Page 92 of The Frozen River

“I think about it though, what he said, that I can’t afford to be picky. He was wrong. I have to be picky.” She nods toward the baby. “Because I have her now.”

The child in my arms is astonishingly pretty. Round cheeks. Round eyes of the same blue gray as her mother’s. Chestnut hair that is already flipping outward in small ringlets. Chubby, dimpled knuckles. And such an easy smile! She flashes her gums at me, delighted to be so readily admired.

“What have you named her?” I ask, my voice now at a normal level.

“Charlotte. After her grandmother.” Sarah looks to the table, catches the flinch on her mother’s face, and adds, “On her father’s side.”

“Ah.” There is little more that I can say, for every word is a pitfall.

“Henry will come back.” Sarah looks at me with the steely kind of defiance that only a jilted woman can summon. “That’s what I’m waiting for. He promised to come back. Henry is going to marry me.”

If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride, I think. It’s what my own mother used to say when my fancies outgrew reality. I keep the saying to myself. It will do Sarah no good and would hurt her besides.

Charlotte is eight months old, and this is the first time I have heard Sarah speak the father’s name, as she had refused to do so in the birthing room. I am curious, though. There are several Henrys in the Hook, and it’s possible Sarah made up her story about the father being in the militia to protect a married man right here in Hallowell. Such a thing is not unheard of.

“Henry?” I prod.

Sarah knows what I’m doing. Knows that I am fishing for more. She lifts her chin. “Henry Warren.”

I am immensely relieved. I know of no man in the Hook by this name.

“Major Henry Warren,” she adds, “of the Boston militia.”

That name takes a moment to settle in my mind. Like a rock dropped to the bottom of a pond. Then there it is, the realization of what she’s just admitted.

Oh.

Major Henry Warren is the name of the man that Judge North gave the court as an alibi for the night that Rebecca was raped. That is the man who abandoned Sarah, with child, in ill repute. She sees the expression of dismay on my face but does not know the cause.

“He will come back,” she insists.

I cup my hand at the back of Charlotte’s head. Smile at her. She returns the grin in earnest, so happy she nearly jumps out of my lap.

“Is that why you didn’t come to the Frolic?”

Sarah nods. “He wouldn’t want me acting as though I am free.”

Alice White watches me—I can see her in my peripheral vision—daring me to shut down this dangerous line of thinking that continues to seduce her daughter, but I keep my eyes on Sarah. That’s who I came to see, after all. And it’s none of my business what goes on between mother and daughter. I won’t get in the middle.

“Well,” I say. “I have an idea that might help you pass the time.”

And I am afraid it will be a very long time, I think.

“What do you mean?”

“Something occurred to me when I saw you at the tavern last month—”

“I earned every shilling honestly—”

“I don’t doubt that for a moment,” I say, pulling the baby up and laying her against my shoulder. I pat until a raucous burp erupts and then—much to my astonishment—a tiny giggle.

“What then?”

“It has to do with Dr. Coleman.”

Sarah waits, unsure where this is leading.

I clear my throat. “He is getting older. And his eyesight is starting to fade. That doesn’t matter so much with the shop inventory. He has a system and knows where everything is. But it’s becoming a problem with the ledgers.”