He knew she slept better when her left cheek rested against his chest.
He knew she hated being wrapped too tightly.
He knew the tiny cowlick above her right ear never flattened no matter how carefully he smoothed it.
His voice broke.
“I buried my wife and thought I still had part of her.”
Clara cried silently behind him.
“Now you’re telling me even that wasn’t true.”
“Jack…”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know.”
He turned.
“That’s your answer?”
“It’s the only honest one I have.”
For a long moment they faced each other across the room.
Two people who had each been told the same child was theirs.
One by blood.
One by love.
Neither had chosen the lie.
Both would be destroyed by the truth.
Finally Jack picked up Mary’s letter.
He handed it to Clara.
“Read it.”
Her hands shook so badly that Jack opened the envelope for her.
Inside were three pages.
Clara stared at the first line.
Then she covered her mouth.
“What?”
She handed the letter to Jack.
“Out loud.”
Jack looked down.
Mary’s handwriting trembled across the paper.
My dearest Clara,
If you are reading this, then God has been kinder than I deserve, because it means you found us.
Jack stopped.
His throat tightened.
Clara whispered, “Keep going.”
He continued.
I have minutes, perhaps less. I need you to know something before anything else.
Your daughter is alive.
Clara sobbed.
Jack forced himself onward.
She is beautiful. She has your mouth. Hester says you were told she died. That was a wicked lie.
My own little girl was born without breath.
Jack’s voice faltered.
The page shook.
I held your child knowing she was not mine. I should have told Jack immediately, but I was afraid Hester would take her away before you could be found. Clara, forgive me. I made a coward’s bargain with death.
Clara sank into the chair.
I told Hester to let Jack believe she was ours until you came.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut.
Mary had known exactly what she was doing.
Jack is a good man. Better than he knows. If he loves this child before the truth arrives, please do not punish him for loving her.
Jack could no longer see the words.
Clara touched his hand.
He continued.
And if you come while she is still small, you must know one thing that neither Father nor Hester knows.
Jack frowned.
Clara stared at him.
He read the next sentence.
Then stopped.
“What?” Clara whispered.
Jack read it again.
It made no sense.
The baby is not Edwin Vale’s granddaughter.
Clara stood.
“What?”
Jack continued.
Your child’s father was not Thomas Avery, no matter what Father accused you of.
Clara’s face went blank.
Thomas Avery had been the miner Clara loved.
The man she believed had fathered Lily.
Jack looked at her.
“Clara?”
“I don’t understand.”
The letter continued.
You wrote me last autumn that you had been attacked after leaving the harvest dance, and that you remembered nothing until Thomas found you near the creek.
Clara went white.
Jack wanted to stop reading.
She whispered, “No.”
You believed the child must have been Thomas’s because you had intended to marry him and because he chose to claim the baby rather than let Father destroy you.
Clara collapsed into the chair.
“I never told anyone except Mary.”
Jack’s stomach turned.
The next words were worse.
Clara, I know who attacked you.
Jack looked up.
