By the time all five of them came out of the bedroom, the main room was bright.
Last night, with only an oil lamp to see by, they had found something to eat and somewhere to sleep.
They hadn’t looked closely at the house.
Now sunlight came through the window, showing every scratch on the table, the splintered edge of a cupboard door, and the patch of plaster missing from the corner.
Arthur stopped in the doorway and looked around.
“Was this place this run-down last night?”
“Yes,” Lucas said.
“We just couldn’t see it.”
Arthur turned to him.
“You noticed?”
“Some of it.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Saying something wouldn’t have fixed it.”
Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it.
Fair enough.
Helena pushed the window open a crack.
Cool morning air came in, thinning the smell of smoke left from the night before.
The rest of the bread was still on the table.
She lifted the cloth covering it and was about to divide it when Arthur rapped his knuckles against the loaf.
It made a surprisingly loud sound.
Clara looked over at once.
“Can we still eat it?”
“Yes.” Arthur picked it up and examined it.
“I think so.”
“You hesitated.”
“I was figuring out how to split it five ways.”
In the end, Helena took the bread from him and broke off a piece for each of them.
Lucas accepted his share and chewed slowly.
Theo took a drink of the water they had boiled the night before, now cold, and paused as he set down his cup.
Arthur caught him looking at the rim.
“The cup’s been washed.”
“I know.”
“Then what were you looking at?”
“Whether there was any water left.”
Arthur glanced into the nearly empty cup.
“There really isn’t much.”
Clara was about to laugh when she noticed a scratch across the tabletop.
She ran a finger over it and suddenly stopped.
“I saw this table in my dream last night.”
Everyone looked at her.
“Someone was loading it onto a cart,” she said, frowning as she tried to remember.
“The cart was already full, and they couldn’t get the table to stay in place.”
Lucas remembered it too.
“Arthur turned it sideways and leaned it against a chest.”
Arthur looked down at the old table.
The hazy images from last night’s dream were beginning to match the things around him.
He remembered holding the cart steady while someone behind him urged them to hurry.
They had to finish moving before dark.
“I remember someone saying the table was no use to anyone at the old house anyway.” Helena touched its edge.
“That made me angry.”
“The old house,” Lucas repeated.
“That’s where we moved from.”
“Yes.
But I still can’t remember who those people were,” Helena said.
Arthur looked toward the bundles against the wall.
They hadn’t had time to open them last night, and a small wooden box sat beneath the pile.
Theo followed his gaze.
“Someone checked that box in the dream.”
“Are you sure?”
“He opened the lid.
I was standing beside the cart.
I saw him.”
Arthur carried the box to the table.
It wasn’t locked, but the lid stuck so badly that he had to tug twice before it came free.
Inside were a few copper coins, two sewing needles, and a stack of folded papers.
Clara spotted the coins at once and moved them around with one finger.
“Is that all?”
“There might be more in the other bundles,” Helena said.
“Otherwise, even if this table falls apart, we’ll have to keep using it.”
“It’s already broken.” Arthur pointed beneath one leg.
“Someone’s wedged a piece of wood under it.”
“Then we’d better take good care of it.” Clara lifted her hand from the table.
Lucas had picked up the top sheet of paper.
It was damp and wrinkled at the edges, but the writing was still clear.
All five of them could read it, which came as a relief.
It listed a few belongings: one old table, one wooden box, two blankets, one cooking pot.
The last line was squeezed into the bottom of the page, as though someone had added it in a hurry.
To be taken by Arthur Bennett and his family.
Arthur stared at the line, then slowly read his name aloud.
“Arthur Bennett.”
“So our surname is Bennett,” Helena said.
“At least your first name hasn’t changed,” Clara said, looking at her father.
“It would take us a while to get used to calling you something else.”
Arthur took the paper and read it again.
“Was the house in our dream the Bennett family home?”
“Probably,” Lucas said.
“But this doesn’t tell us why we left.”
Helena drew another sheet from the stack.
It said that Arthur’s family had been given the use of the old farmhouse.
The date was only a few days ago, and Arthur Bennett’s name appeared at the bottom.
She laid the two papers side by side and checked them carefully.
“We only moved in a few days ago.
For now, at least, we’re allowed to live here.”
Arthur remembered the cart outside the old house and the voice telling them to leave before dark.
His brow furrowed.
“It doesn’t sound like the family parted on good terms.”
“Maybe not.” Helena set the paper down.
“But we don’t know enough yet.”
Lucas searched the rest of the box.
At the very bottom, he found a small slip recording three items of children’s clothing, each with a name beside it.
“Lucas, Clara, Theo,” he read.
He looked up.
“Our names are the same too.”
Clara leaned in and pointed at the middle line.
“Is that mine?”
“Yes.”
She tugged at her dress.
The sleeves almost covered her hands.
“Didn’t whoever gave these out notice they don’t fit?”
“Someone might have altered old clothes for you.” Helena rolled up one of her sleeves.
“I’ll sew them properly later.”
Theo looked at the slip.
“Are the names in age order?”
“You’re the youngest,” Clara said immediately.
“We all look the same age now.”
“I was still born before you.”
“Do you remember by how long?”
That stopped her.
She remembered being the middle child before, but how many minutes separated the three of them?
Who kept track of that?
“I’m older than you,” she said.
“That’s enough.”
Theo was about to answer when Arthur picked up the slip to hand it to Lucas.
The two boys stood side by side, both looking down at the paper.
Even the shape of their cheeks was nearly identical.
Arthur paused, remembering how he had picked up the wrong son last night.
This time he checked their clothes before holding out the slip to the boy on the left.
“Lucas, give this to your mother.”
The boy looked up.
“I’m Theo.”
Arthur’s hand froze in midair.
Lucas, standing on the right, raised his head too.
“I’m wearing the dark clothes today.”
“I saw that,” Arthur said.
“I’m not fully awake yet.”
Clara burst out laughing.
She leaned against the table, her shoulders shaking, and the table wobbled with her.
Helena quickly moved the cup before the last of the water spilled.
“Stop laughing.” Arthur bent to inspect the table leg.
“If that wooden wedge comes out, I’ll have to put it back.”
“I didn’t touch the leg,” Clara said.
Arthur looked down.
His own shoe had knocked the wedge loose.
This time Helena laughed too.
Arthur pushed the wood back into place, stood up, and pressed on the tabletop.
“There.
At least I can fix that.”
“It is steadier.” Clara gave the edge a gentle push.
“That’s one thing repaired today.”
“And it’s not even noon,” Arthur said.
“We’re making good progress.”
They soon finished the bread, and the cup ran dry.
Helena carefully folded the slip with their names on it and placed it with the other two papers.
At last, they knew their family name.
They also knew they had moved here from the Bennett family home only a few days ago.
Why the people there had made them leave was something none of them could remember.
Clara looked at the bundles by the wall.
“Can we see if there’s any more food now?”
“Yes.” Helena got to her feet.
“Let’s take everything out.
Food, clothes, and tools in separate piles.
We’ll count the money too.”
“We should look outside,” Lucas said.
“It was too dark last night, but I think there’s a patch of land behind the house.”
“We’ll go out together in a bit,” Arthur said.
Clara was already beside the bundles.
She chose a bulging cloth bag.
“Let’s open this one first.
It looks promising.”
Arthur lifted it.
“It’s heavy.”
“Flour?”
“Flour wouldn’t be that heavy,” Lucas said.
“Potatoes?”
“Could be.”
Arthur untied the bag and peered inside.
Clara watched him expectantly.
“It’s a pot,” he said.
“A pot?”
“Yes.”
“Didn’t we find one last night?”
Arthur held the bag open so she could see.
“This is a second one.”
Clara stared at the pot.
The hope slowly drained from her face.
“I thought we might find at least half a bag of potatoes.”
Theo came over for a look.
“Is there anything inside it?”
Arthur took out the pot and tipped it toward him.
It was empty except for a little soot at the bottom.
“Well,” Theo said, “now we have another pot to wash.”
Helena picked up the list they had found.
It recorded only one cooking pot.
She looked from the new pot to the bag in Arthur’s hand.
“The list must be incomplete.
We’d better count everything ourselves.”
Clara took the paper and pen and added a line in the blank space:
Pot, second one.
Then she looked at the bundles still piled against the wall.
“Next,” she said seriously, “I’d like to write down something we can eat.”