The Mountains Sang Their Silent Melody

I

In an early morning of late August, when Ida Solomon opened her front door to let the cat out, she found – to her dismay – a dejected youth fast asleep on her front porch sofa. Feeling the cool morning air on her skin, Ida hurried back inside the house, nabbed a thick wool blanket from the linen cupboard, and spread it out upon the scrawny almost-not-a-child.

Dear Ophelia Kronos. Ida examined the bluish bruise revealing itself on Ophelia's face. She briefly thought of reporting Ophelia's father to the Corpus, but Ida rejected this idea. The Corpus knew. The Corpus did not care.

Through the foggy air that often descended from the mountains, Ida could barely see the lantern of the milkman's cart making its way up the path. She hurried inside to fetch the milk bottles.

"G'morning Ms. Solomon," the milkman said, taking the milk bottles from her. "Have you heard about the wolf?"

Ida shook her head. The milkman often told stories. Sometimes it was news from the valley. Sometimes it was local histories mixed in with his own vivid imagination. Ida could not fathom what kind of story this question would lead to.

"Well," the milkman said, "Last night Ms. Matsuda was working late. The trolleys and gondolas weren't running anymore at that hour, so she had to walk. And she saw . . . a wolf!"

The milkman's eyes bulged out at his declaration. He gestured broadly with both his arms, causing milk to slosh out of the bottle he was holding.

Ida's thoughts wandered to Ophelia encountering a wolf in the middle of the night on her way to sanctuary. She shuddered.

The milkman didn't notice Ida's distress. "Well you bet Ms. Matsuda woke up the entire street," he continued. "The Corpus was called to the scene and they managed to trap it."

"And what will they do with it?" Ida asked.

The milkman shrugged. "Beats me. I'd say they'll try to convert it, but it's not like you can preach to a wolf!" He gave a hearty laugh. One of his mules brayed. Ida forced a smile.

"Anyway, I'd best be off!" The milkman chattered, "Say hi to the other Ms. Solomon and the kiddo!"

Ida didn't want to explain that there was an extra child in her house. Or, more specifically, sleeping on her porch. She gave a feeble wave towards the milkman's retreating figure.

The fog began to lift in the warming air. Ida hummed a silent, tuneless melody.

When Ida returned to the house, Ophelia was standing in the porch and folding the wool blanket. Ophelia gave a small cry when she saw Ida.

"I'm sorry," Ophelia spouted as the woman entered the porch. "I didn't mean for you to realise I was here." Ophelia plunked the blanket down on the sofa and swiftly crossed the porch to stand in front of Ida. "I can go now," she insisted. "Thanks for the blanket."

Ida blocked the youth from leaving. "What time did you get here last night?" she asked.

Ophelia shrugged. "About two in the morning, I guess."

"Have you done this before?" Ida asked softly. She felt worry lines bunch up on her forehead.

Ophelia looked at her feet. "This is the fifth time," she mumbled. "Now I really need to go. The longer I'm gone the madder he'll be."

Ida sighed. "At least stay for breakfast."

Ophelia didn't answer. She busied herself by rubbing dirt off her hands.

"Will there be anything for you to eat if you go home?" Ida asked.

Ophelia shook her head.

"Then stay," Ida said firmly. "Frances will be awake soon enough."