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s。 a cry； like some lost animal。 i was away in my thoughts； not expecting anything to e now between me and my end； so at first i paid no notice。 but i heard it again。 it seemed to be calling me。 for who else was going to hear it； stuck out here in the middle of nowhere？ i thought perhaps it was a cat； lost its mother or something。 and although i was preparing to meet my maker； the image of this little cat； with its wet fur； kept distracting me。 and i thought； just because i’m dying； that’s no reason to deny one of god’s creatures a bit of warmth and something to eat。 and i might as well tell you； i didn’t mind the thought of having some living creature by me right at that moment。 so i went to the door。
and what did i find there？
tucked in the porch； out of the rain； a baby！ swaddled in canvas； mewling like a kitten。 poor little mite。 cold and wet and hungry； you were。 i could hardly believe my eyes。 i bent down and picked you up； and the minute you saw me you stopped crying。
i didn’t linger outdoors。 you wanted feeding and some dry things。 so no； i didn’t stop long in the porch。 just a quick look。 nothing there。 nobody at all。 just the wind rustling the trees at the edge of the wood； and—odd this—smoke rising into the sky off toward angelfield？
i clutched you to me； came inside and closed the door。
twice before i had knitted two heels into a sock； and death had e close to me。 the third time； and it was life that came to the door。 that taught me not to go reading too much into coincidences。 i had no time to be thinking about death after that； anyway。
i had you to think about。
and we lived happily ever after。
aurelius swallowed。 his voice had grown hoarse and broken。 the words had e out of him like an incantation； words that he had heard a thousand times as a boy； repeated inside himself for decades as a man。
when the story was finished； we sat in silence； contemplating the altar。 outside the rain continued to fall； unhurried。 aurelius was still as a statue by my side； yet his thoughts； i suspected； were anything but quiet。
there were lots of things i might have said； but i said nothing。 i just waited for him to return to the present in his own time。 when he did； he spoke to me。
‘the thing is； it’s not my story； is it？ i mean； i’m in it； that’s obvious； but it’s not my story。 it belongs to mrs。 love。 the man she wanted to marry； her sister kitty； her knitting。 her baking。 all that is her story。 and then just when she thinks it’s all ing to an end； i arrive and give the story a new start。
‘but that doesn’t make it my story； does it？ because before she opened the door… before she heard the sound in the night… before—“
he halted； breathless； made a gesture to cut off his sentence and start again：
‘because for someone to find a baby like that； just find him； all alone like that in the rain； it means that before then； in order for it to happen； of necessity—“
another frantic erasing gesture of the hands； eyes ranging wildly around the church ceiling as though somewhere he would spot the verb he needed that would allow him finally to anchor what it was he wanted to say：
‘because if mrs。 love found me； it can only mean that before that happened； someone else； some other person； some mother must have—“
there it was。 that verb。
his face froze into despair。 his hands； halfway through an agitated gesture； were arrested in an attitude that suggested a plea or a prayer。
there are times when the human face and body can express the ‘earning of the heart so accurately that you can； as they say； read them like a book。 i read aurelius。
do not abandon me。
touched my hand to his； and the statue returned to life。
‘there’s no point waiting for the rain to stop；“ i whispered。 ”it’s set for the day。 my photos can wait。 we may as well go。“
‘yes；“ he said； with a gruff edge in his throat。 ”we may as well。“
……
THE INHERITANCE
“it’s a mile and a half direct；” he said； pointing into the woods； “longer by road。”
we crossed the deer park and had nearly reached the edge of the woods when we heard voices。 it was a woman’s voice that swam through the rain； up the gravel drive to her children and over the park as far as us。 “i told you； tom。 it’s too wet。 they can’t work when it’s raining like this。” the children had e to a halt in disappointment at seeing the stationary cranes and machinery。 with their sou’westers over their blond heads； i could not tell them apart。 the woman caught up with them； and the family huddled for a moment in a brief conference of mackintoshes。
aurelius was rapt by the family tableau。
‘i’ve seen them before；“ i said。 ”do you know who they are？“
‘they’re a family。 they live in the street。 the house with the swing。 karen looks after the deer here。“
‘do they still hunt here？“
‘no。 she just looks after them。 they’re a nice family。“
enviously he gazed after them； then he broke his attention with a shake of his head。 “mrs。 love was very good to me；” he said； “and i loved her。 all this other stuff—” he made a dismissive gesture and turned toward the woods。 “e on。 let’s go home。”
the family in mackintoshes； turning back toward the lodge gates； had clearly reached the same decision。
aurelius and i walked through the woods in silent friendship。
there were no leaves to cut out the light and the branches； blackened by rain； reached dark across the watery sky。 stretching out an arm to push away low branches； aurelius dislodged extra raindrops to add to those that fell on us from the sky。 we came across a fallen tree and leaned over it； staring into the dark pool of rain in its hollow that had softened the rotting bark almost to fur。
then； “home；” aurelius pronounced。
it was a small stone cottage。 built for endurance rather than decoration； but attractive all the same； in its simple and solid lines。 aurelius led me around the side of the house。 was it a hundred years old or two hundred？ it was hard to tell。 it wasn’t the kind of house that a hundred years made much difference to。 except that at the back there was a large new extension； almost as large as the ho