The lamb in the orchard

An original fiction passage set in the nineteenth century.

The first drops of rain struck the kitchen window as Eliza carried the supper plates to the table. Beyond the glass, the orchard trees bent and lifted their branches in the rising wind. Her younger brother, Tom, pressed his face to the pane.

“The gate is open,” he said.

Eliza put down the plates. At the far end of the orchard, a white lamb stood beside the hedge. The rest of the flock had already been driven into the barn. Between the lamb and the farmyard, the grass shone darkly beneath the rain.

Thunder rolled over the hills. Eliza’s hand tightened around the edge of the table. Since a storm had split the old elm the previous summer, she had disliked even the distant sound of thunder. Now another flash whitened the window, and she counted beneath her breath until the noise came.

Tom reached for his coat, but Eliza stopped him. She told him to fetch the lantern and wait beneath the porch. Her voice sounded calmer than she felt. Then she pulled her shawl over her head and stepped outside.

The wind pushed at her as soon as she left the shelter of the house. Rain ran into her eyes, and the orchard gate struck its post again and again. Eliza crossed the wet grass slowly, calling to the lamb. It backed towards a gap in the hedge. Beyond that gap, the lane descended sharply to the river.

Eliza wanted to turn towards the warm square of the kitchen window. Instead, she lowered herself to the ground and held out both hands. She spoke softly, although her teeth had begun to chatter. The lamb watched her. For a moment, neither of them moved.

A fresh burst of thunder shook the branches. The lamb sprang sideways, but Eliza caught its foreleg before it reached the hedge. Mud soaked through her skirt as she gathered the animal against her. It struggled once and then became still.

Tom ran from the porch with the lantern. Together they guided the lamb into the barn and fastened the door. Only when the bolt had dropped into place did Eliza lean against the wall. She looked at her trembling hands and began to laugh.

“I thought you weren’t frightened,” Tom said.

Eliza took the lantern from him. “So did I,” she replied, and carried it back through the rain.