This wasn’t my nightmare.
This was our truth. “Hope survived theMinerva?”
Daniel stared at me for a moment, then nodded. “Phoebe brought Hope with her from Jamaica. She’s a miracle, just like you.”
“Why didn’t you that say, Daniel?” My voice grew louder and louder. “Why?”
Daniel bit his lip.
Now I knew he purposely didn’t mention it. He kept this secret from me.
“Mama. No go. No go no more.”
Hope’s grip was so tight. I couldn’t think of anything but reassuring her. “I’m not letting go of you. Never again.”
“Jemina, everything about theMinervashould be forgotten. It’s too painful. Look how it hurts her. I wish no one would think of it.”
“Some truths shouldn’t have to be begged to be acknowledged.” My voice was tight. I strangled in my hurt. He hadn’t been honest.
Hope’s curly head leaned deeper onto my bosom. “Mama came back for me.”
“I’m not—”
Daniel puts his hand to my lips. “You’re her mother now. Now is all that matters.”
The way he said it, so confident and assured.
What more did he know and not say?
“Mama.”
Hope melted into my arms, falling into the crook of my elbow right under my bosom. I went to the rocking chair and sat.
The more Hope and I rocked together, the more I accepted the truth she’d been trying to tell me.
I wasn’t her new mother.
I was her old one.
I did save her from the water.
We did survive the sea together.
My heart rejoiced. Tears and joy and betrayal warred in my breast. I had my daughter in my arms, but Daniel . . .
He stepped close and put his palm on Hope’s head. “Give her to me, Jemina. You rest. It’s your first night in your new home with your new family. I wanted it to be special.”
His tone wasn’t repentant. It was a mesh of sadness and practicality.
I refused to let go of my miracle. “No, I have her. I told her I wouldn’t let go. I won’t be a liar.”
His palm went to his mouth. “I want you to rest and get use to us, Finchely.”
He sounded concerned, but all I could think was if I’d known this before, I would have been here every day. How many nights had my daughter cried herself to sleep, when I could’ve had her in my arms?
“Jemina, you don’t look well. Your cheeks are scarlet.”
How do I tell him how angry I was and how grateful I was to find my baby? But who would believe a woman from Bedlam? One with no facts, nothing to prove it but a feeling so deep in my chest I might burst.
