of the blessings that Thou hast bestowed upon us. If it be Thy will, Father, please help me and this baby now. In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
The only answer was a third howl. This one closer. Jennilee felt a deep, animal fear skitter through her. She fumbled with the straps of the rucksack, trying to bring it around to her lap so that she could at least get her knife out. It wouldn’t be much, but maybe if she wounded one of them, its fellows would turn on it and leave her and the tiny boy alone.
Not that she could exactly run away.
Slowly, fingers stiff with cold, Jennilee eventually managed to pick loose the knotted leather thong that held her rucksack closed. Another howl sang out, followed by a few short barks. Close. So close. She fumbled frantically, hand seeking the hard reassurance of her knife hilt. Finally, her fingers closed around it, and she pulled the knife free of scabbard and rucksack all at once.
“We do not mean you harm, child.”
Fear thudded in Jennilee’s chest and the rush of blood in her ears was so loud, she almost missed the softly spoken words. Her right hand tightened around the knife’s hilt, and her left hand went to the squirming form of the baby on her chest. She tried to scoot back, to put her back against a large rock or tree, but every movement jarred through her ankle and threatened to rip her consciousness away.
A woman cloaked only in her long, dark hair stepped forward through the trees. Jennilee blinked, swallowed hard, and kept her shaking knife hand up. A hallucination. This had to be that. Or else . . .
“Are you an angel?” Jennilee blurted, her voice sounding high and tinny to her own ears. The woman laughed.
“Not quite,” the woman said as she took another step closer. She had just a trace of an accent that Jennilee couldn’t place.
“Because I prayed to my Heavenly Father for help, and I have faith that He will help me,” Jennilee said, though, in truth, she hadn’t really meant to do so. She just didn’t seem to be able to stop her cold-numbed lips from speaking.
The woman’s laugh mellowed into a quiet chuckle. “Perhaps your Father sent us, then.”
“I only see you.”
The woman gestured to the trees, and Jenni suddenly saw the glint of multiple pairs of eyes. The wolves, it seemed, had found her. She let out a little scream and jabbed her knife outward.
“Hush, child. I said we would not hurt you,” the woman said, easily catching Jenni’s wrist and taking the knife from her frozen fingers. “You said that you prayed for help. We have come. Let us help you. You are badly hurt, and . . .”
At that moment, Jennilee’s infant brother decided to let out a surprisingly lusty wail. The woman looked at Jennilee, wonder and disbelief in her expression. “A baby?” the woman asked.
“He’s hungry,” Jennilee said, slumping back. The loss of blood and shock was starting to get to her. “His mama died. I’m all he has left. He’s my brother.”
“How old?” the woman asked.
“Hours,” Jennilee slurred. Her eyelids felt so heavy. A sharp slap across her icy cheek barely recalled her to herself. She forced her eyes open to look at the intense expression of the woman before her.
“We can help you,” the woman said. “One of my daughters recently . . . gave birth. We can feed him, and help you. You’re badly hurt, you know. But you must trust us. You must stay with me, for I will not do anything without your consent. I cannot,” she added, and a note of anguish that Jennilee didn’t quite understand entered her tone. “Child, stay with me. May we help you? We will take you to our home. Feed the baby. Only say yes.”
The warm darkness swam around the edges of her vision again, beckoning. “Yes,” Jennilee said, the word falling from her lips like the snow all around them.
* * *
—
The first thing Jennilee noticed when she came to was the scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly. Warm,