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Jonas was too upset to really listen. “This Brian, your late husband, I remember you told me that he was gentle and understanding. He must have been to marry you and be the father to another man’s child. I understand why you cared for him so much,” Jonas sighed heavily, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Brian—” she hesitated. “Brian O’Shea didn’t exist.”
“What?” Pivoting, Jonas confronted her with a piercing look.
“He was a figment of my mother’s imagination. She wanted me to give the baby up for adoption once it was born, but I couldn’t do it. And my mother—well, she didn’t want it known that her only grandchild was born out of wedlock. So she came up with a plausible story and got everyone to believe it.”
“Yeah, well, nobody wants to argue with Margaret Harrison,” Jonas muttered.
“I went along with it because I felt a certain amount of shame, too.” She breathed in deeply, staring at the gold wedding ring on her finger. It was a symbol of a self-protective lie that had gone on for far too long. A lie that no one had known how to stop telling.
“If I’d only known—I would have been there for you—I would have told your mother to stay the hell out of it.”
“Jonas …” Bridget’s voice was low with anguish! “I didn’t want you to know about Molly. I wanted to be able to say she was another man’s baby if you ever came back. I was afraid you would feel responsible or want to marry me because of her. I didn’t want you that way.”
“Bridget.” His arms wrapped around her, hugging her close and rocking her gently as if to belatedly ease the pain and anguish she had gone through alone. “I love you. At least you know I wanted to marry you because I love you before I found out about Molly. If it’s possible, I love you even more now that I know.”
“I’m glad.” But it was a small word to describe the wild elation throbbing inside her as she snuggled against him.
“I still can’t believe it,” Jonas breathed against her hair. “You know, ever since last summer, when that young couple …” He trailed off, unwilling to say more but she remembered how deeply affected he had been by the loss of the couple’s premature baby. He’d been unable to maintain the professional, unemotional manner that doctors were supposed to have, were trained to have. She’d had a glimpse into his soul that day.
“Bridget, that made me realize just how precious a family is. And in our own crazy way, that was beginning to happen with you and me and Molly. We were becoming a family.”
“I know,” she said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “It surprised me, how natural the connection was. Seeing you and Molly together, I finally understood that there was nothing to be afraid of and that I had waited far too long. Molly needs you”—she swallowed hard—“she needs her real father.”
“I missed so many years of her childhood,” he said, his eyes troubled.
“I know that too,” she replied. “And I have to hold myself responsible for letting that happen.”
Jonas let out a heavy sigh. “Not entirely. Your mother—hell, I don’t know what to say. You know what I think about her. She is who she is. But she can’t control you the way she once did, Bridget. She can’t control us. I won’t let it happen.”
“That’s changing,” she said in a small voice. “Slowly. But it is changing.”
“I don’t want to fight with her. But I don’t think I’m ever going to call her mom. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. You have a right to be angry with her. With me.”
“Nah. What good would that do? Nobody gets to rewrite the past, Bridget. Or relive it.” Jonas drew her closer. “So I’m a dad. Damn. That is so amazing. Better late than never, huh? This may sound strange but I don’t feel angry. I’m bursting with pride. I feel like passing out cigars. I have a child. We have a daughter!”
Bridget lifted her head to look up at him. Her breath caught at the sight of the wondrous smile illuminating his face. “Yes, we have a daughter,” she agreed, her voice choked with emotion. “Molly doesn’t know, of course, but we’ll tell her.”
“Together,” Jonas promised. A flicker of concern crossed his features. “Do you think she’ll mind?”
“We’ll explain everything,” Bridget said. “She’s old enough to understand. She likes you, too, Jonas. It might take her some time to adjust, but I know she’ll love you eventually and be proud to be your daughter.”
“Old enough?” He seemed to be thinking that over. “You told me she was eight years old going on nine. And I believed you. How old is she really?”
“Ten.”
Jonas studied her face for a long moment. Bridget wanted desperately to look away but his gaze held hers. “From here on in, we tell each other the truth about everything. Agreed?”
“Yes,” she whispered, scarcely daring to believe that he wanted to be with her … wanted to marry her.
Suddenly his mouth was teasing the corner of her lips. Bridget moved to return his kiss, happier than she’d ever been in her life.
They attended a service at the white-spired church on Christmas Eve, along with almost everybody else in Randolph. Bridget looked around at the filled pews, spotting the Pomfret sisters next to Mrs. Dutton, the mothers and fathers of Molly’s playmates, her parents, old people and young, come together in fellowship on a night so cold that everyone kept their coats on. The church’s boiler could be faintly heard, wheezing faithfully in the basement as it tried to heat the high-ceilinged interior of the church.
Then the choir lifted their music folders and began “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” The beautiful song always reminded Bridget a little of her own little town somehow. The church windows, in keeping with traditional New England rectitude, were not stained glass but showed the dark sky above. The clarity of the wintry night made the stars twinkle with a piercing brilliance.
She looked at Jonas, over Molly’s head, which was bowed to follow the old carol in a hymnal. Even in profile, he radiated a serene strength that made her heart fill with love for him. She returned her attention to the choir, as they softly sang, “… the hopes and fears of all the years … are met in thee tonight …” drawing out the last note.
Bridget said a silent prayer for the three of them, a family at last, and looked down at the engagement ring Jonas had given her only a week ago—and the plain gold one next to it that he had slipped on in a ceremony in this church yesterday. The diamond shone with all the fire of the stars in the window, but it was the wedding band that mattered most to her.
She sighed and sat up straighter, then stretched out her arm along the back of the pew, behind Molly’s head. Jonas did the same. He put his hand over hers and squeezed gently, looking at her with all the love she had ever wanted.
