Chris put his chubby hands on Wycliff’s cheeks. “Do you know?”
Wycliff jumped and held him high. “This big?”
“Bigger, bigger.”
Leaping into the chair, he lifted the boy higher. “This size, like a giant?”
“Yes. Yes.” Christopher clapped and laughed. “You talk funny.”
“He is funny.” Mrs. Bexeley came near and tapped her short boots on the patio stone. “Put my nephew down.”
“He’s playing with his cousin, Ester.”
Ruth’s tone was lyrical.
Wycliff had done something right. He jumped down, and Christopher whooped.
“Just like a frog’s hop,” the boy said. “I saw a big one at the pond. Wanna see?”
“Come, Christopher, let’s let your mother talk. We’ll take one more turn before nap time.”
He stuck out his lip. “But I don’t like nap time.”
Ruth gave her son a hug and patted his shoulder to get him moving. “Go on with your aunt. You can show your big cousin the frog another time.”
He smiled and hopped all the way until he caught up to Mrs. Bexeley holding her baby.
Wycliff sat back down to a smiling Ruth.
“You could be good with him, my lord. I see that.”
“Who is he named after? Not your father or Adam?”
“It was the name closest to the African Chipo.”
“Christopher is not an African name.”
“No, it’s a good English name for Chipo, a gift of God. Christopher is a gift. No matter who his father is or the lack of having one.”
Ruth said the words clearly. Did she have doubts of the boy’s paternity, or was this a test of Wycliff’s commitment?
He liked tests, even if this cut a little close. “He’s a gift. He’s your son. He is a gift to me.”
“After the attack, my father found me in a brothel. Did you know that?”
Fine. This isn’t a test, is it?
He glanced at her before picking at a piece of the rich, savory cheese. “The boy’s my heir because you were married to Adam. It doesn’t much matter whose seed he is, does it? Have I passed your wicked traps?”
“I’m very tired, Lord Wycliff. I think you should leave.”
“What did I say? I did not mean to offend you.”
“You act as if you’ll care for me like Adam always promised, but you’re judging me. Your raspy words are meant to go down smoothly, lovely and sweet. But there’s control in all you do. There are secrets in your eyes, even the way you look at Chris.”
“You can see all that? Even when you avoid my gaze?”
She stood up, pushed at her chair. “I’m losing my sight. I’m not stupid. You’ll say anything to win. I’m not a possession. Please leave.”
