She pulled back and looked at him, a question in her eyes.
“I’d like to see the person who did this to our family be punished,” Reeves told her. “Whoever they are, they committed a terrible crime. You know that, Emma, don’t you?”
She nodded slowly.
“But what’s more important than that is that you’re home,” Reeves said. “If the person who took you isneverfound, I will still be happy that you’re home with me. That’s what I care about most of all, all right? More than anything else, I just want you to be all right.”
Emma flung her arms around Reeves and buried her face in his neck. He felt her tremble against him, and for several long moments, he just held her and let her rest. She had been through such a difficult time. She deserved a moment of feeling safe.
And so do I. I deserve to have her in my arms and not have to worry about losing her.
“You see, Emma?” Miss Wetherby said. “Your father isn’t angry with you at all. How could he be? He loves you far too much. I know he seemed angry at dinner last night, but that anger wasn’t aimed at you. He’s angry with the person who hurt you. We’re all angry with that person, and we want to stop them from hurting anybody else. That’s all it was. That’s why your father was so upset last night. He just wants to put a stop to what that man was doing.”
Reeves looked up and made eye contact with Miss Wetherby over Emma’s head. She gave him a slight smile.
She’s good at this.
For the first time, he felt a warmth when looking at Miss Wetherby, instead of the irritation and frustration she had sparked within him so far. He was glad he had buckled and brought her along from the orphanage. She knew exactly what to say to Emma right now, and that meant the world to him.
Emma reached out and took Miss Wetherby’s hand, mirroring the picture she’d drawn.
Miss Wetherby kept her gaze on Reeves, and Reeves became suddenly aware of how long the two of them had been looking at one another. It was almost indecent, staring into the eyes of a woman like this. He should look away, and he knew it, but he found he didn’t want to.
She’s the only person who really understands what I’m feeling right now, he realized.She’s been through this—or somethinglike it—before. She knows how it hurts to watch a child you care for suffer.
But she didn’t know what it felt like when the child in question was your own. That was something even she couldn’t understand. Reeves believed now that Miss Wetherby cared for his daughter, but she didn’t care as much as he did. She couldn’t. Nobody could.
He looked away from her.
“I was wrong,” he managed, his eyes focused now on the top of Emma’s head. “You should take all the time you need to make her feel safe. I can’t have Emma believing that I’m angry with her. So, you’re right, Miss Wetherby. We’ll do this at the pace you think is best.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You ought to call me Bridget,” she said, pointing to the drawing. “That’s the name Emma knows me by. I think it will help her to see that we’re on the same side.”
He nodded. It made sense. “Bridget, then.”
To his surprise, it worked almost at once—Emma looked up at him and managed a small smile. Bridget had been right again. Emmahadwanted to see that her father and her new friend were on the same side as one another.
“Let’s go inside,” Reeves said. He stood and, for the first time since she had been taken, lifted his daughter into his arms. Shecame along willingly, wrapping her arms around his neck, and they started back up toward the house.
I have her to thank for this. Bridget.He knew it was true.I have her to thank for all of it. And if—when—Emma recovers, I’m sure that will be her doing as well.
It was a thought that had irked him before.
Today, he felt nothing but gratitude.
CHAPTER 13
As they made their way into the house, Bridget was aware of a hand on her arm. She glanced over and saw that it belonged to Agnes.
“We should leave them be for a while,” Agnes murmured.
Bridget nodded, knowing the other woman was right. There was no denying that today had been a breakthrough for Reeves and Emma, and that was something to celebrate and to honor. It would be best to give them some time together so they could become comfortable with one another once more.
She allowed Agnes to lead her down the hall to a door she hadn’t yet entered. Agnes pulled it open and ushered Bridget inside. “We can wait in the library,” she said. “There’s plenty in here to occupy us.” She went to one of the tall shelves that lined the wall and pulled down a book without bothering to scan the shelves. Bridget had the feeling she had known exactly what she was looking for when they had come in, and that feeling wasreinforced when Agnes sat down in the chair nearest the fire and flipped the book open to the middle instead of starting at the beginning.
“Is that a favorite of yours?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, I’ve read this one dozens of times,” Agnes said. “My brother says I shouldn’t waste my time reading it again and again, and that he’ll pick me out somethinggoodto read if that’s what I want, but… well, maybe you can understand. You don’t always want to read something that you can say you bettered yourself by. Sometimes you just want to read a book to enjoy it.”
