“I’d do it again. A thousand times.” His voice dropped. “But the fear...the fear of anyone else looking at Jewel the way MaryBeth did—with thatdisgust, as if our daughter were something to be scraped off the bottom of a shoe—the feeling never goes away. Every time I consider bringing her into the world, I see that expression. And I can’t....” He pressed a hand over his mouth, breathing through his fingers.
Ivy was quiet for a long moment. Then she reached over and laid a hand on his forearm—briefly—before withdrawing it.
The contact lasted no more than two seconds, but the warmth lingered on his skin like a brand.
“No one who knows her could look at her that way,” Ivy said simply. “She’s the most lovable child I've ever met. And the people who rejected her—your family, Mary Beth, her family—they didn't rejectJewel. They rejected theideaof her. The inconvenience. The shame. They never took the time to know who she was.”
Torin couldn’t speak. If he tried, whatever remained of his composure would crumble, and he’d embarrass them both. So he just nodded and stared at the lake until the tightness in his throat eased enough for breathing.
“For what it's worth,” Ivy added quietly, “I think your great-uncle would be proud of how you spent his legacy.”
He almost laughed. Almost. “Ned was the family eccentric. Traveled the world, married later in life, scandalized everyone at Christmas dinner with stories about Morocco.” He smiled faintly. “I like to think in spite of his initial disapproval, he would have adored Jewel.”
“Then something good came from your family after all.” Sudden tears filled her eyes. “Your story was so sad, yet so beautiful.” She blinked them away. “Your daughter is rather magical,” she said in a light tone in an attempt to belie her emotions.
They sat together in the companionable silence, watching over the sleeping child, while the swans drifted back around the bend with their cygnets trailing in an irregular line.
“Does Reverend Joshua know you’re here?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t even know Joshua had moved back from Africa—a widower and a father—until Hank told me last summer.”
With sudden urgency, Ivy clutched his arm and gave it a little shake. “Torin, it’s like a sign from God that your friend is a minister here—a good one, according to Cora. You should reach out to him! I’m sure he’d accept Jewel.”
Torin’s face closed up, and he withdrew his arm. “Jewel and I are just fine. And that’s my last word on it.”
15
The sound of hooves and wheels on the dirt road brought Torin to the partially opened window with the alertness of a man who’d spent twelve years cataloguing every sound in his small world. He knew the crunch of Inga Swensen's boots on gravel, the skitter of squirrels on the porch roof, the particular thud of a pinecone falling on hard ground versus soft. Hooves and wheels meant visitors, and visitors—once so rare they could be counted on two fingers—had become no longer startling and most certainly welcome.
What Torin saw through the glass made his heart lift with an intensity that surprised him. A surrey with his brothers and their ladies, rented from the livery, approached down the road, kicking up small clouds of dirt.
Brian held the reins with casual competence, while Cora sat beside him, her blue hat ribbons streaming behind her, one hand waving madly, even though she was still a hundred yards away.
Hank and Elsie sat in the backseat. With broad smiles, both waved as they drew closer.
“They’re here!” Ivy appeared at his elbow, her face alight with an excitement that made her look like a girl rather than the woman who'd spent the past weeks in quiet, disciplined routines of teaching and housekeeping. She'd known about the visit for almost a week—Hank had sent word through a note delivered by Inga—and had been in an uncommon state of barely suppressed anticipation that rivaled Jewel's enthusiasm with learning something new.
This morning, Ivy had risen even earlier than usual, baking cinnamon rolls from a recipe she'd been saving for a special occasion. The scent had filled the house with a warm, spicy sweetness that made Torin's mouth water and his daughter practically levitate with excitement. Ivy had also swept the porch, arranged flowers in the vase on the dining room table, and changed into one of her best dresses—a gold fleur-de-lis print on an emerald background—that brought out the gold and green flecks in her brown eyes.
Not that Torin noticed. He'd made a point of not noticing.
“Let’s go meet them,” Ivy said, moving toward the entryway and out onto the porch.
The reunion that followed was, as Hank said later, a proper ruckus, with more excitement than if the circus had come to town. Although, he personally refused to be likened to a monkey.
Before Brian had set the brake, Cora launched herself from the seat with reckless disregard for safety or decorum. With a cry of joy, she flew around the back of the surrey toward Ivy.
The two women collided in a hug so fierce, Torin winced on behalf of their ribs. The squealing commenced—a pitch and volume that threatened his eardrums—accompanied by a flood of words spoken simultaneously, each trying to convey six weeks’ worth of news in sixty seconds. He could only make out a few snippets.
“You’ve grown out a fringe.” Ivy fluffed Cora’s bangs.
“You look so well.”
“I have so much to tell you.”
“Delia’s baby is a girl, just as everyone guessed! Andrea Mary Rose Norton. She looks just like her mama, and everyone, including me, is madly in love.”
Brian climbed down from the surrey and walked over to greet Torin with a proper shaking of hands. Then his friend stood beside him and watched the spectacle of the womenfolk with the fond, slightly bemused expression of a man who’d learned that the female capacity for excited conversation exceeded anything his authorial imagination could have invented.
