“Please, man, I beg of you. Let me at least see her!”
Daniel stared at the man, but instead saw a younger Charlotte, smile beaming, looking up into the face of this man before him.Would she want to see him? Consider his wretched offer?Daniel longed to protect her, but who was he to make such a colossal decision?
Daniel insisted on entering Charlotte’s room first, on having a few moments alone with her. To prepare her, somehow—as if such a thing were possible.
He sternly waved Harris back, waiting until he was hidden in the shadows several steps down the corridor, before knocking softly on Charlotte’s door.
“Yes?” she answered after only a moment’s hesitation.
Pinning Harris with a “stay there” stare, he opened the door a few inches. “Charlotte? It’s Daniel Taylor. May I come in a moment?”
“Of course.”
He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, his lamp held low at his side, hopefully providing her some modesty should she need it.
“Good evening,” he said, striving for normalcy. “Please forgive the lateness of the hour.”
“I was still awake, watching him.”
He noticed that a candle burned on her bedside table. He set his small oil lamp atop the chest near the door, causing large shadows to quiver on the room’s walls.
She sat up on the bed, facing him. “Is everything all right?”
He stood awkwardly clenching his hands, then realizing he was, stuffed them into his pockets. In the bed beside Charlotte the babe awakened, fussing a bit. Charlotte leaned over and picked him up. She leaned back against the headboard, bouncing him gently in her arms.
“There, there. You cannot be hungry yet, little one.”
When the infant relaxed back to sleep, Charlotte smiled up at Daniel, her tired eyes alight with a look of maternal wonder at, perhaps, her unexpected skill with her child. Her smile held a touch of pride; her face, glowing in the golden light of the candle, beamed with deep contentment. What a lovely portrait she and her babe made at this moment. He smiled at her in return, and felt another pricking at the back of his eyes and a tightness in his throat. He feared that this was the last time she would ever look this happy again.
“Have you decided what to call him?” he asked, putting off the inevitable.
“I believe I have. I found the task much more difficult than I would have imagined.” She laid the child on the far side of the bed beside her, securing him with a pillow.
“Why is that?” The moment the question left his mouth, he knew it was a stupid one and wished it back.
“Well, because normally I should name him for ... his father. At least that is customary. But there is little customary about this situation.” She straightened a blanket over the babe. “Or I should name him for my own father. But given the circumstances... .”
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
He cleared his throat.
She turned to him. “Is something the matter?” she asked gently.
“Yes, I am afraid there is something. Something that might—potentially—trouble you.”
“What is it?”
“There is someone here who wishes to see you.”
“Now? Who is it?”
“It’s, um ...”
“My father?” she asked, surprise and, he could not miss, a note of hope in her voice. His heart ached dully at disappointing her.
“No, I’m sorry. Not your father.”
She stared at him but didn’t reply. He took a deep breath and continued.
