"Zenna Henderson - No different flesh" - читать интересную книгу автора (Henderson Zenna)

triumph and then of astonishment. The fluttering thing shot up, out of reach
above Mark, and seemed to be trying to disappear into the ceaseless shiver of
the tender green and white aspens. Whatever it was, a whitish blob against the
green foliage, dropped down again and Mark grabbed it firmly.
Meris ran to the door and flung it open, stepping out with a shiver into the
cold air. Mark saw her as he rounded the curve in the path.
"Look what I found!" he cried. "Look what I caught for you!"
Meris put a hand on the wet, muddy bundle Mark was carrying and thought
quickly, "Where are the feathers?"
"I caught a baby for you!" cried Mark. Then his smile died and he thrust the
bundle at her. "Good Lord, Meris!" he choked, "I'm not fooling! It is a baby!"
Meris turned back a sodden fold and gasped. A face! A child face,
mud-smudged, with huge dark eyes and tangled dark curls. A quiet, watchful
face-not crying. Maybe too frightened to cry?
"Mark!" Meris clutched the bundle to her and hurried into the cabin. "Build
up the fire in the stove," she said, laying her burden on the table. She
peeled the outer layer off quickly and let it fall soggily to the floor.
Another damp layer and then another. "Oh, poor messy child!" she crooned.
"Poor wet, messy, little girl!'"
"Where did she come from?" Mark wondered. "There must be some clue-" He
changed quickly from his soaked sneakers into his hiking boots. "I'll go
check. There must be something out there." His hands paused on the knotting of
the last bootlace. "Or someone." He stood up, settling himself into his jeans
and boots. "Take it easy, Meris." He kissed her cheek as she bent over the
child and left.
Meris's fingers recalled more and more of their deftness as she washed the
small girl-body, improvised a diaper of a dish towel, converted a tee shirt
into a gown, all the time being watched silently by the big dark eyes that now
seemed more wary than frightened, watched as though the child was trying to
read her lips that were moving so readily in the old remembered endearments
and croonings. Finally, swathing the small form in her chenille robe in lieu
of a blanket, she sat on the edge of the bed, rocking and crooning to the
child. She held a cup of warm milk to the small mouth. There was a firming of
lips against it at first and then the small mouth opened and two small hands
grasped the cup and the milk was gulped down greedily. Meris wiped the milky
crescent from the child's upper lip and felt the tenseness going out of the
small body as the warmth of the milk penetrated it. The huge dark eyes in the
small face closed, jerked open, closed slowly and stayed closed.
Meris sat cradling the heavy warmth of the sleeping child. She felt healing
flow through her own body and closed her eyes in silent thanksgiving before
she put her down, well back from the edge of the bed. Then she gathered up the
armful of wet muddy clothes and reached for the box of detergent.
When Mark returned some time later, Meris gestured quickly. "She's sleeping,"
she said. "Oh, Mark! Just think! A baby!" Tears came to her eyes and she bent
her head.
"Meris," Mark's gentle voice lifted her face. "Meris, just don't forget that
the baby is not ours to keep."
"I know-I" She began to protest and then she smoothed the hair back from her
forehead, knowing what Mark wanted to save her from. "The baby is not ours-to
keep," she relinquished. "Not ours to keep. Did you find anything, or anyone,"