There was nobody at the door, just a basket on the snowy step. Marnie looked inside, then called the sheriff’s office.
It took him best part of an hour to get to her through the snow, by which time she had found one of the bottles she used to feed orphaned lambs.
Sheriff Johnson looked at the tiny baby and his face crinkled for a moment.
“You gonna keep it?”
“It’s a him. And unless you can find his mother.”
Silas was fifteen when she returned for him.
He stood beside Marnie.
“Go away,” he said. “This is my ma.”