The first morning he had tried to do so, she had stirred, caught his sleeve with sleepy fingers, and murmured, “Do not make a habit of vanishing.”
He had stayed another hour and nearly lost his mind.
That was the trouble with Emmeline. She did not ask for everything at once. She simply placed one hand on him, spokeone quiet sentence, and suddenly everything he had sworn impossible felt less like principle and more like cowardice.
Biscuit whined beneath the table.
“No,” Rowan said without looking down.
The puppy put one paw on his boot.
“I said no.”
“He has not asked anything,” Emmeline said.
“He is always asking something.”
Aaron peered beneath the table. “He wants toast.”
“He has eaten.”
“He says he has not.”
Rowan glanced down. Biscuit blinked at him like a starved orphan.
“He lies,” Rowan said.
Aaron smiled.
It was still new enough to strike him. That small smile. The way Aaron looked at him now, as if expecting an answer. He had begun to bring Rowan reports of Captain Morley each morning.
Yesterday, with Emmeline standing behind the chair pretending not to listen, Aaron had told him nearly an entire page. He had stammered, stopped twice, whispered “bark” under his breath once, and continued. Rowan had sat through every word as though the fate of Captain Morley were a matter of state.
Then Emmeline had looked at him with warmth afterward.
“Will you come to the park with us today?” Aaron asked.
The question landed so quietly that Rowan almost missed the courage inside it.
Emmeline’s eyes lowered to her plate, not interfering.
Rowan looked at his son. Biscuit’s tail thumped against his boot, as though the dog too awaited judgment.
“I have business this morning,” Rowan said.
Aaron’s face began to close.
Rowan heard himself continue before the retreat could finish. “But after luncheon, yes.”
Aaron’s head lifted. “Truly?”
“Yes.”
Emmeline’s gaze came to him then, quick and tender, and his body answered like a fool.
He returned his attention to the newspaper, but the words on the page had become entirely meaningless.
Frederick came on a wet Thursday afternoon with mud on his boots, mischief in his eyes, and a small wooden ship tucked beneath one arm.
