“Your granny? Jane’s mother?”
“Jane?”
“It was the name she gave us.” She began gently massaging his shoulders.
Sara stepped back. This was a time for mothering, and Desiree was clearly a pro at that, even under stress.
So was her mom, who came in with a glass of water and gently pressed it into Kieran’s hand. He gulped it down, thanked her and handed it back.
“I’ll take you to the cemetery when you’re ready.” Desiree’s voice was steady but husky with emotion. “Clearly the right name isn’t on that stone.”
“It’s Freya.” He cleared the hoarseness from his throat. “Freya Noreen Haggerty.”
“She called herself Jane Smith.”
Anger brought a flush to his pale cheeks. “She married that shitehawk Ronny Smith?”
“No. I doubt that was his name, anyway. I never met him. He was long gone when your mom went into labor.”
“You spoke to her?”
“For most of an afternoon. When I heard she was alone, I asked if we could share a room until one of us was ready to deliver.”
“Did she… mention me?”
The vulnerability in that question made Sara’s throat hurt.
“She didn’t say anything about her past.”
“Nothing?”
“I think she was ashamed to find herself in such a fix. She didn’t want word getting back to her family.”
“But her postcards were… she sounded so happy.”
“Of course she’d write happy things. She knew she’d made a terrible mistake, but she told me she had plans to turn things around. If she’d lived, I would have helped her.”
He let out a groan of frustration. “If only she’d let Granny and Grandpa know the truth!”
“Would you have?”
He was silent for a moment. “No.”
“I’ll have the stone redone.”
“I’ll pay for it.”
Desiree opened her mouth, then closed it again.
Sara recognized that maneuver. Desiree wouldn’t argue the matter now, but etching the correct name on the headstone would turn out to be a bargain, just like Justine had given him one for his hat.
“That fecking Ronny Smith.” The steel was back in his voice and his blue eyes flashed. “Do you think he’s still alive? If I could track that bastard down, I’d?—”
“I tried, mostly for Lucky’s sake. Couldn’t find a trace of him. Men like him don’t usually live very long.”
“May he rot in hell.”
“I’m sure he will.”
