“See for yourself!” Bridget answered. Teresa, following her sister’s advice, walked over to the crowded window and peered above the smaller heads.

“He’s so fair,” Teresa said. Peter mistook her comment and after making brief eye contact with her, slowly rolled his.

“No, Peter.” She defended herself. “ I mean literally. He’s so...

“Pale?”

“I was trying to find a nicer way of putting it.” She said, almost reproachfully.

“What’s wrong with him?” little Anna asked.

“Nothing,” Teresa answered. “His skin’s just not as dark as ours.” The five year old began examining her hands.

“Maybe he’s a shoesmith’s son,” one of the girls guessed. “They don’t spend as much time in the sun as we do.”

“They’re called ‘cobblers’, Catherine,” Matthew corrected.

“Why don’t you all back away from the window,” mother suggested. “We don’t want to scare him.” The six children moved away and rushed over to the table. Almost immediately, footsteps could be heard approaching the door. Peter ran up and opened it for them.

“Papa!” cried several voices and their father was soon surrounded, but not overwhelmed.

“Hello, children,” he said as he picked up his exuberant Anna. The little girl rubbed her cheek, but was beaming, after receiving a kiss from her father.

“Oh, Mother,” The man pointed at the bag Peter had taken from the new boy’s shoulder, “That’s fresh flour from the Corthins. His wife is doing much better.” The hunter set Anna on chair.

“Good, I’m glad. Peter, put that over there,” his mother said, gesturing to a dark corner.

“Supper’s ready, dear,” she called out to her husband.

“Good. We’ll eat then, I guess. Here, everyone sit down.” The children split up and then gathered around the table. An extra place had been set as requested, but a stool was all they could spare.

“Can you manage?” Michael asked the boy, looking at the short stool.

“I think so.” He sat down on the stool, directly left to the head of the table, where Michael took his chair. When everyone was seated, all the heads bowed as the father led his family in a prayer. The Sign of the Cross ended the prayer for grace and began the meal. Having a stranger at the table did not seem to slow the younger girls down in their usual discourse on the various activities they busied themselves with, or the questions they hurled at their father. But pretty soon the conversation made its way around to the young lad unknown to them, sitting by their father.

“What’s your name?” Peter asked him.

“Richard. Richard Barkwood,” he said and scooped some more soup with his spoon. “What is yours?”

“Peter.”

“And your age?”

“Eleven years.”

“I’m twelve,” Richard smiled, proud of the fact that he barely surpassed him.

“I’m three!” A small boy cried out.

“That’s Dominic,” Peter explained. Richard nodded.

“I suppose,” Father said, “we should give everyone a proper introduction. Matthew, why don’t you start and we’ll go around from there.”

“Well, I’m… Matthew,” the boy smiled at the repetition.

“Tell him how old you are,” his father told him.

“Oh, I’m ten.” Matthew said quickly.

“You heard how old Dominic was,” The hunter smiled and Richard leaned forward to see the little boy further down his row.

“Hello, Dominic!” Richard waved gently. The three year old would have responded were his mouth not full of delicious bread. He smiled anyway with his hamster-stuffed cheeks. This simple grin brought an unexpected laugh from his sister Anna. Laughter, being very contagious, seemed to spread around the table. Richard, especially was effected, and could not help but giggle at the sight of this round, but rosy-faced, girl rocking with laughter. Michael watched Richard. A small smile, hidden behind his mustache and beard, spread across the father’s face. He was glad to see the boy’s raw and uncomfortable disposition wear away, and the true Richard come through.

Teresa gently asked Anna to continue eating. Obediently, the little girl made a valiant effort and was soon under control again. At least, as much as Anna ever could be under control.

Michael continued the introductions with his youngest child, Bernard. The father introduced him, because the child, himself, was only one year in age. Michael’s wife was at the other end of the table and she described herself as being twenty-eight years old. This led into a brief discussion as to when they were married; fourteen years ago, when Michael was twenty-four and his wife, Greta, was fourteen. Teresa, their oldest, sat next to her mother. She was thirteen years old.

“My name is Anna,” the girl said, when Teresa was done. “And I’m five,” she held up an open hand, displaying her age.

“I’m Bridget,” Anna’s older sister said. “And I’m seven years old.”

“I’m one year older than she is.” said the girl on Bridget’s left.

“Eight.” Bridget quickly interjected. Her older sister made a face at her rude interruption.

“And my name is Catherine,” she continued.

“So there’s ten of you?” Richard looked around, counting all the children plus their parents.

“We’re very blessed,” Greta nodded.

“How many are in your family?” Teresa asked

“There’s three other children and my father and mother,” said Richard.

“Thank you for knocking down the fruit cart.” Bridget said brightly, changing the subject and holding up her half-eaten apple. A slight cry escaped her lips, as she received a harsh kick from Catherine’s foot beneath the table. Richard only smiled.

“Your father bought them,” he reminded her.

“Where is your family, Richard?” Catherine asked, putting the subject back on track.

An awkward silence followed, as the boy, suddenly nervous, hesitated to answer.

“Peter, Peter,” a chipper girl of five pulled on her older brother’s arm. “Peter, who is Papa bringing home?”

“Just some boy from the market, Anna.” He freed his sleeve from her grasp.

“You didn’t recognize him?” His younger brother Matthew asked.

“I don’t think he’s from around here,” Peter said simply.

“Do you know his name?” questioned a woman working diligently in the small corner of the room which constituted her kitchen.

“No, Mama.” Peter shook his head. A sudden cry came from his seven year old sister at the window.

“Mama, Mama! He’s coming! Look,” she pointed at two small objects, approaching quickly from a distance. “Papa’s coming!”