“Pa-Papa, what’cha telling Max? Story time?”
He bit his lip as Hope crawled, then walked, then scooted closer.
With her doll in hand, she flopped beside him. Was that a sunny yellow pinafore on the tyke? Not pink?
“Tell us a story, Pa-Papa.”
“How about you tell me one?” He stretched and sat next to her on the floor. “Did you give Mrs. Gallick any difficulties when she dressed you in yellow?”
“Mama said she liked yellow. She told my dolly, her friend, Mrs. Feebs said the same thing. Right, Mrs. Feebs?”
Hmm, Jemina did this? “You love calling your new mother Mama.”
“She’s my mama. I told you this.”
Hope didn’t look confused. She seemed quite certain.
“You haven’t seen her in such a long time. You called my wife Friend at first. Does she look the same to you?”
“Don’t know, Pa-Papa.”
Max yelped as Hope pulled his curled tail.
“No, dear. No teasing Max. He’s a boy. Teasing can be very frustrating.”
Daniel sighed. “We take flowers to your old mama every year to Portsmouth when the lignum vitae blooms in the woods. She’s gone, but I know she loved you.”
“But her heart, Papa. It sounds the same. I know it’s Mama. No one has that sound.” She picked up her doll. “Tell Papa, Mrs. Feebs. Mrs. Feebee, you know my mama.”
“Feebee? Mrs. Phoebe knew your mama?”
“Yes.”
Daniel bit his lip hard. Everything stung inside like the beating he took at the Widow’s Ball.
Phoebe.
Confirmation that Phoebe Dunn didn’t deceive him. Phoebe wasn’t Hope’s mother. Hope wasn’t the surprise from Jamaica.
His gut twisted and broke.
He’d made a grievous error. His conviction of Phoebe Dunn for deceit was wrong. His evidence was circumstantial and flawed.
One close of his eyes, he stood on the Portsmouth dock among the crowd waiting for confirmation of survivors. The brown baby was in his arms. No other brown onlookers stood in line. Like the matter-of-fact lieutenant, he’d assumed the little girl was Phoebe’s.
He slapped his own skull, hard. He’d been judge and jury that day. Though he saved a child set to be abandoned, that would never make up for depriving this babe her true mama.
That true mama had to be Jemina. “Oh my Lord.”
“Pa-Papa?”
He wrapped his arms about Hope. “Your father . . . I did something wrong.”
“Fix it.” Hope’s eyes were wide with trust and belief. “Fix.”
A glance at Jemina’s closed door broke his heart more. Had she figured this all out and couldn’t find a way to tell him? Or had she tried, but he wasn’t listening?
“Pa-papa? Why you frowning?”
