Alafair Tucker 01 - The Old Buzzard Had It Coming

feathery touch on her cheek. She raised her hand and brushed it away. Her head ached like sin, and her jaw hurt. Her hand traveled up to the top of her head, and she could feel something wet on her scarf. She half-opened her eyes, but all she could see were the dead leaves and branches her head was cradled on.
    Something touched her cheek again, and she opened her eyes all the way. It was hard to focus, but she could see what she thought was a small shoe close to her face. With a groan, she rolled over onto her back and found herself looking into a child’s face.
    Well, maybe. She blinked. His curly black-haired head was silhouetted against the dim light through the trees. His little hand patted her face solicitously. Alafair’s first thought was to wonder what a little boy was doing out here in the cold all by himself.
    “Hello, young’un,” she managed hoarsely. “ I don’t know you. Where’s your mama?”
    He didn’t answer, but grinned at her with two brand-new front teeth and a hole where a canine tooth should be. She took his hand and let him help her sit up. She moaned and touched the back of her head again, and came away with a bit of bright blood on her fingers. She could see the rock that she had struck her head on, lying on the ground close to where she had fallen, a cylindrical hunk as big as her fist. If she hadn’t had the long wool scarf wrapped around her head a few times, the rock probably would have killed her.
    “He whacked me a good one,” she observed to the boy. She could see him more clearly now. He was about eight years old, she figured, big green eyes and a freckled nose, dressed only in knickers with one strap hanging off his shoulder, and a white linen shirt. His once-white stockings were falling down, one of them actually balled up over his scuffed high-top shoes. A wool cap over his untrimmed curls seemed to be his only sartorial concession to the cold. He looked like any young fellow after a day of serious play. She was sure she didn’t know him, but he was incredibly familiar. “Where did you come from, child?” she asked again, concerned.
    The boy still had nothing to say, but took her arm and helped her to her feet. She steadied herself against his slight frame and tried to orient herself. She had to ponder for a moment before she could remember what had happened to her.
    “Jim Leonard,” she said to the boy. “We’d better get on out of here before he takes a notion to come back and clobber the both of us.”
    She tried to take a step and reeled a bit, and the boy leaned into her side. She looked down at him. “I’m a mite unsteady,” she acknowledged. “I sure am lucky you came along, or I don’t know what would have happened to me.”
    He grinned up at her. He was a sturdy youngster, but a little small for his age.
    Alafair’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m Miz Tucker,” she said. “What’s your name?”
    He kept smiling at her, but didn’t answer. He took a step toward the path, urging her to move.
    She obediently let him lead her through the brush. “You’re a quiet one,” she observed. “Can’t you talk?”
    They emerged onto the path. The boy let go of her and stood holding her hand until she felt more steady. Alafair looked anxiously up and down, but there was no sign of anyone else. “I guess he knocked me stupid,” she told the boy. “I can’t rightly tell which way to go.”
    The boy patted her hand a couple of times, then pointed to the west.
    She nodded. “I expect you’d better come on back home with me until we can figure out where you belong,” she said to him.
    The boy smiled again, then gestured for her to bend down, as though he wanted to whisper to her. Still too unsteady to bend, she crouched at the knees until she and the child were face-to-face. She could smell peppermint candy on his breath. She turned her ear toward him, and he leaned in, but instead of whispering, he brushed a kiss against her cheek, giggled a silvery giggle, and disappeared into the brush.
    Alafair straightened so quickly that she almost fell. “Boy!” she called. She heard his running footfalls in the woods for just a few seconds, then nothing but wintery silence. She seriously considered following him, but realized that she was in no condition, and turned for home.
    ***
    It was a long, cold walk. What would normally have taken twenty minutes took Alafair the better part of an hour, since she kept having to stop and rest. The bleeding from her head