Light from the hallway shone through the glass of the door. A signal to say it wasn’t safe. She turned away straining to stay calm when time was running out. The next place was easily a mile away. Not too far in daylight, but in the dark and with what she carried under her cape it would be difficult. Nudging the weight into a different position, she cautiously moved on, her arm numb. The road was quiet, but sensing danger, she slid into the shadow of the wood. It wasn’t much safer. If she was caught it would be said that a woman alone at night was asking for trouble.
The moon hung like a pale opal in the cloudless sky. Its light silvered the trees and flooded the path ahead. She didn’t like working during a full moon, it was too easy to be seen, but she couldn’t refuse. The wood was alive with the rustle and scratch of night creatures. A barn owl’s rasping call startled her. Its ghostly shape loomed overhead before it swooped for its prey. Last spring, she’d found an owlet on the path and placed the ball of downy fluff safely on a low branch nearby. Owls always found their young, providing that the fledglings hadn’t been moved too far from their home. She’d waited for hours until the mother swept majestically down to feed it. It was a lifetime ago.
Choosing a route a few metres from the well-trodden path, she struggled through thorny stems and tangled vegetation. Blood trickled down her shin, moths flitted past her face and insects bit the uncovered skin of her neck, but she didn’t stop. She was making good progress, but as she walked, a new anxiety gradually replaced the gnawing fear of being caught. Was that a murmur or simply the wind in the trees? Her journey had taken so long, that by now, there should have been a flicker of movement or a tiny sound from her burden. There was nothing.
The trees thinned and she could see the narrow lane that led to the house ahead. She stumbled the last few steps to the door and was relieved to see people rushing towards her to help. Once inside, the bundle she’d carried for so long was quickly opened. A baby boy lay silent, eyes shut, lips blue, tiny fingernails shaded purple. She still felt his weight heavy on her arm.
There was always a risk that he might not wake from the drugged sleep that would keep him quiet when he was smuggled out, but it had never happened with any of the babies she’d carried before. She watched as they tried to revive him. The room was tense with concentration. Sounds from outside broke into the silence. A barn owl called for its young, screeching in the darkness. Then, a whimper. Excitement swelled. He was awake, his body quivering with life. Her work was done. Until the next time.
