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him at all.”
    “Now let’s not jump to any conclusions on that one,” Rab Hale leaped in. “You may think he’s sweet as pie and innocent as a lamb, but we none of us can see into his heart. A pretty face can easily hide a foul soul, for good looks lead to cosseting, and cosseting to conceit. I’d just as soon trust the ugliest maiden as the beauty with the flowing hair, for I’ll never have it said Rab Hale was taken in by a pretty face.”
    Shallah had to bite her lip to stop from letting out a derisive laugh. Rab Hale was so full of himself it was a wonder he wasn’t bloated. She knew the bit about the flowing hair was a jab at her, for no other woman in the room was without a kerchief. Rab had never liked her, for he knew her to be unimpressed with his wit, and because she aligned herself with the Guerins, whom he disdained above all others. In Rab’s eyes, being treated by a woman healer was like taking marital advice from a cow.
    Raulf leaned over to whisper into Shallah’s ear. “You should see the look on my Mam’s face; she’s about ready to pounce. She says it’s a travesty that so many are taken in by Mr. Hale and his fine words, for it only makes him think more of himself and gives him leave to order us about in the fields. He just about yelled himself hoarse when he saw Edid Olney setting off for home early yesterday, when everyone knows she’s a sick baby at home, and only little Averill watching over him. He’s about as sincere as a fox, if you ask me, and he looks like a toad whose eyes have grown too big for his head.”
    Shallah burst out laughing.
    “Now hold on,” Old Brice said, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “We’ve no reason to distrust this child, and I think we should listen to Betta’s opinion, for she’s always been as good as her word.” Before anyone had the chance to object, he went on. “I think we should stick to the matter at hand: to decide what ought to be done with the boy. Now I’ve discussed this with the village council –”
    “Bah! You and your council,” interrupted Malcol Klink from his seat by the hearth. Malcol had been a member of the council until he grew too argumentative for their taste and was asked to step down. “All you lot ever do is discuss. There’s a time to talk and a time to act. I’d say this is a time to act!”
    “Klink, you old fool, shut your mouth before they throw you out again,” said Thurstan Turvey, Malcol’s longtime friend. “Let the man speak.”
    “So it’s only the council that can have a say, is that it?” asked Edid Olney, her eyes on Rab Hale, little Wylf on her hip. “I want to know about this child. I want to know what we aren’t being told!”
    “Nothing is being kept from you, Edid,” Old Brice began. “I can assure you not one thing –”
    “Hasn’t he got dark skin?” a voice called out from the back of the room.
    “Yes,” Gemma Goss responded, “I’ve heard that as well. Perhaps he’s been burned.”
    “But where did he come from?” somebody else asked. “And what shall we do with him?”
    “It’s as though his skin was tinted by the sun ,” came the call of another. “He’s not from these parts.”
    “Maybe he came from the sky,” Raulf cried out suddenly, jumping to his feet. “Maybe he was sent from the land beyond to give us hope!”
    This statement was met with much enthusiasm and the crowd grew louder as Old Brice tried desperately to regain control of the talk.
    “Now, please don’t all speak at once,” he warned.
    “Is he an orphan?” someone asked.
    “Why doesn’t he speak?” Maude Quigg called out.
    “Where is he now?” Gamelin Turvey asked. “Can we see him?”
    “Why is he being hidden?”
    “Where are his parents?”
    “What if he brings disease?”
    “How did he arrive?”
    “Why has he come here?”
    “Something’s not right here,” a young man called out. Shallah couldn’t place his voice, but thought he might be the Fleete boy