It wouldn’t have come as a shock had the boy declined his offer. Who was Malachi but a stranger to him? What was he but an unknown variable, tossed in their direction by fate or God or whatever else saw fit to drive them together. He was a priest, sure, and wielded what respect was afforded to him on account of it, but should they put their trust in him because of that?

Malachi wouldn’t have. If it had been him standing there, Nettie fast asleep against his leg, he wouldn’t have trusted him.

But he never met a man worthy of his trust, back then. When it had just been him, still a child himself, caring for a girl that deserved so much more than he could give – there hadn’t been someone offering a helping hand without expecting more in return. The only one that tried was devoured by his father’s hunger for control.

There was a shift in him at the boy’s statement; a hairline crack in his defenses. He only hoped that the pain that clutched his chest was not as visible on his face as it felt.

“So don’t,” he said. Watched him lift the girl into his arms, a motion that looked as easy as breathing for him. Malachi stopped himself from walking closer and offering to carry her, despite that clawing urge in him to take the burden off of the boy’s shoulders. He knew well that he probably didn’t consider it a burden in the first place.

Starting slowly back towards way he came, Malachi explained, “I’m sure there’s one nearby. I’m still figuring out where things are, myself, but we’ll find somewhere. What should I call you?”