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"I was raised a Christian girl. But back in Ireland, a Catholic, my father was. And a Catholic, I am as well. So—"
The man looked at her blankly. "Then I suppose you wouldn't discuss it, would you?"
"No, father."
The preacher sat down. He had a calm demeanor, even when he was whipping the crowd into a fury. Forming impressions was difficult, in a situation like this one, but she was beginning to see where his habits separated from the situation, and she could see that steadfastness in him. He might have made a good Catholic priest, as well.
"Father—you can't let them take Jamie. I've heard the most awful stories about orphanages, and I simply cannot—"
He turned his eyes on her.
"I've already given you a fresh start, Miss Bainbridge. After all the controversy that you and your…" his eyes flicked over to Chris. "… friend, have caused, I would think that you might be in less of a hurry to make requests."
"And I would, Father, but I cannot let this go. I told you I was raised Christian, and I wasn't raised to leave a boy to the pit because it might not be convenient."
Her jaw tightened up as he considered it. She didn't have anything else to fall back on. But if she had read him right, then maybe—just maybe…
He nodded. "I see what you mean."
"Then, does that mean—"
He nodded again. "If you'll permit him to join us at church, and perhaps see fit to attend service yourself, then—"
She tried to thank him, but her teeth chattered and she knew that if she opened her mouth, not much but a sob would escape it. So she nodded, blinking back tears.
"Then go get him," the preacher said softly. "And go home. This crowd is blocking the road."
Epilogue
Chris leaned his head back against the wall. They'd been in the new house for a long time, now, more than a year. But there were still days that it seemed like he'd just moved in. Days when he wanted to turn to Marie, and tell her, 'you know, we're in our own place.'
Jamie sat cross-legged between his knees, watching Marie. Chris forced himself back under control, his body still not quite used to the work he'd been doing lately. Getting back into carpentry had been one thing. But working for hours out there, and then coming back to work on his own house, took a heavy toll.
That pain was something he could deal with later, though. Today wasn't a day for him. He could complain tomorrow, when they were coming home from church. It still felt strange and foreign to be going, even after all this time. He hadn't been in a church, aside from passing through, since he was Jamie's age.
"How's she doing?"
Marie looked up and smiled. She didn't look half as tired as she must have felt. Claire was just starting to think about sleeping through the night, but that didn't make up for months of Marie being the one to spend all night lulling her back to rest. Nothing ever would, but his wife never complained.
"She's good. Do you want to hold her?"
Chris smiled, pushing himself up and ignoring his body's protests. "You know I do, Mrs. Broadmoor."
He took the baby in one big arm. She was so big, now, and yet even though Claire had more than doubled in size since she was born, she was so small, too.
"Hey, little girly. Happy birthday. Are you being nice to your Momma?"
"She's being a little sweetheart—like she always is around Daddy."
Jamie smiled at her and Claire cooed and gurgled. Chris couldn't help the smile spreading across his face.
"What a good girl
."
The little girl squirmed in his arms, desperate to be put down. Chris let her down slow, and the minute her kicking legs found the floor, she wobbled to find her balance. He'd never known how much it would mean to see someone walking across the room. Not before Claire.
But now, watching her, he couldn't help but smile.
