✶✶✶
“YOU’D think she’d choose a place with a bit more foot traffic to do her begging,” Raymond muttered.
“I’m sure it’s more complicated than that,” Claire replied. “They must have territories or something of the sort.”
Sophie let their idle chatter wash over her as the sun broke through the clouds again. They stepped back into the bustling crowd, leaving behind the gloom of the alley.
“You did a good thing, milady,” Claire said.
Sophie turned to see Claire giving her a wide smile. A lump rose in her throat, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, blinking back tears, when thump, a reassuring hand landed on her shoulder.
“Almsgiving isn’t bad, you know,” Claire said. “Of course, if we can fix things for everyone by addressing the root of the problem, we should. But for now, that’s a little beyond your reach.”
“Back in my privateerin’ days,” Raymond cut in, “there was a time I ran outta water. Would’ve died of thirst if not for a passing ship that spared me some. I’m alive thanks to them, and that’s something I remember every day.”
He spoke loudly and proudly, his arms raised, hands interlocked behind his head in a casual pose. Sophie found herself staring. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck to see him. The muscular body, honed by years at sea. The long blond hair, tied back in a ponytail. And those eyes, shimmering with the full depth of the ocean. Their family cook.
“Raymond,” she said.
“Yeah?” he replied.
“You’re a man, aren’t you?”
“I do believe I am. Unless you know something I don’t, milady?”
He laughed blithely. In a manner in which Sophie had always associated with him. Buoyed by it somewhat, she affirmed him with a nod and walked on.
“When we see someone in need, we do what we can to help. If we have enough, it’s good to share with those who don’t.”
The voice of Yaora’s mother, though she’d never actually heard it before, echoed in her mind, strengthening her further. She nodded again and finally lifted her head high.
It serves no purpose to dwell on what cannot be done. Instead, one must focus on what is within one’s power and act accordingly. Do not cast your eyes downward—look ahead, and with the strength you possess at that moment, give your utmost.
✦ ✦ ✦
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A short walk later, the group arrived at their destination.
Alastora Orphanage, read the clumsy handwriting on a sign that was little more than a wooden plank. It had the unmistakable look of a child’s work, and the sight of it made Sophie’s heart swell with affection.
From within, the bright sounds of children playing gave her hope. Perhaps this place was more lively and welcoming than she had imagined. The warmth inside seemed to seep out, wrapping around her, so full of life that it coaxed out a quiet sigh of relief—only then did she realize she’d been holding her breath.
The building itself was old, its many repairs plain to see. A hole in the wall had been patched with what looked like an old advertising bulletin, its faded lettering half-rubbed away in an attempt to erase its past use. In the yard, freshly laundered sheets flapped in the breeze, mended with colorful patches of all shapes and sizes. Beside them, tiny socks—stitched with so many different patches and fabrics that their original form was impossible to discern—hung like colorful little berries.
The fence was crumbling, but fresh green foliage wove through its gaps, filling the empty spaces. But looking closely, one could see edible vegetables growing among the leaves.
There was nothing shameful about the poverty on display here—only a firm, unyielding practicality. Everything that could be used was. Anything edible was eaten. It stood there with an air of defiant resilience, so far past resignation that it had circled back to a kind of quiet, dignified pride.
In the garden, a young woman working alongside the children noticed Sophie and her retinue. Wiping her hands briskly on her apron, she trotted over with a welcoming smile. “Hello there, how can I help you?” As she did so, the children, too, turned to face the unexpected visitors, their immense curiosity written on their faces. When Sophie dipped her head in greeting, the kids planted their hoes and shovels into the soil and echoed back in a grand, adorable chorus: “Good afternoon!”
Most likely, the children and the young woman assumed Sophie and her retinue had come for one reason: to post a job and hire some of the orphans for work.
Indeed, orphanages like this one often arranged for their children to take on small jobs in exchange for a reasonable amount of coin. It was a system implemented by the region’s lord. Young but generous in matters of welfare, he was a benevolent ruler, and his policies toward orphans reflected his ethos. Rather than simply providing funds to orphanage caretakers, he offered financial incentives to encourage their participation in the work program.
Jobs could be commissioned through a participating orphanage at sixty percent of what it would typically cost to hire an adult. That said, these were still children. The tasks they performed were limited to simple, physical labor—cleaning, carrying goods, weeding gardens, and the like. It was enough to help sustain the orphanage but not so much as to threaten the livelihoods of adult laborers.
Sophie quite liked the idea—and the philosophy behind it. The orphans became a well-balanced addition to the workforce, and she especially appreciated that they could earn, at least in part, their own way through honest work. That said, she figured she ought to clear up any misconceptions about their visit before expectations got too high. The children’s eyes were practically glittering with anticipation at the sight of a well-dressed young lady, clearly expecting a job offer—and the coin that would come with it.
Turning to face the smiling young woman who’d first approached them, Sophie asked tentatively, “Would there be a Ms. Cecili and a Ms. Mairi here?”
Crack. Sophie could have sworn she heard the woman’s smile freeze. Slowly, stiffly—like a tin man in dire need of oil—her head cranked toward the building. Then, all at once, she snapped back to life, yelling, “Matron? Matron!”
She bolted at full speed toward the orphanage.
A short while later, a willowy elderly woman emerged, moving quickly. Spotting Sophie, she adjusted her course, hurried over, and bowed.
“Good afternoon,” she said, a little breathless. “I am Margaret, matron of Alastora Orphanage. On behalf of my children, I offer my deepest apologies for what happened the other day.”
With that, she invited them inside.