Wildling's Woe 2
Milton squats in plain view, as Finlay hides from his father's view. As Oskar stands between his son and the Wildling, his fate finds itself at a crossroad.
"Help. Family taken. Need friend."
The words hit Oskar harder than if George's prize bull had barrelled into him. The thought of losing his wife and sons tore his hate for the poacher clean from him. Despite his poaching Oskar's sheep, the wildling didn't deserve that manner of pain. As he recomposed himself, he said, "Come. If you'll share the details over lunch, we can plan how to get them back." Oskar didn't turn until he saw Milton start crawling forward. As he walked to the fence, he noticed Milton was staying just in his peripheral, exactly as Buttons would, a coiled spring waiting for the correct command.
As he reached the fence, Oskar breathed deep, summoning his voice from deep in his belly, "Finlay! Tell your mother, we have a guest for lunch!" He heard no answer but the wind softly rustling the field.
After a long moment, he spotted his boy's soft brown hair bobbing among the golden stalks, closer than he should have been if he'd gone to the house when he was told to. "Finlay!" Oskar called, stopping the boy in his tracks, "What did I say?"
His boy's voice barely broke through the distance between them, "Tell Mother, we have a guest!" Oskar waved the boy forward, his head bobbing off to the house again as Oskar shook his head. That boy's curiosity would be his death if he didn't gain command of it. Oskar found himself looking at Milton before a question slipped clean out of his mouth, "You know how to get a pup to listen?" As he heard his own words, he kicked himself for his foolishness.
To his credit, Milton showed no offence at the question, merely shaking his head before a sentence came slowly free. "Pups, not mine. Never listen. Until hunt. Then listen."
"None of your own?" Oskar asked, and Milton affirmed it. That was perhaps the oddest of all. Oskar didn't know many of the wildlings in town, but the only ones not married to someone were the kids, and half of them were promised to each other. A bachelor, and if Milton's shaggy brown beard was any guide, one near his fifth decade was unheard of. Maybe the commune in the city were the weird ones, Oskar thought as they crossed his barley field in silence.
As they came to the house, built by Oskar's father when he was barely crawling, his wife greeted them at the door. She was smiling for Milton's sake, but Oskar could see the competing emotions in her eyes. "Finlay? Come help Milton clean up for lunch." Finlay quickly followed after Clara's skirts, guiding Milton to the outdoor bath. As their guest and eldest boy disappeared around the corner of the house, she met Oskar's eyes. "Husband? Why?"
"He lost his family." Oskar placed his hands on Clara's shoulders as he spoke, guessing at her concerns. "Asked for help. I've promised nothing, though you know better than I how our God feels about these things."
Clara nodded. They were bound by belief to help as best they could. "The harvest though. Finlay can't handle it himself, and Henry's too young for me to leave him in the house." She pulled herself into her husband's chest. If only faith and farming were easier, she'd be less scared of what today meant to their family.
"We'll have to hire a few hands. George and John know a few good ones. They may even help directly if you ask instead of I." Oskar held his wife close, breathing in her smell and the stew lingering in her hair. "They're both still sore over last winter's matches."
Clara looked up into Oskar's face, "I told you to let the matches go longer than a minute."
"That you did." They kissed as Finlay, and a less dirt-caked Milton turned the corner once again.
"Mom, Dad. Gross!" they heard Finlay exclaim. Age hadn't quite pushed little Finlay past such a reaction, though he had maybe one or two winters before that changed. As Oskar looked at his son, he saw Milton prod Finlay in the ribs before shaking his head at the boy. Milton claimed no children of his own, but clearly, he was familiar with them. Despite whatever Finlay thought accounted for a bath, Milton still crawled along the ground. However, Oskar noticed he seemed more careful where his hands went now, and his weight was towards his legs, not balanced as before.
"You next." Clara said as she slipped out of Oskar's arms, guiding her son and guest into the cozy house. As Oskar washed his arms and head, he considered how he could help Milton. They didn't have the money to hire hands for the farm, and mercs for assisting Milton. He couldn't pass the wildling off on a crew, either. From the moment he'd invited him to his house, his God would see it as Oskar's duty to aid Milton. Indeed, Merme Maban would demand he personally see the wildling's family returned to him, living or otherwise. Not doing so would shame himself, his wife, and his children in their God's eyes. But he couldn't do it alone. And Clara. Despite their love, Oskar doubted she'd ever agree to it. Regardless, he had to try. He still had a few friends from another life. He just hoped the good ones were still alive.