JUST SO

I finished dusting my bunny figurines and folded the microfiber cloth two times over, three times across. I placed the cloth in a drawer. Each precious, porcelain figure had a special place on the oak shelf I had cut, sanded and mounted myself. The figures had been procured from every antique shop, estate sale, and flea market north of Oatden. And now they were here, on my shelf. They were perfectly positioned, a precise balance of figures facing left, right and front, colors and shapes in direct complement. Everything was just so, the way I like it.

I went to the window, as I do when I’m finished the dusting and looked out at what was my garden, now dormant for the winter. How sad that the peonies wouldn’t be in bloom for at least three more months. I could see where I would plant them, this year some mirabilis and maybe even tulips in the spring.

It was twenty past two, almost time for my walk to the grocery store. I pulled on my wool sweater and my wool beanie. Next came the high-tech parka I’d ordered from an outdoor gear company. Surviving the Heatherton winter requires giving in to a few modern conveniences. My insulated boots were standing on a mat by the front door. I pulled them on, again grateful for their good treads. The streets would be very icy today. 

My muffler bundled around my face and neck, I opened the front door. An icy wind blew in at me. I stepped onto my porch and locked the door quickly before my hand froze. I fitted it into my other mitten and faced the street. Snow was drifting down in such a torrent that I could barely see through it. I ought to turn back. No, it was half past two. I had to go. It’s what I always did, every day. Why should today be different just because a blizzard happened by? 

Frank’s wasn’t a big store, but it had everything I needed, and it wasn't far from my cottage. The blowing snow made me want to hurry. I hate hurrying. It makes me miss the walking part. I don’t like to just get there. I like to go there. Fortunately, my muffler was keeping most of the snow from blowing down my neck, but a few flakes got in, and I walked faster.

I ran over my shopping list in my head. It was folded up neatly in the front pocket of my flannel-lined pants, an assurance that I wouldn’t forget anything, but I liked to have it in my head.

Soon enough, I passed through the door of Frank’s Grocery, its bells announcing my entrance. Frank was at the front emptying a cashbox into a canvas bag. No one else was in sight.

“Peony!” he said, pushing bills into the bag. “What are you doing out in this storm?”

“Why, getting my groceries, Frank, as I do every afternoon.” 

“Yes, but there’s a blizzard. You’re my last customer of the day. I’m closing up. You’re going to have to hurry. I have to get home before it gets any worse out there.”

I gasped. “You’re closing early?” 

“Yes, I’m closing. My car doesn’t do well in big snow drifts. I have to get going while I can still get through.” 

“But your Thursday hours are from 10 a.m. until 6:30 p.m.”

He was pouring coins into a second canvas bag now. “I’m sorry, Peony.” 

I hurried through the aisles. I hate rushing. Like dusting, shopping should be done slowly and methodically, so one doesn’t forget anything and particularly, so one doesn’t have to double back to an aisle. There is nothing worse than having to double back. It is a waste of time and throws one off schedule.

First the vegetables, then fruits. Dairy last, always last. I never leave milk out of the icebox for a second longer than necessary. Fortunately, my dairy items would be kept good and cold on the way home in this weather. I moved as quickly as I could, dropping fresh brussels sprouts and asparagus into my re-useable shopping bag.

Apples and pears were next. I couldn’t buy too much, it would be too heavy. And if I bought too much, there would be no reason for me to come back tomorrow. Oh, but what if Frank couldn’t get back in the morning? He might not open tomorrow at all. My heart almost stopped. What would I do between 2:30 and 3:25 p.m.? I couldn’t think about it. I had to hurry.

I also needed cheese. I’d finished the sharp cheddar, and I wanted a fresh asiago this time. That would be good to spread on a crumpet with a spoonful of the strawberry preserves I still had in my icebox. My mouth was already watering when I approached the shelf of cheeses. I reached for the red and white package when a very small whimper reached my ears. I tossed the cheese into my bag.

The grocer’s Persian grey must be around somewhere, hoping someone will open a package of feta and give him some. “Here, Gingko. I’ll give you a pat, but hurry, now.” I reached down, holding out my hand. He always came out from some hiding place and found my hand. Such a stealthy fellow. I reached, but no cat came to nuzzle my fingers. I looked around the floor and froze.

Between the cheese shelf and the sweet breads was a basket, but it was not filled with sweet rolls. It was filled with baby. Cooing, sighing baby. I blinked. No, this couldn’t be. The cheeses must be too heady. I was seeing things. 

I blinked again, but the baby was still there, only now its eyes were wide open and staring at me. I looked around. The mother would be here any moment, surely. Hopefully very soon, because any second, that baby’s mouth was going to open, and all would be lost. I couldn’t bear a baby’s cry. No, no, it was the worst sound in the universe. It was disorder, it was chaos, it was a puzzle, a need unfulfilled.

I didn’t see any sign of a parent around. In fact, there was no sign of anyone.

“Hello?" I called. "Your baby is here.”

No answer.

Frank said there were no other customers in the store. Everyone had left. So why was there a baby here?

I threw my bag of apples, pears, asparagus and brussels sprouts down in the sweet breads. What an awful thing to do, I know, but I had to get Frank and tell him. I beelined to the front of the store. 

“Frank? Frank!” I called. 

“You still here, Peony?” 

“Of course, I’m still here. I haven’t checked out yet.”

He was pulling his coat on. “Leave the money on the counter. The snow is too bad. Two more minutes, and my compact won’t make it down Tewk Street.” 

“But Frank, there’s a baby in the cheeses!”

Frank had taken out his keys which were jingling as he zippered his coat. “What was that? Sorry, Peony. I have to go. The door is set to lock if you just pull it closed behind you.” 

“I said, a baby!”

But the bells on the door were ringing as he opened it, and he yelled, “Close it hard when you leave, Peony. Bye!” And the door shut behind him. 

I took a step to go after him, then stopped. The door would lock behind me, and there would be a baby left alone in Frank’s all night, possibly two. Not to mention I would be leaving without acquiring anything from my list. I stayed inside.   

The grocer’s was eerily quiet now after the talking and the jangling of keys and door bells. I could hear the baby cooing. A little raspy cough came, then the phlegm was cleared and was followed by another coo. 

I went slowly back, past the crackers and crisps, trying to tiptoe in my boots, which is impossible. By the time I’d reached the cheeses, terror had overtaken me. The baby had started to cry.

A rush of adrenaline sped me to the aisle of paper and toiletry products, basket of baby in hand. I scanned the shelves like I was in a speed-reading test. Diapers first. Boy or girl diapers? I sighed. No idea. I looked down at the baby. Only thing to do was to check. I apologized to the little one and unwound its swaddle. The little one probably needed a change anyway. 

“I’ll just be a second,” I said. 

Unwrapping the blanket, I unsnapped the onesie. A boy. Oh gosh, what size? He looked small, very small, but he was no newborn. I reached for the package of boy diapers, size two, and tore it open, then took the cellophane off the baby wipes. I wiped his bottom and reapplied a clean diaper. His rants changed back to coos. I heaved a sigh of relief. 

My heart was racing, and my hands were shaking, but I couldn’t stop now. I took out another shopping bag from my purse and put all the baby care items inside. Lastly, I grabbed a small pack of onesies from a hook. Frank’s was very well-stocked. I would have to be sure to thank him, after I gave him this baby. 

I draped the bag of baby items over my arm and carried the baby back to the cheeses, where I picked up my other bag. Laden down with all these items, I moved slower, but finally made it to the front and threw the groceries on the checkout counter. How much did this cost? My Thursday order was always around £32, but today, I’d gotten lots of things I didn’t usually get. Ever.

I put £75 on the counter and zippered up my coat. The baby had a blanket, which I tucked around him, then put my muffler over his head and around his sides. He wasn’t equipped for a stroll through a blizzard. I hoped this would help keep a snowflake from getting onto his tiny neck.

With the two shopping bags over my left shoulder, and the baby basket gripped in my right hand, I pulled the door to Frank’s shut behind me and started back through town to my cottage, the wind at my back. Snow drifts gathered against the buildings and fences along the way. 

Finally, I was home and put the bags and the baby on the floor inside. I took off my boots and left them on the mat, amazed at how much snow was stuck to them. The baby, too, had quite a bit of snow on him, which was melting quickly. I removed his blanket, put it over a chair and covered him with the one I’d sewn in a ripple pattern last winter.

I washed up and washed the baby’s face with a warm cloth. He was fairly calm, considering he’d been left behind, then bundled through a blizzard by a stranger. I took out the formula, read the instructions, and soon he was sucking on the bottle. When he seemed comfortable, I reached for the phone with my other arm and dialed our town police station. When someone picked up, the words poured out of me.

“This is Peony Lyddle. I found a baby at the grocer's, and Frank left in the storm, and I was alone. I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t leave him there, so I’ve brought him home. Has anyone reported a baby missing?”

“Slow down, Peony. This is Samir. You say you found a baby?”

“Yes, at Frank’s. Frank had to leave in the storm. He left me there to lock up. And there in the cheeses was a baby!”

“No one has phoned in a missing child, Peony.” 

“But there is one, and it’s right here in my house.”

“I’ll make some calls and get right back to you. Things are a bit slow with the weather and all. Can you keep the little one with you for now?”

I blinked. “Well yes, where else would it go?”

“Good. I’ll get back to you.”

Samir hung up. 

Good. Samir would call back any minute with the name and number of someone who had forgotten the baby and would return to pick it up. I sat in my chair, the little one on my arm, working at his bottle. Who puts their baby down, picks up a block of Romano and forgets to pick the baby back up? It seemed an unlikely scenario. No, it was more likely that the baby had been left deliberately. This baby was left because whoever left it couldn’t, or wouldn’t, care for it, not because they left it by accident. If it had been an accident, the mother or father would have known right away and called the police immediately, and Samir would have known about it. No, this child was dropped out of the wintry sky like a tumbling snowflake, and the sky wasn’t taking it back.

My heart was pounding again like it had been when I was rushing around the baby products section.

“All right, you.” I looked at him, and he looked at me over his bottle. I couldn’t call him ‘you,’ now could I? It sounded like a teenager with his hands in his back pockets. Then, it came to me.

Asiago.

I put Little Asiago’s basket by my chair. Asiago, himself, I kept in my arms because he seemed quietest there, and I couldn’t have that noise again. I was determined that he shouldn’t ever have the need to cry again.

He was finishing the bottle and dozing off when the phone rang, and the both of us startled. I placed him back in the basket while he was still a little roused and held his itty-bitty hand while I reached for the phone with the other.

“The first thing I did was call Frank,” Samir said. “He was just as surprised as you were. He said he never saw or heard the baby before he left. But he had to stay up front by the checkouts because he let Brenda and Kyle leave early to get home before the storm. He knows nothing about it.” 

“Didn’t he see anyone walk in with a baby and leave without one?”

“I’m afraid not. Brenda and Kyle didn’t know anything either. Also, there is no report of a missing baby, Peony.” 

I heard a huge sigh. Did that come from me? “How can that be? Any report of someone having a baby recently at a hospital? Someone who may have been very young and perhaps unable to care for it?” 

“No, I spoke to the hospitals as well.”

He wasn’t a newborn anyway. Asiago was about four to six months old. There was a long silence on the line. I swallowed.

“There was something else,” Samir said, using a tone I imagined they must have practiced in police training for times when they would have to tell someone bad news.

“Something else?”

“There was no missing baby, but there was a boy.”

“A boy about twenty-five inches long with no teeth?”

“No, a boy of five years who was in a car accident with his mum and his baby brother.”

I was silent. “The infant’s mother is dead, isn’t she?”

“There was a fatal crash at Third and Vine, just around the corner from Frank’s. The boys survived the crash, and five-year-old Alfred brought his baby brother there, but he got scared and ran out. He was found on Tenth and Ivy. The mother died at the scene."

"And the father?"

"The boy says there was only his mother at home. I also spoke with a rep from Hawton Home, but—”

The doorbell rang, drowning out Samir’s voice and waking poor little Asiago. “Hold on, Samir.”

“That’ll be them, Peony.”

“Them?”

“The boy and Constable Yuland.” 

I lost my grip on the phone. I heard his last words before it slipped to the floor. “There wasn’t room at Hawton Home….” His voice drifted away. 

I went to the door in a daze. I opened it. 

“Peony Lyddle?”

“Yes, that’s me. Constable Yuland?”

“Yes. And this is Alfie.” I shook the boy’s hand. It was cold, and his nose was red. He wore dark blue pants, neatly pressed, but with a long tear in the thigh. His coat had an ugly, grey smudge on its blue nylon. He sniffled. His cheek was wet.

“Hello, ma’am,” Alfie said.

“It’s Peony. Come in and see your baby brother.” 

Alfie ran in the door and knelt next to the basket.  

Constable Yuland placed a paper on the table and took a pen from the inside of the jacket, clicking it and holding it out to me. “Just for now,” he said.

I signed the paper, too distracted to read it. Constable Yuland backed away and left. “The precinct will be in touch.” I closed and bolted the door against the elements. I took the boy’s coat and put it on the rack next to mine. I’d wash it later. 

“Take your boots off, Alfie,” I said. He did, and they went on the mat by the door.

Alfie knelt again by his brother. I watched Asiago and him, one cooing, the other letting him hold his five-year-old finger in his itty-bitty, four-month-old hand. 

I placed the phone back in its cradle and straightened the cushions on the couch. Asiago was drifting off again into peaceful slumber-land. Alfie looked at me, and I put my finger over my lips to indicate quiet. He nodded and slipped his finger from the small hand and sat on the couch. I patted his leg. It must be quiet. Yes, and just so. I like things just so.

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