Excerpt:

Though he was able to retire to his room earlier than usual, Russell lies wide awake in the midst of the night. Lamps all down the street are extinguished, one by one, the deeper night falls. Tonight is colder than usual, though that is little reason for his insomnia. Jobs to do the following day, primarily. A few chairs for the table Gerard is carving, and some organization in the workshop to make all their lives easier. But still, always, his personal history in the back of his mind. Why no one seems to know it, or wants to share it. He rolls onto his left side, blanket tucked under his chin. The last visible lamp from his window has gone out. Just let it be. Twenty-three years without knowing, twenty-three happy years in the guardianship of others. Curiosity, mostly. Unable to sleep, he throws on a work shirt and wanders into the kitchen in the dark. A few leftover roasted potatoes, quickly devoured. Slipping arms into the sleeves of his coat, he pulls the front closed as he wanders into the backyard. His eyes take a few moments to adjust to the darkness, but in time he can see the outline of trees circling the clearing. Years this task has taken, taking down the trees and creating an actual backyard. Few others have space behind their homes to work, but immediate access to the foliage will be much easier with the space to work. Russell chuckles. Too many close calls leaning toward the roof of the house. A few new sprigs of trees have begun to grow around the perimeter of the area. A sudden urge for Sarra’s tea, would warm the interior while the exterior is still cold. Something about the contrast that’s comforting. And that rustle in the woods again.
His head perks up, scanning the trees in the back for any kind of movement, but he is nearsighted in the darkness. Listening intently for further noise, but nothing happens. Settling back again, leaned against the house, hands shoved in the warmth of his armpits. A circle of light emerges from the back door, Benedict’s brawny hand next visible as he appears in the doorway.
“Thought you were up,” he says, placing the lamp at Russell’s feet. Benedict winds his scarf twice around his neck. “Why up so late?”
“Can’t sleep,” he says, shrugging.
“Is this about what we talked about today?”
A pause. “A little. Yes.”
“Don’t let it worry you.”
“I know. It usually doesn’t.” Russell transfers his warmed hands to his coat pocket. “Heard that noise again.” Benedict nods, though it is barely visible in the little light they share.
“Want to check it out?” He asks, suddenly.
“It’s so dark now.”
“Yes,” he replies, lifting the lamp, “but I think it’s coming closer.” He nudges the handle into Russell’s arm, which he reluctantly takes. At first he sees nothing, but upon closer inspection a familiar form begin to take shape. A person. A girl? A small figure crouches by an apple tree that lines the clearing, picking up a piece of fallen fruit. Holding it out before her face, pausing, then the sound of teeth crunching through its skin. The girl stands and Russell moves closer, now halfway across the clearing, and she quickly turns around to face him. The apple drops, rolling into the space between them.
He moves closer, lamp held out in front, as features become clearer. Long hair. Petite, visible streaks of dirt coating her pale skin. She steps back, but when he doesn’t move in response she relaxes, bowing her head. “Are you all right?” he asks, the only thing that could make any possible sense. She entwines her fingers in front of her stomach, wringing and twisting and the crack of her knuckles.
“I am sorry,” she whispers. “I have nowhere to go.”