Always October Read Free Page B

lay a basket woven from coarse black twigs.
    Actually, the real reason for the yelp was what was inside the basket: a baby, bundled in a black blanket.
    It cried out again, then stared up at me as if it expected me to do something. So I did. Lugging the basket into the house, I bellowed, “Mom, you’d better get out here!”
    She shot out of the Loom Room. “What is it, Jake? Is anything—” She stopped in her tracks when she saw the basket. Eyes wide, she came to kneel beside it. “Poor little fellow,” she murmured, stroking the baby’s cheek.
    â€œWhat makes you think it’s a boy?”
    â€œMothers know these things,” she answered, chucking the baby under the chin.
    The kid gurgled with delight.
    While Mom fussed over the baby, I took a closer look at the basket, which was wet from the storm. That black blanket bothered me. I mean, who wraps a baby in a black blanket? Then I spotted a piece of coarse paper tucked next to the baby. I pulled it out and unfolded it. The edges were slightly soggy, but the center was dry and the ink had not run. I’m going to copy it over, so anyone who reads this can see how bizarre it was:
    To the Family in This House,
    Please take care of my baby. I am in a desperate situation and must leave little Dum Pling behind. Please, please protect him! This is more important than you can imagine.
    Thank you.
M.A.          
    â€œBetter look at this,” I said, handing the note to my mother, who by this time had picked up the baby and put him over her shoulder.
    Outside, the rain continued to hammer at the windows, lightning flashed ever more frequently, and thunder rattled the roof with increasing force.
    Mom read the note, wiped away a tear, then handed the paper back to me. Cuddling the baby close, she whispered, “I’m so sorry, sweetie. But your momma brought you to the right place. We’ll take good care of you.”
    The kid burped, then puked on her shoulder.
    Mom sighed. “Get the paper towels, would you, Jake?”
    I scooted off to the kitchen, flicking on lights as I went. More important, I made sure to touch all the right spots on the wall.
    â€œHow do you know the note came from the baby’s mother?” I asked when I came back. “Couldn’t it have been the father?”
    â€œMothers know these things,” she repeated, taking the paper towels.
    I rolled my eyes. She had been using that phrase a lot since Dad disappeared.
    â€œSo what are we going to do about, um, it ?” I asked.
    â€œHe’s not an ‘it,’ Jacob, he’s a little dumpling, just like the note says. In fact, I think that’s what we should call him.” She patted his cheek. “Don’t you agree, Little Dumpling?”
    â€œThat doesn’t answer my question. What are we going to do about, er—Little Dumpling?”
    â€œFor now, not a thing.”
    â€œAre you kidding? We have to do something !”
    â€œJacob, nothing we can do tonight can’t wait till morning—and there’s no point in going out in that storm.”
    As if to prove her point, a huge bolt of lightning hissed down from the sky.
    Rocking from side to side, she patted the baby’s back. “The little darling is in no danger here. And it’s possible his mother might change her mind and come back for him. Just look at that note.”
    â€œI know! It must have been written by a crazy person!”
    â€œJacob! You have no idea what kind of stress this baby’s mother might have been under. I don’t want him gone if she returns.”
    â€œWhy should we give the baby back to someone who left him on our doorstep? She can’t love him very much!”
    Mom’s eyes flashed. “Jacob Doolittle! Have some compassion. We don’t know what drove that poor woman—”
    â€œOr man!”
    â€œâ€”that poor woman to do this. If she does come back,