Chapter Twenty-One
A s Father Blaine helped Tessa to the ground from the little gig he’d driven from the church, she cast an assessing eye over the whitewashed stone cottage on the bluff above the harbor. Small but tidy, well maintained yet weathered beneath years of salty breezes and coastal storms, a welcoming blue door the same color as the summer sky—a good home for a child, by first impressions.
She shot a glance toward Chase as he reined his saddle horse to a stop behind them and dropped to the ground. Dear God, what would she do to help him if the boy wasn’t Thomas?
She bit her bottom lip. What on earth could she do to help him if the boy was ?
Chase tied his horse to the back of the gig, then pulled at his gloves as he faced the priest. Straight-spined, shoulders back, face inscrutable—was this what he’d looked like during the wars before he’d ridden into battle, when he’d steeled himself against possible destruction? No wonder the French had feared him.
The door opened, and a tall, lanky man appeared in the doorway with a welcoming wave to the rector. “Father Blaine.” His brown trousers, white work shirt gaping open at the neck, and no jacket or waistcoat to hide his braces indicated that he made his way through the world working with his hands. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“Mr. Fisher.” The priest nodded in return. Then he gestured at Chase and Tessa. “I’ve brought visitors along with me. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Come in, come in!” The man stepped back and held open the door. “’Fraid the missus isn’t here, though. Gone off to the village to do some marketing.”
“That’s perfectly all right,” Father Blaine assured him. Then he added in a low voice so only Chase and Tessa could hear, “Perhaps that’s for the best, actually.”
Tessa stiffened. For the first time, the full significance of what this visit meant slammed through her like a lightning strike. It wasn’t only the chance to discover if the boy found on the beach was truly Thomas, alive and well. Reuniting him with Chase would mean taking the boy away from the only home he knew, away from the couple who loved him.
The tense way Father Blaine walked beside her toward the door told her he realized the same. Like the angel of death, he would be taking away a second child from them.
“Mr. Fisher,” Father Blaine introduced as they reached the threshold, “may I introduce Mr. Maddox and Miss Albright?”
The man nodded. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Tessa felt her stomach pinch. No, not a pleasure at all.
“Between sailing trips, are you?” Father Blaine greeted the man with a friendly, if forced, smile as he led Chase and Tessa into the small cottage’s main room.
“Aye. Home for a few days, then off for a sail to Boston. The captain of The Northern hired me on with a chance for extra pay.” Mr. Fisher shook his head. “Hate to be away so long, but can’t pass on the blunt. You know how it is.”
Tessa certainly did. She imagined that a sailor’s life couldn’t be that much different from a soldier’s. It was hard, demanding work following the orders of others, never having a say in where he went or how long he would be gone from home, and the pay was poor recompense.
“Then I can expect to see you in the pews on Sunday?” the priest teased, proving how easy their friendship was.
“Oh, well, you know how it is.” He shrugged with an expression that didn’t look at all repentant. “So much to do around the place while I’m here that I can’t get away. I know you understand.”
“Then I expect to see you all the earlier the very next Sunday you’re home.”
“Absolutely, Father.” He was unrepentant at that obvious lie, as well.
Tessa took a seat on a wooden chair at the table, then was joined by Chase and the priest while Mr. Fisher hurried to place mugs before them and bring over a pot of coffee from the fire. She let her eyes wander inside the sunlit room. The inside of the little cottage was just as clean and well-kept as the outside, if a bit spare in furnishings. Pairs of boots sat lined up by the door, with jackets hanging on the wall above—a man’s, a smaller woman’s…and a child’s wee ones.
If Chase noticed evidence of a boy in the household, his carefully held expression never registered any emotion. Tessa had no idea what private hell he was going through as he sat there next to her, what emotions churned inside him like razor blades. But her heart cried for him that he had to go through this.
Mr. Fisher poured mugs of coffee, then took his seat with a friendly smile. “And what can I do for you, Father, and for your visitors?”
The priest took a deep breath, cupped his hands around his mug, and stared into the coffee as he told the story of Tessa and Chase arriving at the church that morning, of their identification of Eleanor’s remains, of the events of the shipwreck…but he avoided the real reason for their visit. Tessa knew he would. There was no reason to upset the family until they knew for absolute certainty that the boy was Thomas.
“I’m so terribly sorry for your loss,” Fisher said to Chase. “But it’s good to know that the poor little lass has finally been found. Everyone in the village will be glad to hear it.”
Father Blaine nodded into his unwanted coffee. “I told them about Davie, another soul cast up from the sea. They asked if they could see him. I didn’t think there would be any harm in it.”
And now, Tessa knew, the priest was also lying. Harm would come either way, and the rector knew it.
“No, of course not,” Fisher agreed. He leaned back in his chair and turned toward the narrow stairway leading up to the loft. “Davie! Come here.”
Tessa held her breath as the sound of light footsteps hurried across the ceiling toward the stairs. Chase sat frozen like a statue, with only his eyes moving as they went to the narrow stair door and fixed there, waiting…
A little boy bounced into the room. He couldn’t have been more than four or five, although he was dressed in short breeches and white shirt, his golden-blond curls bobbing as he turned bright-green eyes on the strangers in his home and froze for a moment on the bottom step.
“Pa?” he called out quietly to Mr. Fisher, eyeing both Tessa and Chase suspiciously.
Beside her, Chase sucked in a hard breath between clenched teeth.
Tessa stared at the child. Even though she’d seen Chase’s son only once before, Tessa knew…from the boy’s eyes and coloring that were so similar to his mother’s, from his curly hair that favored his father, even from the way he tilted his head in concentration, the same way Chase did…
If she hadn’t already been sitting, she would have plummeted to the floor. The boy was Thomas Maddox, tossed up miraculously from the sea.
“Come greet our visitors,” Fisher ordered, having no idea of the shock roiling through Chase and Tessa. Only Father Blaine dared to stare at Chase, searching for any kind of recognition in his expression.
The boy slinked forward to Mr. Fisher’s side, propped a hip against his knee, and mumbled, “Hullo.” Then he noticed Father Blaine, and a smile of familiarity beamed across his young face. “Hullo, Father!” The boy bounced toward the priest. “Do you have any?”
“Pardon?” Father Blaine tore his attention away from Chase and back to the boy.
“Do you have any sweets? You always give me one when you visit.”
“Yes. Of course.” He reached into his pocket and handed the boy a piece of hard candy from a small bag.
He greedily popped it into his mouth and worked his cheeks like a chipmunk as he sucked hard to draw out the sweet flavor.
“There now.” Father Blaine ruffled the boy’s hair. “Why don’t you go outside and play?”
The boy nodded vigorously, thrilled to be set loose outside on such a nice day, and skipped toward the door.
With another questioning glance at Chase, who ignored the rector, his attention rapt on the boy, Father Blaine said quietly, “I think we should be going now.”
“Of course.” Mr. Fisher climbed to his feet with parting nods to each of them. “I wish you all a good day. I’ll tell the missus you stopped by, Father, and I’ll be sure to give her the news about the poor lass in the churchyard. I’m certain she’ll want to know.”
The priest nodded but kept his eyes glued to Chase, just as Chase kept his focused on the open door, as if hoping to catch any fleeting glimpse of the boy. But by the time they left the cottage, the little boy was completely out of sight, most likely playing in the garden and barn behind the house.
“You still think he might be your son?” Father Blaine asked Chase carefully as they stopped beside his gig.
Chase tugged at his gloves and kept his gaze firmly on the ground. Only then did Tessa notice he was shaking. “There’s no doubt in my heart that he is.”
“Can you prove it?”
Chase gave a single, firm nod. “Thomas has a birthmark on his left shoulder blade, just a little red-brown splotch. The same as his mother.”
“If Davie has that mark—”
“He will,” Chase interrupted. “I’m certain that boy is my Thomas.”
“So am I,” Tessa whispered.
The look Chase cast her was one of pure gratitude.
“I’ll ask for permission for Dr. Poston to examine the boy.” Father Blaine squinted into the noon sun. “If he has the same birthmark, then I’ll help return him to you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“But I ask you to delay until tomorrow morning, to give me the opportunity to speak with the Fishers and Dr. Poston first. I want to prepare them for the possibility that he’s your son.”
“Very well. But I want this matter settled as soon as possible. I’m certain you understand.”
“Yes,” the young priest acknowledged carefully, with a wisdom far greater than his years, “but I also know the need to be kind to the Fishers. They’ve been good to the boy, and if he is your son, it will be the second child they’ve lost.”
*
Mary Fisher pressed against the side of the house, careful to remain out of sight as she peered around the corner at Father Blaine and the two strangers. The basket of goods she’d purchased at the market sat at her feet. She’d come home the back way from the village, up across the fields where she had stopped to gather some herbs for tea and through the rear garden by the barn, slowing when she noticed the visitors.
She had stopped altogether when she heard what they were discussing. They were talking about her Davie.
You still think he might be your son?
His son… She couldn’t think, her mind swirling like a rip current along the coast. But the fear of losing her boy spun up inside her until she had to shove her fist against her mouth to keep from crying out in anguish.
She knew who that man was, knew why he was here…just as she knew Davie possessed the birthmark the man mentioned. Exactly as he described. He was the boy’s true father, and he was here to take him away.
No! She wouldn’t let him. Oh, sweet Lord! How would she survive losing him? She’d been broken when her Johnny died of fever, unable to save him. Father Blaine had been no help then—seemed he wouldn’t be no help now, either.
No, she had to save him herself this time. She wouldn’t lose her child. Not again.
She waited in her hiding spot until the rector’s gig drove away, with the man on the saddle horse trotting behind. Then she scurried back around to the rear of the cottage, to the little service yard at the side of the barn where her boy liked to play.
“Davie,” she called out, forcing a trembling smile as she hurried up to him and dropped to her knees. “We’re going on an adventure, just the two of us.” Her shaking hand smoothed the unruly curls away from his face. “A grand trip. And it’s our little secret.”