flashlight first, bobbing along like fairy-fire. Then Storm gives a happy bark and thunders down the path. I drop to one knee before she bowls me over. While I pet her, she dances and whines as if we’ve been separated for months. Then she sticks her big nose into my parka and licks the baby. The baby’s head rolls back, as if trying to see. Storm snuffles the black-fuzzed head, and the baby only grunts in surprise.
Dalton approaches with a guy half a head taller than him, a burly bulk of a man with a snow-crusted beard halfway down his chest.
As I stand, Cypher says, “Either that’s a baby under your coat, kitten, or you’ve taken up serious snacking.”
“My snacking habits are none of your concern,” I say. “But yes, it is a baby.”
Cypher gives me a one-armed hug, which I return. Then he peers down at the baby, who whimpers in alarm.
“Still sc
aring dogs and small children,” Dalton says. “You might want to trim that beard.” He pauses. “No, I guess at her age she can’t see more than shapes. It must be the smell.”
“Ha!” Cypher jabs a finger into Dalton’s chest. “You’re getting better at the jokes, boy. They’re even close to being funny. Also, you really gotta stop letting this girl of yours wander around the woods. If she’s not tripping over dead bodies, she’s rescuing wolf pups and throwing bear cubs, and now she’s bringing home lost babies. Must be a talent.”
“I don’t find the dead bodies,” I say. “I make them, to liven things up.”
“Hey now, that’s my line.”
“You make any dead bodies lately, Ty?” Dalton asks as we head for home.
“Just the kind I can throw into a stew. And, before you ask, that doesn’t include people. My hit-man days are behind me … unless you need someone put down, and then I’ll make an exception.”
“For a lifetime supply of coffee creamer?” I say.
“Hell, no, kitten. I want the coffee, too. I’m a skilled tradesman. I don’t come cheap.” He looks over at the baby. “Mind if I hold the tyke when we get inside where it’s warm?”
Dalton and I exchange a look. Cypher sees it and sputters. “What? You think I’ll drop her on her head? My own girl grew up just fine. Twice as smart as her old man.”
“You have a daughter?” I say.
“I do indeed. She’s a lawyer down in Hawaii. Not the profession I would have chosen, but she isn’t fond of mine either, so we agree to disagree. She married a few years back, and she’s got herself a pair of twin babies. I haven’t broken them yet.”
“You’ve … seen them?” I say.