The next morning, Loren was awakened by sunlight and the sound of birdsong.
Outside the window, golden rays spilled across the village. For a place accustomed to long spells of gray skies and rain, such brightness was rare, and it filled Loren with a quiet sense of joy. A good day, a good beginning.
Following his usual routine, he dressed himself, washed up, and went down to the dining room for breakfast.
At the table sat Mr. Angus, holding a newspaper, his eyes sharp and focused as he searched for business opportunities hidden between the lines.
He had black hair, brown eyes, and though a little short, his build was sturdy rather than fat. His face carried a mix of rustic honesty and the shrewd glint of a tradesman.
In the kitchen, Mrs. Angus bustled in her apron, preparing breakfast—not just for her family but also for the inn's guests. Even a small inn relied on its breakfast service as part of its livelihood.
Mrs. Angus had brown hair and dark eyes, a graceful woman with a slender frame.
Loren, meanwhile, was the perfect blend of both parents—black hair, black eyes, and the cherubic charm of a child.
"Good morning, Daddy," Loren said as he made his way toward his chair.
Mr. Angus, absorbed in his newspaper, answered absentmindedly, "Morning, darling."
But then his words seemed to catch up with him. He froze, shot to his feet, and slapped the paper onto the table, eyes locked on his son.
The noise startled Loren so much he nearly slipped while climbing into his chair. Settling into his seat, he blinked up at his father. "What's wrong, Daddy?"
"You… you can talk!"
"Mm-hmm. I suddenly could this morning."
"Oh, my God!" Mr. Angus shouted, his face lighting up. "Nona! Nona, come quick! Loren can talk—he's not a simpleton, he's just a late bloomer! I knew it, I knew it!"
From the kitchen, Mrs. Angus heard the cry. She dropped what she was holding and rushed out, throwing her arms around Loren so tightly that his cheeks flushed red.
"My sweet baby can talk! God has heard my prayers—thank you, Lord!"
"Mom… I can't breathe!" Loren gasped.
"Oh, Nona, let him go!" Mr. Angus hurried over, rescuing the boy from her crushing embrace.
Freed, Loren drew in deep breaths, the color fading from his face before he quipped, "Mom, your love is too overwhelming. I almost couldn't handle it."
"Oh, I'm sorry, my darling. I was just too excited. You're not a simpleton—I have to tell everyone in town!"
Before Loren could protest, she seized his hand and made to rush outside.
"Nona, calm down," Mr. Angus stopped her. "After breakfast, take him for a stroll through town. Let people see for themselves that he's fine."
"I'm hungry, Mom," Loren interjected, tugging at her hand.
That snapped her out of it. She hurried back to the kitchen, muttering, "Right, breakfast first. I can't let my baby go hungry."
Loren and his father exchanged a look. Mr. Angus gave a small, rueful smile. "You have to understand your mother. After Mrs. Doris gossiped that you were slow, the whole town knew within days. It's eaten at your mother ever since."
At that name, Loren winced. He remembered her clearly—an elderly British woman with short gray hair, sharp spectacles, and a fondness for colorful dresses and scarves. Rings and necklaces gleamed from every angle as she talked endlessly, boasting about her granddaughter.
That day, when Mrs. Angus mentioned her worry over Loren's silence, Doris insisted more socializing would help. Loren had been forced into conversation with her—if it could be called that. She had spoken at lightning speed, while Loren could only sit wide-eyed and confused, barely managing a few clumsy words of broken American English no one understood.
From that disaster, the rumor had been born: "The Angus couple's child is a simpleton."
Even recalling it now, Loren shivered.
"Don't worry," Mr. Angus reassured him. "Doris just likes to chatter. She means no harm."
At that moment, Mrs. Angus returned, carrying three plates of breakfast. She set them down with a proud smile. "Here you go, darling—eat up!"
Before Loren sat a child's portion of an English breakfast: a bowl of cereal with milk, a boiled egg, and some diced fruit. He tucked in happily.
After the meal, Mrs. Angus bustled upstairs with Loren, dressing him in fresh clothes and adorning herself as well. Today, she wanted to show the town her beautiful, clever boy.
By the time they emerged from the inn, it was already past nine.
For Loren, this was the first time in his remembered life that he had stepped beyond the inn's threshold to explore the outside world.
He paused to glance back. The Angus Cottage was a modest three-story building, clean and well-kept, its white walls and blue tiles standing out prettily. A sign hung proudly above the door: "Angus's Cottage."
But Mrs. Angus tugged his hand impatiently, leading him onto the country road. Shops lined both sides, a simple row of buildings that felt more like a village than a town.
Her destination was the café at the far end, the usual gathering spot for the town's women.
Along the way, she stopped at nearly every shop, introducing Loren to each shopkeeper.
"Good morning, William! Isn't it a fine day? I'm taking my little darling out for a walk."
"Darling, this is Uncle William, he runs the grocery store. Say hello."
"Good morning, Uncle William," Loren greeted politely.
"Well now, isn't he the sweetest thing! If you ever want candy, come to me, little Loren. I'll make sure you get plenty."
"Thank you, Uncle William."
And so it went—greetings exchanged with Elizabeth at the clothing shop, Victoria at the stationery store, Catherine at the barbershop, Edward at the pharmacy, Mr. Charlotte at the bookshop, and so on.
By the time they reached the café, Loren was utterly drained. What seemed a short road had stretched on endlessly.
Inside, the café was quiet. The only customer was Doris herself, sipping coffee. Mrs. Angus swept Loren over and seated him directly across from the old woman.
"Good morning, Mrs. Doris," Loren said quickly, beating his mother to it.
The old woman's eyes widened as she set down her cup. "Oh, my sweet angel—you can talk!"
"Yes," Mrs. Angus said with pride. "He can talk. He's not a simpleton."
"Oh, Nona, I'm so sorry. You know I can't keep my mouth shut. Let me make it up to you. Stay for lunch—it's on me. And this afternoon, I'll gather the ladies for tea and publicly apologize. I won't let anyone think wrongly of this precious angel again."
Mrs. Angus's anger melted, and she and Doris slipped back into conversation. Loren sat quietly, listening and storing away information.
Then he heard the line that made his breath catch.
"Loren is such a darling. My granddaughter Hermione isn't bad either. I'm sure the two of them will be wonderful friends."
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