by Marian Unn
Chapter 12
I lay down on the cot. It was old and worn, not much different from the one I had at home, but I wonder why I cannot seem to find it adequate. Wait, these clothes that I am in are from someone of great wealth, perhaps I am now rich? But how? Did Jobel find a new career? Did Merek marry a rich woman?
Did Merek become the King?
The thought continually prickles my mind, toying with me, laughing at my ignorance of these lost years. It was as if my inner most being was laughing at me. “How could you forget something so awful?!” it cried, but I turned from it. Folding my hands, I looked up towards the low dark ceiling. “My son is not such a horrible man, is he, Lord?” I listened with all my heart, but the answer was only the throbbing within my soul. “I must find the truth for myself.” Curling under the thin sheets, I shivered from the chilly night air that blew right through the old creaky window of the house.
This house is so very rickety and cold. The children here need someone besides the Father. They need a mother, someone to cook and clean and teach. They need me, probably more than my own family needs me. Though I know, or at least I hope, they miss me just as much as I them. But for now, I believe, this is my place. Yet, I miss them so much…
No. No, I must find my way home. But, yes. Yes, these children are in dire need of me at the moment. The image of the bandaged boy who had reached out to me flashed above all the thoughts and images in my mind, and so I know what I must do. As a Christian, I must not turn from those who need me, for thus is the duty of a Christian, the duty of a mother.
The next morning, I awoke with the shaking of the house, the sound of little feet and voices crashing together below.
When I saw the chaos of the room, below I nearly screamed. The children were running about, stepping on everything from food to each other. In anarchy, the young one’s cried as the older one’s tried to sleep longer by covering their ears with their tattered pillows. The sick ones were all laughing as the healthy ran about causing mischief, but the strain was too great on their little souls, and their laughs were repeatedly followed by harsh coughing fits or low moaning.
“What a sight! What a sight!” I cried out, clapping my hands together. All the children quickly grew silent. Turning my way, their big eyes looked to me for some profound words of guidance. My face flushing at such attention, I was astonished at their ability to focus on an adult without being told themselves. “Well,” I said quietly, “Do any of you know where Father Quetell is?”
