Arthur quietly closed the doctor's office door. He unfolded the prescription slip and grimaced.
"Look at all this. Where am I supposed to find the money for these brand-name meds?"
He shoved the papers into his pocket and trudged toward the bus stop. He had come into the city late yesterday. His lower back had been killing him for a week, keeping him up at night and leaving him doubled over in pain. He'd finally decided to see a specialist. He wasn't one for doctors, but when the pain gets that bad, you don't have much choice. He had crashed at his nephew Peter's place and spent the morning squeezed into a massive waiting room. The doctor had looked him over, told him to get more rest, avoid stress, and stop lifting heavy things. Then came the laundry list of pills.
"Easy for him to say 'don't stress.' I'm a human being, aren't I?" the old man thought. "And no heavy lifting? You can't survive in the country without chores. Waste of a trip. I should've just gone to Mrs. Higgins and asked for some of her herbal teas."
He struggled up the steps of the bus and, with a groan, settled into a window seat—it was a long haul back. By the time they reached the outskirts of the village, he felt completely rattled. He got off near the town hall and barely made it to a bench. He sat for fifteen minutes, gathering his strength, before hobbling toward his house.
"I'll head to Mrs. Higgins' place tomorrow. Today, I'm just going to lie down and wrap my back in Sarah's old wool shawl," he thought miserably as he shuffled down the street.
Sarah, his wife, had passed away two years ago. Arthur was all alone now. His nephew Peter didn't really count; he'd lived in the city for years and hardly ever checked in on his uncle. It was just Arthur and his dog, Buddy—that was his whole family.
"At least I've got the dog. He can't talk, but he's a living soul," Arthur smiled, quickening his pace. "He's probably starving. His master's been gone since yesterday."
Imagining his furry friend's joyful greeting, Arthur approached the house. He was struck by the silence in the yard and pushed open the ajar gate.
"Strange. Why isn't Buddy barking?" The golden retriever usually sensed his approach from a block away. He'd howl, dance on his hind legs, and try to lick Arthur's face. But now, there was only silence.
Anxious, Arthur forgot all about his back and hurried toward the doghouse.
"God forbid something happened to him. I didn't even tie him up yesterday!"
He walked over and leaned down, and suddenly Buddy poked his shaggy head out. He looked up from under his brow, staring silently at Arthur.
"For heaven's sake," the old man muttered. "You scared me, you beast."
He reached out to pat the dog's neck, but immediately jerked his hand back. Buddy was baring his teeth and let out a low, guttural growl.
"Alright, alright, I'm sorry I didn't feed you on time. I'll fix it right now." Arthur headed for the house. "Look at that, a temperamental hound. He's actually holding a grudge!" Arthur thought as he filled a bowl with the beef stew he'd made the day before, making sure to include a good chunk of meat. "As if I went on vacation and just decided not to take him."
The old man carefully stepped off the porch and placed the bowl near the doghouse. A wet black nose sniffed at the food for a second but then retreated back into the darkness of the kennel.
"What is wrong with you?" Arthur worried, calling the dog to come out.
Buddy crawled out reluctantly, glancing back over his shoulder repeatedly. Arthur peeked inside, gasped, and nearly lost his footing. Tucked into the fresh straw on the floor was a tiny infant, fast asleep and wrapped in a faded, threadbare towel. Sensing the dog's absence, the baby shifted slightly. Lacking the warmth of the dog's fur, the infant opened its eyes and let out a piercing wail. Arthur sank to his knees in shock, crossing himself.
"Lord, have mercy. What on earth is this? Where did it come out of?"
He recoiled from the doghouse in terror. Forgetting every ache and pain, he bolted out toward the street. He and Sarah had never been blessed with children, and the old man had no idea how to even approach an infant. His only hope was to find one of the neighborhood women.
Arthur got lucky. Right outside his gate, he ran into Martha, the local mail carrier, who was walking by looking her usual grumpy self. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into the yard. At first, she didn't understand what the old man wanted; she started fighting him off, cursing out the "lecherous old fool." She was a widow, sure, but Arthur wasn't exactly the suitor of her dreams. But the moment she saw the baby in the doghouse, she stopped struggling and threw her hands up in shock. She listened to his panicked explanation and a look of realization dawned on her.
She quickly pulled off the light cardigan she'd worn against the morning chill. She expertly swaddled the baby in it and ran toward the local clinic. There, a young nurse named Chloe took the newborn. She cleaned the baby up and called the authorities. Soon, an ambulance took the infant to the county hospital.
Arthur's heart should have been at ease, but a gnawing anxiety took hold of him instead.
"Whose baby is it? Kids don't just fall from the sky!" he thought.
He kept prodding Buddy, hoping the dog would show him where he'd found the "gift." But the dog just flattened his ears and tried to crawl back into the kennel, sniffing around as if searching for the child.
Then Arthur remembered June, an orphan who had arrived in the village back in the spring. She was a former foster kid, maybe looking for relatives, maybe running from trouble. She had convinced the local council to let her stay in the old ranger's cabin out in the woods after the previous tenant passed away. The locals were kind to her, bringing her clothes and food, and she helped them out by weeding gardens. She'd go into the woods for berries and mushrooms to get by. Arthur didn't know for sure, but he'd suspected she might be pregnant or ill.
He hadn't seen the girl in about two months, though he used to visit her occasionally as a friend, trying—unsuccessfully—to ask about her past. June was never one for talking. She'd serve him tea and pet his dog with a smile, but about her life? Not a word.
Arthur moved quickly. He slung his hunting rifle over his shoulder and whistled for Buddy. He headed for the woods. His gut told him June was involved. He reached the old cabin quickly and scouted the perimeter. He spotted fresh tire tracks from a large vehicle. He hurried into the shack. The house met him with darkness and an eerie sense of unease. He looked around. Things were scattered everywhere, a broken mug lay on the floor, and a potted plant had been knocked over. The girl was nowhere to be found. Arthur sat down on the porch steps.
"Where is she? What happened to her?" His heart ached with worry.
Just then, Buddy, who was huddling at his feet, began snuffling at the ground. He started sniffing and huffing, then slowly moved in the direction the tire tracks went. He kept looking back, as if calling Arthur to follow. Arthur groaned, but he had no choice—he followed. Seeing that the old man was coming, Buddy broke into a confident trot, then a fast gallop. Arthur couldn't keep up with the beast and cursed under his breath, but he pressed on stubbornly, determined not to lose him.
After leading Arthur through the woods for a while, the dog burst out onto the highway. He ran for another half-mile, circled a spot near the road where the grass was matted down, and ducked into a nearby hazel bush. The old man followed, and there, snagged on the roots, was a light-colored thread. It looked exactly like the material from the towel the baby had been wrapped in. Arthur stopped, scratching the back of his head. Aside from that thread, there were no tracks. Where was the girl? He stepped onto the pavement and started walking toward the village along the shoulder.
"I should've stopped by the Sheriff's office," he muttered. "He's got that patrol truck. It'd be a lot faster on wheels."
The dog trailed beside him, tail wagging, looking guilty. Suddenly, a loud air horn blasted right next to them, like a siren. Arthur jumped aside, turning in a fright. A massive semi-truck was braking hard, and a panicked man was staring at him from the open door.
"Hey, pops! Is there a hospital nearby? I need one fast!"
Arthur nodded quickly. "There is, follow me."
He grabbed the hand offered to him and climbed into the cab to show the way. He glanced behind the driver's seat and saw a woman's leg, covered in fresh blood, hanging off the sleeper berth. Arthur froze in fear—you never knew what kind of outlaws were on the road. But the driver waved his hands frantically.
"The girl crawled out of the woods right onto the road! Nearly ran her over. She's hurt bad, I'm just trying to find a doctor!"
Arthur rushed to the girl. It was June. Her eyes were closed, and she was as pale as a ghost. But a blue vein in her temple was pulsing—she was alive. Arthur pointed out a shortcut through the logging trail. They made it in minutes. Once again, Chloe the nurse had work to do. Eventually, the county paramedics arrived, and Arthur and Buddy trudged back home.
Dusk had settled in, thick and summery. Arthur was so worked up from the stress and the hike through the woods that he poured himself a shot of whiskey before bed. He ate some cold stew, let the dog into the house, and, rubbing his aching back, went to sleep. Three days later, the Sheriff came to see Arthur.
"Let's head into town, Arthur. We're going to visit June," he said. "She's conscious. No permanent injuries, but she won't talk. She just cries. Maybe she'll open up to you. You two were friends."
The old man nodded and got ready. He was dying to know the truth behind this tangled mess himself.
But when Arthur saw June in that hospital bed, it felt like a cold hand squeezed his heart. He felt so sorry for her. The girl lay facing the wall, her thin shoulders shaking with grief. When he sat beside her and began stroking her hair like she was a child, she flinched and pulled away.
"Don't. I don't need anything."
Struggling to find the right words, Arthur began to plead with her to tell him what happened. How else could they help? She was silent for a long time. Then she turned to him and began to speak. It started slow and forced, then became a hurried, disjointed tumble of words, terrifying the old man with the details.
She started from the beginning. According to her, she had been cheated out of the housing promised to foster kids when she aged out. She'd ended up working as a janitor. The pay was pennies, but she could sleep in a storage closet—better than the street. It was an upscale neighborhood, and that's where a wealthy young couple noticed her. They offered her a deal to be a surrogate for them. They promised enough money for a down payment on her own apartment. She agreed, but when the baby started moving, she realized she couldn't give him up. She left the advance money in their mailbox and fled the apartment they'd rented for her. She'd come to the village hoping they wouldn't find her. She was wrong.
Four days ago, two thugs in a black SUV arrived at the cabin. They didn't waste time; they shoved her into the car and headed for the city. They didn't beat her, but they terrified her so badly that she went into labor right there on the road, even though she was only seven months along. They pulled her out of the car and she gave birth.
"It's a boy," the hired muscle had cheered.
But the baby came out with the cord wrapped around his neck, blue and silent. He didn't cry. The men panicked, thought he was dead, wrapped him in a towel and dumped him in the bushes. The woods were deep—they figured the wolves would finish the job, and they'd be off the hook. They shoved her back in the car. She only had time to see a grey shadow dart toward the bushes. They didn't get far before they called their bosses. When the couple heard the baby was "gone," they ordered the men to get rid of June. They pushed her out of the moving car. She lay there unconscious until morning, then crawled to the highway for help.
"Arthur, please, tell them to let me go," she sobbed again. "I want to find my baby and give him a proper burial before the wolves get him."
Arthur leaned over her and spoke softly.
"You just rest, honey. Just rest."
He looked up at the Sheriff with a silent question. Could they tell her the baby was alive? The Sheriff looked up from his paperwork and gave a short nod. Arthur smiled at June.
"You don't need to go searching the woods. Your son is right here, in the maternity ward. He's doing just fine, thanks to Buddy. Dragged him right into his own doghouse."
The girl shook her head, unable to process it. She sat up. Arthur had never seen eyes like that before—they were a whirlwind of the horror she'd survived, a plea for truth, and a sudden, desperate hope.
"Is that true?" she asked timidly.
The old man nodded. June grabbed his hands and began kissing them, her tears hot on his skin.
"Thank you. Thank you for everything."
She was laughing and crying all at once, teetering on the edge of hysteria, until the Sheriff stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder.
"Easy, June. I need you to make an official statement about the kidnapping and child endangerment."
The girl snapped back to reality and shook her head violently.
"No! I'm not writing anything! If I do, they'll come back and take my son!"
The Sheriff shrugged, clearly disapproving. "But these people will stay free."
She grimaced bitterly. "I don't care. I just want them to stop looking for us. I want them to leave us alone."
The Sheriff frowned and walked toward the door. Without a victim's statement, his hands were tied.
A month later, Arthur picked up June and the baby from the hospital and brought them back to his house. And why not? He had a big house—plenty of room for everyone. No sense in a girl and a baby spending the winter in a drafty old cabin in the middle of nowhere. He and Buddy would look after them. They weren't strangers anymore; the little guy was like a godson to him now. As they say, when the family is together, the soul is at peace. And at his age, peace of mind was the best medicine there was.
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