Charcoal In the Snow
In times of plenty, people are generous. Happy to share all that they have with family and friends both far and wide. In times of strife, friendships are diminished and only close family takes priority. The generous become stingy and close their eyes to the misery around them.
There had been two years of drought, with burning hot temperatures in the summer, causing the crops to droop and burn. And now, as winter swirled in, white and freezing with cold, people in the village only had enough food for themselves and their families.
It wasn’t cruelty that had them ignoring the child in ragged clothes, it was that they didn’t have the resources to help anyone that wasn’t their own. That’s what they told themselves as they wrapped their coats tighter around themselves and sped their steps as they passed the pathetic figure dressed in rags huddled against the wall of the local mercantile shop.
People went in and out of the shop all day, clutching their bundles of food and necessities. Turning their eyes away from the beggar child. No one deigning to stop and help someone that wasn’t part of their family.
The sky darkened and the temperature dropped even more. Snowflakes swirled down, adding another layer of white to the already snowy street.
Unnoticed, the child fell over. Seeming destined to die ignored and alone. Young life snuffed out too soon.
A father sent out by his wife exited the mercantile shop and nearly stepped on a small hand. "Oh dear, what is this?"
Shocked to see the hand, the man cleared the snow away and was surprised to find a child wearing ragged clothes that were much too thin for the cold. He hesitated barely a heartbeat before scooping the child up in his arms and hurriedly carried him back to his home.
"Wife! Wife! I’ve found a frozen child! Help me to save a life!" he called as he rushed into the house, not even pausing to stomp the snow off his boots.
"What’s this now?" His wife bustled out from the kitchen, her eyes going wide as she saw the unconscious form in his arms. "Oh no. Bring the child over to the couch. I’ll heat some water. You get out of those clothes and boots. First Son! First Son, bring the brown blanket!"
First Son left the rug in front of the fire where he’d been playing with his younger sister and even younger brother and hurried to his parents’ room to get the blanket from the chest at the foot of their bed. The brown blanket was thick and warm, the top embroidered with pink flowers and pale green leaves.
He brought the blanket to the couch where his mother had stripped off the child’s rags and was covering the small body with towels. "He’s so dirty," First Son said. "Are you sure you want to put the blanket on him? He’ll get it dirty."
"We can wash the blanket," his mother said. "We can’t raise the dead. I’ll lift him up and you fold the blanket around him. We need to warm him up before it’s too late."
First Son followed his mother’s instructions, but the frown between his brows never lessened. "Why don’t you wash him? Won’t a hot bath help him the most?"
"He’s been frozen in the cold. If we throw him into a hot bath, the shock might kill him. We’ll warm him up, then bathe him in a while." She settled the blanket around the child, then gently felt his cheeks and forehead. "No fever yet, but he’s likely to fall very ill. A child so young, it’s hard to survive such a chill."
"Mama, is the boy going to die?" Second Son asked, having toddled up when no one noticed.
"Not if we can help it," his mother said. "I’ll go make him some porridge. You keep an eye on him and let me know if he wakes up."
"Yes, Mama."
The family stayed up late into the night, the children insisting on sleeping in front of the fire so they could help their mother and father if needed. And their mother tended to the child on the couch, wiping him clean and feeding porridge into his little mouth.
And the boy survived the night. And the following days. He burned with fever, but with the family’s attentive care he didn’t burn too hot and his brain remained unburnt. And a week later he regained his senses and his curious mind and he joined the family for the rest of the winter.
He played with First Daughter and Second Son. He followed First Son, who he admired greatly. He tried to help with chores though he seemed unfamiliar with the tasks. And altogether he was a sweet child that was grateful to have been saved.
He didn’t speak at first, his silence making the family think that he might be mute, but one day he was playing with First Daughter and spoke his first word. And after that first word, he continued talking, and it turned out he was a smart child with a cute voice.
By the time spring came, the family had begun to see him as being one of them. The siblings saw him as another brother, and the mother and father saw him as another son. Even with the shortages brought about by the last few bad seasons, they started planning how to make a place for him in their lives.
But in the middle of spring strangers came to the village, men and women on horseback, bodies jangling with swords and chainmail. Faces and voices serious as they held up drawings of a missing child.
The missing child that had been living with the family.
It turned out that the boy had been kidnapped and held for ransom. His clothes and identity card had been taken away as he’d been taken far from his home. The clothes had been used as proof that they had the child and a meeting place had been set.
But at some point during the journey to the meet up, one of the kidnappers had given in to unnatural desires and the frightened child had escaped before anything could happen.
Lost and alone in a strange place, knowing he was being pursued by the kidnappers, the child hadn’t dared to tell anyone his identity to ask for help. He could only attempt to make his way home on his own, though he hadn’t been sure of the direction and had gotten lost, ending up in the town after the snows had begun to fall. Unable to speak and ignored by the townspeople, he would have died if the kind father hadn’t stopped to help.
The leader of the guards gave the family a purse full of coin before taking the young master back to his own home, where his mother and father gathered him close and swore they would never let him leave their sight ever again.
And the spring turned to summer turned to winter turned to spring again. And in that following summer, the villager family was greeted by powerful guests in the form of the boy they had saved and his grateful parents.
And in reward for helping a "beggar child" that otherwise would have died, unnoticed and unlamented, they were greatly rewarded. The parents received a gift of money and fertile land. The sons were able to go to school, resulting in futures both hopeful and bright. And First Daughter became a goddaughter of the wealthy family, her schooling paid for and her marriage prospects expanded far beyond the village and the surrounding county.
For showing kindness when they didn’t need to, the family was rewarded far beyond anything they ever could have imagined. But even without the reward, they still would have helped him. Because their kindness went beyond skin deep and was imprinted on their bones. To show graciousness and generosity not just when they had plenty, but also when a single piece of charcoal could keep someone alive in the snow.
=END=
~Harper Kingsley
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