A Mom For His Daughter
Jean C. Gordon
A Dad’s Second ChanceWidowed single dad Marc Delacroix doesn’t have time for surprises—especially one like Fiona Bryce. Finding out that she’s the biological aunt of his adopted daughter, Stella, is a big shock. While Fiona’s commitment to the little girl appears to be genuine, Marc wonders if he can truly trust her—or his own heart, which he vowed never to risk again. Fiona’s eager to connect with the sweet young niece she never knew she had, but Marc seems determined to keep her at arm’s length. Could Marc and Fiona’s shared love of Stella be the bond that transforms their fragile connection into a real family?
A Dad’s Second Chance
Widowed single dad Marc Delacroix doesn’t have time for surprises—especially one like Fiona Bryce. Finding out that she’s the biological aunt of his adopted daughter, Stella, is a big shock. While Fiona’s commitment to the little girl appears to be genuine, Marc wonders if he can truly trust her—or his own heart, which he vowed never to risk again. Fiona’s eager to connect with the sweet young niece she never knew she had, but Marc seems determined to keep her at arm’s length. Could Marc and Fiona’s shared love of Stella be the bond that transforms their fragile connection into a real family?
“Where’s Feena?”
Stella’s eyes popped open and her gaze shot to the now-empty front seat.
“She’s untying the toboggan.”
“My saucer,” the little girl said as he unfastened her from her seat.
“It’s in the back.” He lifted Stella out and walked her to the other side of the SUV, stopping to get her sled out.
“All set,” Fiona said.
He leaned the saucer against the SUV and lifted down the toboggan. “Who wants a ride?”
“Me, me.” Stella hopped up and down before climbing on.
“I’d better grab your saucer,” he said.
“Feena carry my saucer,” Stella said.
Fiona’s face brightened so that it outshone the bright afternoon sun on the sparkling snow. “I can do that.”
“Teamwork. I like that,” Marc said, passing the saucer to Fiona.
“Teamwork,” Stella echoed.
Marc walked with Fiona and Stella toward the low rectangular building where they were all meeting in the snack area. They could be a team—a team of friends. Yeah. He and Fiona could be friends.
JEAN C. GORDON’s writing is a natural extension of her love of reading. From that day in first grade when she realized t-h-e was the word the, she’s been reading everything she can put her hands on. Jean and her college-sweetheart husband share a 175-year-old farmhouse in Upstate New York with their daughter and her family. Their son lives nearby. Contact Jean at Facebook.com/jeancgordon.author (http://Facebook.com/jeancgordon.author) or PO Box 113, Selkirk, NY 12158.
A Mom for His Daughter
Jean C. Gordon
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
And we know that all things work together
for good to them that love God, to them
who are the called according to His purpose.
—Romans 8:28
To my Love Inspired editor, Shana Asaro, for pushing me to make this story a better book.
Contents
Cover (#ucd6db276-367d-54f1-ae32-cfc3fc3bf0a8)
Back Cover Text (#u54ced766-bea2-5ee5-8efc-2e191b7c5545)
Introduction (#u7ad79275-42a8-57f7-86cb-7c813b2b8724)
About the Author (#uca2be7f2-6057-5d24-9af5-b0575d297f4f)
Title Page (#ud23c1b14-72af-5b33-a4ee-7a177e25e971)
Bible Verse (#u4e31386d-b442-54da-8cb9-f26b755e8649)
Dedication (#ucd08daa4-4b64-51f9-b2b3-1fdb354721b7)
Chapter One (#u1bf38ab1-f1bf-57cb-9165-5bd059629201)
Chapter Two (#uf46cf715-c49f-53a7-b802-27f8e3f2ecb3)
Chapter Three (#u8b3032aa-3607-5361-b3dd-e043767735d8)
Chapter Four (#uea9ef230-7747-52f1-99b5-8dd8b3d04788)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uab09f0e3-f685-5dee-9013-ef003b10b605)
Everything Marc Delacroix had always thought he wanted rode on decisions he and his business partners would make in the next few hours. And he couldn’t care less.
Oh, he’d gone through the motions yesterday of meeting with Fiona Bryce, the Cornell farm-to-table consultant. He owed his partners that much. They’d been picking up the slack for him even before Cate’s death. The lump that formed in his throat when he thought about his wife didn’t choke off his windpipe anymore, which he guessed was progress. This Lake George restaurant launch his partners had sent him north for felt a lot like a get-yourself-together-or-sell-out proposition. He curled his lip. Maybe he should sell out.
His cell phone jolted him from his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID. Mom. Just what he didn’t need when he was rushing to get his daughter, Stella, dressed and to her first morning at preschool in Schroon Lake. But he couldn’t ignore her. She was his mother.
“Hey, Mom. What’s up? I only have a minute if I’m going to get Stella to school on time.”
“But she’s not quite three yet. So little for preschool,” his mother protested.
While he listened to his mother’s opinion on Stella and preschool for the third time, his thoughts drifted back to yesterday. Although he only had a vague idea of what Fiona’s program could do, he’d forwarded her presentation with his positive recommendation to his partners. He’d been unexpectedly mesmerized by the woman—her features, her movements—and had paid more attention to her than to what she’d said.
“Marc?”
“Yes, I’m here, Mom. I was thinking about my meeting at the research farm yesterday.”
“I’m glad you’re taking an interest in your work again,” she said.
More like an interest in my potential business consultant. But it was something. Better than the apathy that had paralyzed him for the past months.
“You know I don’t mind watching Stella,” his mother said. “I’m free today if you want to get some work in. I usually don’t schedule any bookkeeping on Wednesdays to have a day free for errands and other things.”
That was the drawback and blessing of having moved Stella from New York City to his hometown of Paradox Lake in the Adirondack Mountains. Lots of people always ready to help. Mom with her offers to take care of Stella. His twin sister pressing him to socialize, meet new people—Fiona, her coworker at the Cornell Research Farm in Willsboro, popped into his mind again—and encouraging him to get started on La Table Frais, his restaurant project.
Cradling the phone between his ear and shoulder, Marc picked up Stella’s shoes, slipped them on her feet and pressed the Velcro fasteners. He was inclined to agree with his mother, but his youngest sister, Renee, a child sociologist, had convinced him that being with children her age would help get Stella up to speed with the age-appropriate behavior she’d fallen behind on.
“It’s a play group for two-and three-year-olds. And Andie will be there.” His older sister was one of the teachers at The Kids Place, the childcare center at Hazardtown Community Church, where he and his family attended services.
“Stella. Red,” Stella said, pointing at her belly and her red T-shirt in a basket of clothes he had folded, ready to put away.
“Okay.” Marc hoped he wasn’t pushing Stella too hard. Her speech development had stalled since Cate died. But referring to herself in a baby-like third person was something new he’d noticed since they’d moved here last month.
“Pardon?” his mother said.
Stella scampered over to the basket, pulled off the shirt he’d put on her and worked at putting on the red one.
“Stella wanted to wear her red shirt instead of the one I put on her.”
He could imagine the expression on his mother’s face about letting Stella have her way. Marc grabbed his phone from his shoulder. But the counselor they’d seen downstate after Cate’s death had said to choose his battles with Stella, and he wasn’t about to do anything to set her off before he even got her to The Kids Place.
“I don’t want to upset her, Mom. She had a meltdown yesterday at the grocery store. Someone Stella didn’t know said hello to her, and Stella went ballistic. You know how reluctant she can be about talking to new people.” Or anyone other than him—even his family.
“That’s what I mean. Stella may need more time with family to adjust to her new home. School’s off today for a teacher’s workday or something. I could have Robbie come and play with her.”
Yeah. A playdate with his toddler cousin wasn’t likely to be at the top of seven-year-old Robbie’s wish list.
“I need to go, Mom. I’ve got work to do after I drop off Stella.” He strained to hide the catch in his voice on work. How many times had he said that to Cate, to Stella, thinking there would be time later? Then Cate was dying, and there were no more laters.
“Daddy!”
He turned. Stella had her arm through the head of the shirt.
“And Stella needs help with her shirt.”
“Okay, and as I said, if you want to go work on the restaurant this afternoon, I’ll be here for Stella.”
“Thanks, Mom.” But he was the one who ought to be there for his daughter. “I’ll let you know. Bye.” He turned to Stella. “Hang on, sweetpea. I’ll give you a hand.” He pulled her arm out of the head hole, and she slipped her arms in the sleeves.
“Stella do it.”
“Yep. Good job.” Edginess fired through his veins. He could only hope he was doing as well.
“Church. Singing,” Stella said a few minutes later when he pulled into the church parking lot and stopped in a space near the church hall.
Marc hopped out and released Stella from her car seat. “I don’t know about singing today.”
His wife’s beautiful voice singing “On Eagles’ Wings” with their church choir floated through his head. Stella had loved Cate’s singing; so much so that he’d avoided taking Stella to church after Cate’s death for fear the music would set Stella off. Regret squeezed his chest. But he couldn’t avoid church services here. Nor did he want to. And Stella had been fine when they’d attended church with his parents last week.
The corners of Stella’s mouth turned down.
“But we’ll see. There might be singing.” He lifted her from the car.
“Stella walk.”
He set her down and took her hand. “Okay.” Slowly, they made their way to the hall door. Marc opened it.
“London Bridge is falling down, falling down...” A group of preschoolers was playing London Bridge in the hall.
“See, Daddy, singing.”
“You’re absolutely right.” His heart lightened. “Let’s go talk with Aunt Andie about school.”
“’Kay.” Stella’s voice lacked the enthusiasm of a minute ago.
Andie walked over to them. He held his breath when she crouched to Stella’s level.
“Hi, Stella. We’re coloring our class banner.” Andie pointed across the room to several kids Stella’s age sitting at a table with a long sheet of white paper. “Want to help us?”
Stella looked up at him. “Daddy color?”
“Remember, Daddy has to work this morning.” He planned on talking with his partners. “You can color with Aunt Andie.” The counselor had told Marc that the little girl might feel more secure with him telling her what to do, rather than asking—at least for a while.
Stella stared at him silently for so long his heart stopped. Then she nodded and took Andie’s hand.
“She’ll be fine,” Andie said.
“Right.” He resisted looking back at Stella as he left the hall. Stella knew Andie. Andie was great with kids of all ages, and she had his number if there was any problem.
Marc dragged his feet walking out to the car. He needed to occupy his mind with something more than concerns about Stella. That fixation wasn’t good for her or him. He’d taken his first reluctant step yesterday toward an opportunity he would have jumped at in a New York minute two years ago. Marc wanted that excitement back. For too long, he’d been plodding through life placing one foot in front of the other.
He made his decision. He needed to get in the race again, call Fiona and let her know she could write up a consulting contract for La Table Frais. His partners would probably celebrate his taking the initiative to make the decision, rather than waiting for their approval.
Sitting in the driver’s seat, he thumbed to the Cornell Research Farm’s number on his phone, picturing Fiona, her coppery curls, wide-set hazel eyes and vivacious mannerisms. She was a stunning woman, and the first woman he’d noticed since Cate had died.
If he were honest with himself, that scared him. He closed his eyes. His main focus still had to be Stella, but to be what his daughter needed, maybe he needed something for himself.
He didn’t have to throw himself into the new restaurant 24/7 as he had with his work in New York. And having an adult relationship, a nonpressure business relationship that had nothing to do with his daughter, might give him a balance between family and work.
* * *
Fiona adjusted and readjusted the blinds on the small window in her work cubicle to block the glare from the afternoon sun and checked her email—again. Nothing from Marc Delacroix. She knew he’d received the copy of her presentation she’d sent him. She had the return receipt email. Had he shared it with his partners? It wasn’t a make-or-break situation, but getting Marc and his partners in New York City involved in her new program would be a great start toward making the program—and her job—secure.
She minimized her email. Marc had seemed interested in what she’d presented. Although he hadn’t taken many notes and had asked only a few questions, he’d been intent on the presentation, focused on her.
She pictured Marc, his dark, thickly lashed eyes, the all-masculine planes of his face. Claire hadn’t been exaggerating with her clichéd tall, dark and handsome description of her twin. In fact, she may have been underplaying his attractiveness.
Fiona blinked away the picture. This was work. Although from the glowing report Claire had given of her brother’s experience, his business connections in New York City and his personal attributes, Fiona couldn’t help but think there was more behind Claire’s push to get them together than simply business. Especially given Claire’s emphasis on how much she thought Marc and Fiona had in common—essentially their dedication to their work and interest in promoting locally produced food. Neither was anything to build a personal relationship on.
Fiona put a halt to the odd direction her thoughts had taken. If Claire knew more about her, she wouldn’t have given a thought to putting her and Marc together. But they had only met recently, new coworkers.
Fiona rubbed the side of the mouse. She was trying to put the unhappy parts of her past behind her by taking the position here, near Ticonderoga. The place where she’d had an intact family—at least for a while. The only place she remembered being truly happy. She hoped to find the peace she’d been searching for most of her life, and closure for her younger sister Mairi’s senseless death. She refused to believe all her efforts to hold her family together had been in vain, despite the fact that the sister she’d mostly raised had turned to drugs as their mother had.
Fiona’s desk phone rang.
“Hey, Fiona, you have a delivery you need to sign for,” the staffer at the front desk said.
“I’ll be right out.” As she walked to the front desk, Fiona searched her memory for anything she’d ordered that she’d have to sign for and came up blank.
“I’m Fiona Bryce. You have something for me?”
“Fiona C. Bryce?” the deliverer asked.
“Yes.” How many Fiona Bryces could there be here? “Do you need ID?” She tapped her employer badge hanging from the lanyard around her neck.
The man glanced at it. “That’s fine. Please sign here.” He handed her a clipboard and pointed to a line.
Fiona signed and accepted the cardboard envelope. The return address was the attorney in Glens Falls she’d hired to help her settle Mairi’s estate, what little there had been of it anyway. Her heart thumped. That had all been taken care of nearly two years ago. She hadn’t thought to give him her new address or phone number. He must have tracked her online to the Willsboro farm.
On her way back to her cubicle, Fiona tore open the cardboard. Settling in the chair behind her desk, she pulled out the attorney’s letter and read it.
“...the new owners of the cabin where your sister died were refinishing a desk there as part of renovations to rent it and found the enclosed stamped envelope addressed to you caught behind one of the drawers. They knew about your sister, so they passed the letter on to the local authorities. The chief of police, my brother-in-law, forwarded it to me, thinking I’d have your address. All I could find was the address of your business.”
Fiona’s heart slammed against her chest as she reached inside the cardboard mailer and withdrew a white business envelope with her name and the address of the USDA experimental farm in Guam where she’d been working when Mairi died. It was in Mairi’s handwriting, scribbled but definitely Mairi’s. Fiona drew deep inside herself for strength that was beyond her own.
Dear Lord, be with me now.
She carefully slid her finger under the flap and ripped through it with a sharp jerk. Closing her eyes and doing her best to take a cleansing breath, she unfolded the pages. The letter was dated the day Mairi had died.
I’m sorry I failed you, the letter read in the same scribbled handwriting as the envelope. I’m weak like Mom. I tried to call and tell you, but I couldn’t do it. I tried to take care of her like you would, but I couldn’t.
Fiona unsuccessfully tried to blink away her tears. Take care of who? She refocused on the sheet.
I love you. She’s safe with the people at Precious in His Sight. I couldn’t wait until you came back. Find her. I have to go now. I’m going to put this out in the mailbox. Mairi.
Fiona choked, her mind flooding with questions. I have to go? Did that mean Mairi had OD’d on purpose because of whatever her letter was talking about? Either before she’d written the letter or right after, and become disoriented or passed out before she could mail it? Or had she decided not to send it? Struggling to draw a breath, Fiona shuffled to the next sheet and dropped it as if it were a burning ember, her gazed fixed on the words “Fiona Elsbeth Collins, born...”
A baby? Her breath left her lungs in a sudden rush. Hand shaking, Fiona picked up the birth certificate and read the remainder of the information. Mother: Mairi A. Collins. Father: Unknown. Date of Birth: March 3. Place of birth: Town of Ticonderoga. Mairi had a baby.
Fiona muffled her sobs. She might never know all that happened with Mairi, why her baby was born in Ticonderoga rather than in the central New York village where she had worked as a nurse. Why Mairi had never sent this letter. But there was a precious piece of Mairi remaining in the world—a three-year-old niece. Maybe this was God’s path to closure on her sister’s death. The opportunity to make up for not being able to keep her family together, for her failing Mairi. All she had to do was find the little girl.
* * *
Marc pushed open the door to the church hall, still debating whether tonight was a good idea. But Claire had sounded desperate, texting that several members of the Twenty-/Thirtysomethings group had bailed on her. The group was supposed to be spending its usual Thursday night meeting time helping set up for the winter bazaar and book sale Saturday.
He’d been resisting his sister’s urging to join what had been the Singles group at church, but was now made up of a mix of marrieds and singles. Marc wasn’t looking to meet anyone for a romantic relationship—which his attraction to Fiona contradicted. From the disastrous months following Cate’s death, he knew juggling work and being a single parent was more than enough for him to handle.
“Daddy, school,” Stella said when they stepped into the hall.
Marc tensed. After refusing to take a nap at his mother’s—he’d taken Mom up on her earlier offer to watch Stella this afternoon while he went down to Lake George to look at the restaurant property—Stella had zonked out on the couch right after dinner and woken up cranky. She’d still been out of sorts when they’d left the house. Maybe they should have stayed home. What if she was getting sick? He talked himself down. She wasn’t running a temperature, had eaten a good dinner and hadn’t complained about not feeling well.
He unzipped her coat and took her hat and mittens off. “Not school. Playtime with Aunt Andie’s big girls, Aimee and Amelia.”
“Stella big girl.”
“Yes, you are.” At times, he wondered if she said that because he babied her or to affirm it to herself. He scanned the room for his teenage nieces or Claire, and stopped at a tumble of red curls. Fiona. Did Claire’s call for help have an ulterior motive? The bigger question was, did he mind if her motive had been more than getting his assistance?
“Uncle Marc!” His niece’s shout drew his attention away.
She hurried over. “Hi,” she said breathlessly. “We’re watching the kids in the preschool room. We’re going to make snowflakes with silver and gold glitter.”
“Stella help?” She looked up at him.
“Definitely. I’m sure they can use your help.”
Stella smiled and walked away with his niece. That was easy. He shoved Stella’s hat and mittens into his jacket pocket. A bit of him wanted to see Stella’s hesitation to leave him that he’d come to expect, but most of him was relieved that Stella was becoming more comfortable with other people. His family, at least.
“You made it. I wasn’t sure from your text if you would.” Claire appeared beside him.
“I’m here. What do you have for me to do?”
“Table setup. You can put your coat on the table by the door with the others. And a truck full of books is coming that needs to be unloaded.”
“Who else do you have to bring the tables down from upstairs?”
“Pastor Connor. Then he has an appointment. The rest of the guys bailed, as I said in my text.” Claire looked around the room. “Fiona can help you set up the tables and unload the books.”
Marc pinned his twin’s gaze, questioning the possibility of a different type of setup. “I didn’t know Fiona was a member of the group.” He hadn’t seen her at church service in all the time he’d been here.
“She’s not, but I’m working on it as I am with you. Fiona helped her landlady, Mrs. Hamilton, the other evening, sorting items for the rummage sale.”
Marc wasn’t sure what that had to do with tonight.
“Mrs. Hamilton was going to supervise the work tonight, but her hip is acting up, and she asked Fiona to step in for her.” Claire stopped. “What’s with the face? It’s like you want to avoid Fiona. Didn’t your meeting yesterday go well?”
“It went well enough.” What was with him was that he wanted to spend time with Fiona, and that put him on edge. Fiona belonged in the business part of his life, not the social one. He raked his hand through his hair. He didn’t have a social life anyway. Not anymore.
* * *
Fiona stopped dead, her gaze glued to the red-haired toddler holding Marc’s hand. The copper curls. Her profile. The little girl’s button nose. She looked so much like a photo Fiona had at home of Mairi as a toddler. Fiona’s lungs burned, reminding her to take a breath.
It couldn’t be. Claire hadn’t said anything about her niece, Stella, being adopted. Fiona pushed her hair back from her face. Her emotions were worn raw from reading and rereading her sister’s letter, trying to fully understand. She’d hoped busying herself with the bazaar setup would give her mind and emotions a rest for a few hours. Fiona watched the toddler walk out of the room with a dark-haired teenager. She couldn’t let her desires distort reality. She’d only be setting herself up for disappointment again.
Fiona started when Claire touched her shoulder.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” her friend said. “Are you okay? You’re so pale.”
Fiona waved her off. “I’m fine.” As fine as she could manage at the moment.
“Marc and Pastor Connor are bringing the tables down from upstairs. Give them a few minutes and they should be ready to help you arrange them.”
“Okay.” Fiona waited until Claire had taken a few steps in the opposite direction and fled to the ladies’ room. She splashed water on her face and stared. The smattering of freckles across her nose popped against her still pale skin. She had to get a grip on herself, work out a systematic plan for finding her niece. Otherwise, she’d be seeing Mairi in every red-haired little girl she saw on the street, in the store...
Fiona returned to the hall and approached Marc and a man she assumed was Pastor Connor, who were adding a table to a stack leaning against the wall.
“Hi, I’m Fiona Bryce. You must be Pastor Connor.”
“Yes. Nice to meet you. I read about your program at the Research Farm.”
“Speaking of which,” Marc said, “did you get my voice mail?”
“No, sorry. I didn’t check it. I had meetings all morning and left the office early.” After reading Mairi’s letter, she couldn’t concentrate on work, so she’d gone home to research and contact Precious in His Sight and to rehash where she’d gone wrong with Mairi. She’d tried to give her the support and direction their parents hadn’t given them.
“Go ahead and write up a contract proposal for La Table Frais,” Marc said.
“Great. I’ll get to work on it tomorrow.” She tried to force the enthusiasm she should be feeling for her program’s first major client. “Your partners agreed, then?”
“They will.” Marc’s dark eyes sparkled.
This Marc jibed more with the description his sister had given Fiona of a man who could have won their high school’s most-likely-to-succeed award when he was in kindergarten than the quiet, intent man she’d met with at the farm.
“I’ve got to get ready for my meeting,” Pastor Connor interrupted, tilting his head toward the outer hall and his office. “You two should be able to handle setting up without me.”
“Where do you want the tables?” Marc asked as Connor walked away.
Fiona showed Marc the diagram Mrs. Hamilton had given her, unsettled by the awareness of him close beside her, looking over her shoulder at the paper she held. Sheesh! She’d stood next to attractive men before. Mairi’s letter had her nerves totally on edge about everything.
“Simple enough,” he said, and they went to work.
As Fiona watched Marc snap the legs of the last table into place and tip it upright, an elderly woman with a cane stepped into the hall from the parking lot and looked around.
“Can I help you?” Fiona asked.
“I have books to donate. I talked with Betty Hamilton.”
“Yes, we’re expecting you. Tell us which vehicle and we’ll unload. You can wait in here where it’s warm.”
“The gray SUV with the Essex County Farm Co-op sticker on the back window. The hatch is unlocked.”
Marc and Fiona grabbed their coats from the pile on the table by the door and headed out. Fiona quickly spotted the woman’s SUV. She pointed at the decal on the back window and touched her foot to the hatch opener. “It’s short notice, but I didn’t think of it yesterday. When we’re done unloading, remind me to talk with you about the co-op organizational meeting tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Let’s get started,” Marc said, and she wondered if he was in a hurry to be done. Or was that just her perception because she wasn’t in any hurry? She traced his profile with her gaze as he leaned into the SUV. He probably wanted to get back to his daughter, and she had nothing else to do this evening except go back to her empty apartment and Mairi’s letter.
He lifted one of the smaller boxes and passed it to Fiona. Her hand brushed his as she took it from him. The warmth of the contact left an imprint on her in the cold evening air.
“Go ahead and take your box inside,” he said before reaching for another one. “If we alternate, we won’t be bumping into each other.”
“Good idea.” She gripped the box tighter and headed back to the hall. Had he felt something, too, when their hands had brushed? She glanced over her shoulder. He’d stacked two boxes to carry in, confirming her thought that he wanted to be done.
“Only two left,” Fiona said a few minutes later, placing a box on the table next to the two Marc had brought in.
“I’ll get them,” he said.
“And I’ll come and close the hatch.”
He opened the outside door, and she brushed by him.
“About the Farm Co-op meeting I mentioned. You might want to come and meet some of your potential food suppliers. I can tell you about it while we walk. I understand if you’re in a hurry to get your daughter home.” Fiona paused. “I saw her come in with you. She’s a cutie.”
“I have time,” he said.
“She must take after her mother, the red hair.” Fiona absently touched her own hair, then jerked her hand away. Why was she going on about his daughter and not the meeting? Because all she could think about was her unanswered questions about her sister and her niece.
His eyes narrowed. “I can’t really say. She’s adopted.”
Fiona stumbled, catching herself on the back of the car they were passing. Stella was adopted? Her heart leaped to her throat. From what she’d found out about Precious in His Sight, although the adoption agency was based near here in Glens Falls, it served Christian families throughout New York state.
Fiona pressed her palm to her throat as the realization hit her. Stella could be her niece.
Chapter Two (#uab09f0e3-f685-5dee-9013-ef003b10b605)
The north wind blew the icy snow in Fiona’s face as she dashed from her car to the Ticonderoga Birthing Center. She was here in search of answers to questions about her sister. She hadn’t gotten any answers about Stella last night. Before Fiona had been able to form coherent words to ask Marc about the little girl’s adoption, a teen had come racing out to the parking lot to get him because Stella was crying and wouldn’t stop. And the callback Fiona had received this morning to the voice mail she’d left with Precious in His Sight yesterday was what she’d expected. The adoption records for Mairi’s daughter were sealed.
Maybe she’d learn something about Mairi today from the birthing center’s midwife, Autumn Hanlon, or her ob-gyn husband, Jon. They apparently were the only game in town when it came to delivering babies. The next closest facility was in Vermont, and there were two others, each an hour away, in Saranac Lake and Glens Falls. But Mairi’s baby’s birth certificate said the Town of Ticonderoga.
Fiona stomped the snow off her boots on the entryway mat. But what if Mairi had given birth by herself? She shuddered at the thought of her little sister giving birth all alone in the remote cabin where her body had been found. And her date of death was almost four weeks after the baby’s birth date.
She removed her hat and gloves. Where had Mairi and the baby been during that time? Mairi had rented the cabin the day before her death, alone as far as the police could tell, giving a false name and paying cash for her stay. Of course, Mairi had known all about flying under the radar from their mother.
Fiona crossed the entryway and pulled open the glass door to the center at exactly two o’clock, fifteen minutes ahead of her appointment time. When she’d called the birthing center yesterday afternoon, she’d been thankful Autumn had a cancellation in her schedule and an appointment had been available today. Learning anything about Mairi, what she’d gone through, what she could have been thinking, would help Fiona fill the void inside her.
She walked to the reception window. “Fiona Bryce. I have an appointment to see Autumn Hanlon at two fifteen.”
The appointment clerk pressed a key on her computer and handed Fiona some forms. While she waited to be called, Fiona sat in the waiting area, tapping the clipboard with the uncompleted forms against her leg and thinking about Stella and Marc. Marc Delacroix was an attractive, interesting man. An attractive, interesting man who was a business associate and could be her niece’s adoptive father.
“Fiona Bryce.”
Fiona gripped the clipboard, rose and followed the nurse to the exam room. A few minutes later, the midwife knocked on the door and stepped into the room.
“Hi, I’m Autumn Hanlon.”
“Hi,” Fiona answered, pressing her hand to her stomach to stop the sudden flutter of guilt about approaching the woman under the guise of being a patient.
Autumn glanced at the clipboard with the blank forms and frowned. “What brings you in?”
Fiona cleared her throat. “I’m looking for information. I believe you or your husband delivered my sister, well, half-sister’s baby. Her name was Mairi Collins.”
“I can’t give you any information without your sister’s permission. HIPPA regulation,” Autumn said.
Fiona blinked. “I know the HIPPA rules. But Mairi is dead.” Fiona took a certified copy of her sister’s death certificate and two other documents out of her bag and handed them to Autumn. “I was the executor of her estate and had her medical power of attorney.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your sister.” Autumn glanced at the papers. “I remember her. We don’t have that many births a year, and she was unusual in that she’d gotten her prenatal care elsewhere.”
“Thank you,” Fiona said. “She OD’d at a summer cabin not too far from here.”
Autumn’s eyes widened. “That was your sister? The local news gave a different name.”
“She used a fake name. It took the police a while to actually ID her and contact me.”
“Again, I’m so sorry.” Autumn examined the document Fiona had given her. “Yes, I helped your sister birth her daughter.” The midwife looked as if she wanted to bite her tongue.
“I know it was a baby girl. Her original birth certificate recently came into my possession. That’s how I learned the baby was born in Ticonderoga and deduced she was probably born here.”
Autumn nodded.
Fiona squeezed her hands in her lap. “Were there any signs of drug use, that my sister was shooting heroine?”
“No. The baby was born healthy, and your sister tested negative.”
“About the baby. Mairi gave her up for adoption?”
“Yes, but not right away.” Autumn hesitated. “About a month after the birth, your sister returned with the baby and said she wanted to give her up for adoption. I talked with her for quite a while. From her demeanor and things she said, I suspected postpartum depression. I suggested an overnight admission so we could observe her and she could be sure adoption was what she wanted to do. Your sister was adamant about not staying. She started to fill out the papers, signed them and excused herself to use the restroom. She never returned. We released the baby to the adoption agency she’d chosen.”
“Precious in His Sight,” Fiona said.
Autumn tilted her head in question.
“That information was with the birth certificate. Do you think Mairi could have committed suicide because of the postpartum depression?” Fiona stared at her hands. “Our mother was an addict. Overdoses were something we were both familiar with.”
“It’s possible.”
The signs that Mairi had chosen drugs due to postpartum depression with the objective of suicide lifted one gray cloud of guilt. But it didn’t answer why Mairi hadn’t confided in her. Fiona would have given up her job and come back to the States if Mairi had said she needed her. Fiona closed her eyes. Hadn’t she known that?
“Are you all right?” Autumn asked.
“As all right as I can be. One more thing. I’d like a copy of Mairi’s medical records.”
“Of course. I can have the records ready for you to pick up after noon tomorrow.”
“Thank you. I’ll stop in on my lunch break.”
Fiona left in an emotional fog, settled her bill and almost physically ran into Marc and Stella in the building entryway.
“Hi,” Marc said.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted, failing in her attempt to pull herself together.
“Seeing the pediatrician who’s here at the center a couple of times a week.”
Her cheeks heated. “Is Stella all right?”
Fiona’s gaze dropped from his face to the little girl wrapped around his leg, finger stuck in her mouth. An arrow of pain struck her heart. Last evening when she’d seen Stella with Marc, she’d allowed that it could have been her imagination fired by her renewed grief over her sister’s death. But it wasn’t. Stella was a mini Mairi.
“It’s her regular wellness appointment.”
“Ah, does that mean someone has a birthday soon?” Fiona smiled at Stella, who tightened her grip on Marc.
“Not until March third, but I wanted to get her set up with a doctor here.”
Marc’s words after March third, the birth date of Mairi’s daughter, were more a hum in Fiona’s ears than actual words. “What agency did you and your wife use to adopt Stella?” Fiona blurted. But even before he answered, the truth rang in her like a bell, with the memory of her sister’s final words: Find her.
* * *
Marc stared at Fiona, and then over her shoulder at the door to the Birthing Center, Autumn and Jon’s practice. Bittersweet remembrances of Cate and all the tests to determine why they couldn’t conceive rolled over him.
Fiona shuffled her feet and twisted the strap on her purse. “I was wondering.” Her words rushed out. “For one of my classmates from grad school who I keep in touch with. I assume you used a downstate agency.”
She looked at him with an eager expression that made him wonder if the information really was for a friend. “No, we used Precious in His Sight, a private Christian agency in Glens Falls. It serves all of New York state.” He glanced at Stella and experienced the awe and gratitude he still got just knowing she was his. “Tell your friend I highly recommend them.”
“Daddy.” Stella tugged at his hand. “Good girl prize.” The pediatrician Cate had taken Stella to in New York gave her a small prize at every appointment. He had no idea if the doctor here did the same, and had explained that to Stella.
He turned back to Fiona. She was staring at his daughter with a look of longing that made him wonder if she was the one who wanted to adopt. “I’d better get Stella in for her appointment.”
“Of course.” Fiona pulled her gaze from Stella, concern replacing the longing on her face.
“Thanks for the information. I’ll tell...I’ll tell my friend, and be in touch.”
He watched her walk out, assuming she meant she’d be in touch about La Table Frais.
“Daddy. Her go away. ’Pointment.”
He didn’t know whether Stella was making an observation about Fiona leaving or expressing a preference—not that it mattered. His relationship with Fiona was business.
A half hour later, Marc was sitting in the pediatrician’s exam room with the doctor and Stella.
The doctor had finished Stella’s exam. “I read the medical records from Stella’s previous doctor. She’s always been in the lower third of children her age in height and weight. Am I correct in assuming her mother is petite?”
He leaned forward on the arms of the chair. “I don’t really know. Stella is adopted.”
The doctor made a note on a pad beside her. “I don’t want to alarm you, but over the months since her last checkup, she’s fallen into the lowest tenth. With that and the stomach upsets you said she’s been experiencing, I want to refer her to a gastroenterologist at the Adirondack Medical Center. Dr. Franklin.”
From the way the doctor’s expression softened, the fear careening through him must have shown on his face. She looked more the grandmother she might be and less the medical professional.
“Dr. Franklin is a good man as well as physician. Great with kids. We can set up the appointment for you, or I can send a referral and you can make it yourself.”
“Send the referral. I’ll make the appointment.” After I talk with Autumn or Jon. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the pediatrician. But he didn’t know her. He’d grown up with Autumn, gone all through school with her and knew he could trust her opinion.
“Daddy, Stella good girl?”
“Yes, you were a very good girl.” He lifted her down from the examination table and looked at the doctor apologetically. “Her other pediatrician gave her what he called a good girl prize after her exams.”
The doctor smiled. “It just so happens I have something for you, Stella.” She handed Stella a coloring book called Teddy Bear Goes to the Doctor’s.
“What do you say, Stella?”
The little girl beamed. “Fank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Marc couldn’t help but compare how at ease Stella was with the doctor to the way she’d hugged his leg and tried to hide behind him the whole time he’d talked with Fiona in the entryway. Maybe she was experiencing an aversion to younger women or, as Claire had suggested, women Cate’s age who had light hair like she’d had. Stella was okay around his sisters.
Marc rubbed the middle of his forehead. He didn’t know why he was even concerned about Stella and Fiona together. It wasn’t as if there would be many occasions for that—no matter his attraction.
The doctor typed a note into her tablet. “I’ll get that referral off to the gastroenterologist. You should be set to make the appointment this afternoon.”
“Thanks.” He took Stella’s papers and her hand and checked out.
“Let’s see what we can rustle up for lunch,” he said as he walked her to the car.
“Let’s rustle lunch.” She giggled, her full sentence capturing his heart with hope that she was making progress.
After lunch, Stella fell asleep on the couch while coloring in her new book, and he straightened up the place, waiting for his friends Autumn or Jon to return the call he’d left for them. He squatted to pick up Stella’s crayons but thought better. She should pick them up. It’s how Mom would do it.
His phone vibrated, and he pulled it from his back pocket. Private Caller. Probably the birthing center number. Marc swiped the screen to answer as he walked to the kitchen.
“Hello.”
“Marc? It’s Autumn. I got your message. What’s up?”
It could be his concern about Stella and the referral, but Autumn’s casual question sounded forced. He told her about Stella’s exam.
“What do you know about Dr. Franklin at the medical center?”
“The best in the area, especially for children.” Autumn paused. “Anything else?”
“No, that’s it. I wanted a second opinion.”
“Okay, then,” Autumn said with what sounded oddly like relief.
But that made no sense. He pulled the slip of paper with Dr. Franklin’s phone number from his wallet, but a text came in before he could dial. Fiona. He’d added her to his business contacts.
Hi, how did Stella’s appointment go?
Marc scratched the side of his neck. He was used to his mother and sisters’ friends and his business partner’s wives asking him about Stella because he figured that was what women, especially mothers, talked about. Although Fiona’s question wasn’t any different, it prickled his spine.
Okay, he typed back.
Could we get together this evening?
Fiona was using Stella as a lead-in to getting together? He couldn’t say it was the first time since Cate’s death that a woman had. He slumped against the wall. From their work together at church the other evening, he’d thought better of Fiona.
It’s about Stella appeared before he could form a response. Marc pressed the i-button at the top of his screen and then the telephone icon to call Fiona. He wore off the sudden spike of adrenaline by tapping his foot while the phone rang. He didn’t need this, whatever it was, on top of Stella’s doctor’s appointment.
* * *
Even though Fiona had expected Marc to respond, she nearly dropped the plate she was putting in the cupboard when her phone rang on the counter. She stared at his flashing caller ID and debated whether to let it ring. She’d thought he’d text back to her casual invitation to get together. Her fingers had seemed to go off on their own and added It’s about Stella. She drummed her fingernails on the counter before pressing the answer button with her other thumb.
“Hello.”
“This is Marc Delacroix. I got your text. Why would you need to talk with me about my daughter?”
“I’m sorry. My text was cryptic.”
Fiona clearly heard the derision in the puff of breath Marc released.
“Can I start over? I have an important reason for talking with you about Stella.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
Fiona took a deep breath and kept her voice low. “I had wanted to say this in person. I’m almost certain Stella is my sister’s child.”
The phone went silent for so long, Fiona wondered if he’d hung up, except her phone showed the call was still connected.
“I’m supposed to believe that because you, practically a stranger, say so? And what’s next? You’re going to tell me she wants her back? No way. Your sister, if she really is Stella’s birth mother, gave up her parental rights. The adoption was finalized nearly two years ago.”
“My sister is dead.”
“I’m sorry.” Marc’s voice had lost some of its edge. “But what do you want?”
Some family to love and to love me. She couldn’t say that. He’d think she was unstable. “To be part of Stella’s life, as her aunt, like your sisters,” Fiona answered.
He ignored her answer. “Can you prove it?”
“That Stella is Mairi’s daughter? I think so. I have information and documents and photos of Mairi at Stella’s age.” The last part sounded like she was grasping at straws. “Can we meet?”
“Not until I talk with a lawyer. Don’t call me. I’ll call you.” His phone clicked off.
That hardly could have gone worse. She leaned on the counter. So much for the fantasy she’d concocted on the drive home after Marc had dismissed her at the birthing center. A fantasy of her becoming part of the Delacroix family, of Stella staying over at her apartment, them exploring things together as she and Mairi had. A fantasy of Marc welcoming her help with Stella so he could put in more time on his restaurant launch.
Fiona slapped the countertop. But Stella was family. The only family she had, and she was going to fight to be in her life. It’s what she did, what she’d always done—fight to keep her family together.
* * *
Marc met Claire on her doorstep when she got home from work. He’d hated to drop Stella on his mom again, despite her insisting it was fine, but he needed to talk with someone away from little ears. And who got him better than his twin?
She eyed the bag from the Chinese restaurant around the corner from her apartment in Ticonderoga. “Happy Star? This must be serious.”
“More than you could guess.” Marc rose from his seat on the steps and followed his sister upstairs and into the kitchen.
“Get the food out, and I’ll get us drinks.” Claire opened the refrigerator. “I have lemonade, root beer and milk, or I can brew you a cup of coffee.”
“Root beer’s good.” He took the plastic cartons out of the bag and placed them on the table. “How well do you know Fiona Bryce?”
Claire raised an eyebrow suggestively as she placed the drinks on the table.
“Not like that.” Although the slight trip of his heart contradicted the force of his response.
“Just as a coworker. She seems nice, good at her job. We had lunch together the other day.” Claire hesitated. “From something she let slip about moving a lot, I got the feeling she may have had a rough childhood. But she seems like someone I could be friends with.”
He pressed his lips together. “Would you say she’s honest?”
Claire opened her food container and studied the contents. “As far as I know. Why?”
Marc took a slug of his drink. His throat was suddenly parched. “She says she’s Stella’s aunt.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh and then some.”
“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
For whatever reason, even without proof, he did. “Possibly. If you’ve noticed, her hair is exactly like Stella’s and she says she has information and documents and photos of her sister as a child that look like they could be of Stella.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m not sure. That’s why I’m talking to you, to help me decide. I called the lawyer who handled the adoption. She assured me that I’m rock solid on it.”
“You think Fiona wants to challenge it?”
“I don’t know. She said she only wants to be part of Stella’s life as her aunt.” And he’d believed her. Or wanted to believe her, anyway.
“Could she be after money?”
He hadn’t thought of that. He laughed. “If so, she’ll have an uphill battle with that. Everything I own is sunk into the restaurant partnership and a job that’s dependent on what’s currently an empty shell of a building.” The sarcastic humor drained from him. “She wants to get together to talk.”
“Just the two of you? Is that wise?”
He bristled at his twin challenging him. “I’d rather start off keeping it private and civil, not drag Stella through some kind of legal battle.”
Shades of his mother and no less irritating, Claire patted his hand. “I understand. I meant you and Fiona could get together with a mediator.”
He stabbed a broccoli stalk. “Are you suggesting Renee? I know she’s a qualified counselor, but I’m not comfortable with our baby sister mediating my life.”
She slapped the hand she’d been patting. “Not Renee. I was thinking Connor.”
“Fiona might not agree. I haven’t seen her at Sunday services.” He would have remembered.
“That doesn’t mean she wouldn’t agree.”
“I guess. She may prefer someone else, like her pastor, if she belongs to another church.”
“You said Fiona wants to be part of the family, so play the family angle. Connor is Stella’s uncle, but by marriage, so he’s one level removed.”
“You might have something there. I’ll call the lawyer again and run that by her, see what she thinks about Christian mediation before anything legal. And speaking of family, keep this between the two of us for now. If and when anyone else needs to know, I’ll tell them.”
“Okay, mum’s the word.” Claire ran her thumb and forefinger across her lips.
Marc pushed away his food container. Supper had lost what little flavor it had had. He pulled out his cell phone. “It’s not six yet. If you don’t mind, I’m going to go into the other room and see if I can catch the lawyer before she leaves. I’ll let you know later what I decide.”
“That’s fine. I’ll be praying for you and Stella.”
“I appreciate it,” he said, powering up his phone to see Stella’s baby face smiling at him from the screen. He didn’t want to admit it, but he could see Fiona in her. He was going to need all the prayers he could get.
Chapter Three (#uab09f0e3-f685-5dee-9013-ef003b10b605)
Lost in her thoughts, Fiona almost missed the turn into the Hazardtown Community Church parking lot. Meeting with Pastor Connor seemed like a good idea. Marc had contacted her all businesslike on Monday with a couple items his partners wanted to include in the contract between the research farm and the restaurant partnership. Then he’d tackled the elephant in the room with an invitation to talk with him and Pastor Connor tonight about her claim that Stella was her niece.
Stepping from her car, she kicked a muddy chunk of snow out of her path. She knew in her heart that the little girl was her niece. And she had no intention of contesting Stella’s adoption. After her failure with Mairi, she didn’t want the responsibility of Stella, only to be part of her extended family.
Fiona walked into the church, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. The pastor’s office was almost directly in front of her, as Marc had told her on the phone. Or she assumed it was the pastor’s office. The door was open, but she didn’t see anyone, only a desk with a computer and some bookshelves.
She stood in the doorway bumping her knee against her briefcase. It was nearly six thirty, the time they’d set. She knew she was in the right place. Marc had given her the choice of meeting at the pastor’s office here or at his home. When he’d mentioned that the pastor was his brother-in-law, she’d hesitated before deciding they’d be on more equal grounds at the church. Fiona smoothed the wrinkles from the skirt of her green linen dress.
Or maybe not. From what she’d seen, Marc and his family were active in the church. While Fiona considered herself a believer, she hadn’t attended any church regularly since she’d worked in Guam, and then it was more because most of her neighbors and the people she worked with attended services than any real compulsion to be part of a church community.
“Here’s the video of him and Natalie.”
A male voice sounded from behind an almost closed door at the back of the room. A door that at first glance had appeared to lead to a closet. But it had a sign: Pastor’s Office.
“I’ve got one of Stella on the rug in the church hallway this morning after preschool, showing me how she learned to do a somersault.”
Marc. Fiona crossed the outer office toward the men’s chuckles, hungry to see the video of Stella. She stopped herself from barging in and knocked on the door instead.
“Come in,” Pastor Connor said.
She pushed the door open.
“Hi. Take a seat. Marc and I were kid-video warring.”
He handed her his phone as she took the chair next to Marc, facing the desk.
“My son, Luc,” he said, “dancing to my wife’s piano playing.”
The toddler in the video stole her voice for a minute. He was a miniature Marc. “Cute.” She smiled and handed back the phone.
“Obviously, he takes after Natalie’s side of the family, but that’s certainly not a bad thing.”
Another Delacroix sister. Fiona glanced sideways at Marc. No, not a bad thing at all.
“For you, it’s a good thing.” Marc razzed his brother-in-law. “You should be grateful.”
Fiona repositioned herself in her chair, unsettled by the easy back-and-forth between the two men and uncertain that Marc and Connor’s apparent closeness was a good thing for her, if Connor was going to mediate. “So, what did you have in the competition?” she asked, turning to Marc in an effort to join the friendly banter.
He tilted his head, looking confused. “Oh.” He followed her gaze to his phone. “A video of Stella doing a somersault.” He made no move to share it.
She swallowed away the painful tightness in her throat and focused her attention on Pastor Connor.
“Let’s begin with prayer.” He reached his hands across the desk to her and Marc.
Marc took her hand as if it were the perfectly natural thing to do. Maybe it was for them. They were family. She tightened her jaw and curved her fingers around Marc’s hand. She was Stella’s family, too.
“Dear Lord, be with us this evening and, with Your infinite wisdom, give Marc and Fiona and myself the guidance we need to do Your will. In Jesus’s name, amen.”
“Amen,” she whispered, lifting her head when the men released her hands.
“I talked with the lawyer who handled Stella’s adoption,” Marc said, moving a folder from his left to front and center on the desk. “Copies of all of the documents are here.”
“Wait.” Pastor Connor laid his palm on top of the folder. “I have a good idea of what you want out of this meeting, Marc. I need to know what Fiona wants. Then we can get to details.”
“First and foremost, stability.” Fiona paused. “My mother moved us around a lot, looking for something better that she never found. She died when I was nineteen and Mairi was fifteen.” She faltered, not used to talking about her family. “I’m only asking for a part in Stella’s life as her aunt. I don’t want to contest the adoption. I have no doubt it’s valid or that Stella is where she’s supposed to be.”
Marc’s chair creaked as he leaned forward. “You said you had proof Stella’s your niece.”
Connor frowned at the interruption.
“I do.” Fiona lifted her case onto the desktop. “I’ve made copies of everything I have. But I think this is the proof you want.” She lifted the papers from the case and placed them in front of Marc with a photo of Mairi at three and her at seven on top.
He sucked in a breath.
Fiona had felt the same sucker punch when she’d gotten out the battered family photo album Friday after her appointment with Autumn. There was no way anyone could deny the family resemblance.
She’d claimed the album as a child. It had come with her when, after her stepfather had left, her mother had dragged Fiona, Mairi and their baby sister, Elsbeth, all over northern Vermont and New Hampshire from each promised new start to the next. She’d brought it with her when she and Mairi had moved to Ithaca after their mother’s fatal accident, so Fiona could attend college. And the album had made the trip to Guam and back.
She cleared her throat. “Certified copies of my, Mairi’s and Stella’s birth certificates and the Ticonderoga Birthing Center’s record of Stella’s birth,” she said for Pastor Connor’s benefit.
“Where did you get the birth certificate for Stella?” Marc asked. “My understanding is that her original one is in the sealed records at the adoption agency.”
“I don’t know about that. The certificate I have was in an envelope addressed to me with a letter my sister never sent.” Fiona stopped so her voice wouldn’t crack. “I had no idea until I received a package from the lawyer I hired to settle Mairi’s estate. It came the day after we met at the farm.”
The masculine planes of Marc’s face softened. He tapped Stella’s certificate with his finger. “Stella was only eight weeks old when she was placed with us. Your sister couldn’t have kept her long.”
“About a month, according to the information Autumn Hanlon gave me.” Fiona bit her lip. She had no idea where her sister had been for that month. Mairi had checked into the cabin where she died only the evening before. “I think Mairi may have intended to give her baby up for adoption all along, just wanted a little time with her first.”
“You think?”
“She didn’t confide in me.” Fiona’s stomach tightened. Mairi had probably been afraid she’d be disappointed in her, as her letter seemed to say. Fiona had been so strident about neither one of them ending up like their mother. “I didn’t know about Stella.”
Marc’s eyes narrowed. “Over nine months’ time, I think I would have noticed if any of my sisters were pregnant.”
“Marc,” Pastor Connor cautioned.
“During Mairi’s pregnancy, I was in Guam managing the USDA farm there.” She pinned Marc with a gaze. “You know that from my professional profile I gave you. Mairi and I talked and emailed, but after she drove me to the airport for my flight to Tamuning...” She closed her eyes. This time, she couldn’t swallow the emotion that clogged her throat. “I never saw her alive again.”
A warm male hand covered hers, and her eyes flew open to Pastor Connor pushing away from the desk. It was Marc’s hand, giving her hope that despite his antagonism, they could work something out.
“I’ll get you some water,” Pastor Connor said. He left the office.
Marc’s hand tightened on hers. “I’m sorry I was so rude. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” Fiona allowed herself to take comfort from his strength and wonder what it would be like to have a man like Marc care for her.
He removed his hand from hers. “I can’t imagine how I’d handle it if it had been one of my siblings. That’s when you came back to the US?”
“I came back for a couple weeks when the authorities contacted me, and then finished my contract in Guam.” She didn’t need to tell him now that her sister had used a false name to rent the cabin, nor how long Mairi had lain in the morgue as a Jane Doe until she could be identified from her fingerprints on record for her nursing license, and while Fiona was located.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked.
“We get together again to work out details.” He sounded as drained as she was.
“I’m willing to work with your lawyer, to put together something official.”
“No, I was thinking along the lines of telling the rest of the family, introducing you to them and Stella. You haven’t really met her, except the other day at the doctor’s office. We’re going to have to handle Stella’s getting to know you carefully.” He dropped his gaze to his hands on the desk. “Since Cate, my wife, died, Stella has verged on being hostile toward women with light-colored hair, who remind her of her mother.”
Had Marc emphasized mother, or had that been her nerves triggering her imagination? On Friday, Stella had clung to Marc and hidden behind his leg, but she hadn’t been hostile. Or was that Fiona’s longing coloring her perception?
Pastor Connor placed a cup of water in front of her. “You two can work out meeting the family and whatever other details you think are necessary. But I have a recommendation to help Stella adjust.”
Hope rose in Fiona.
Pastor Connor met her gaze, then Marc’s. “It’s what I’d do if she were mine.”
* * *
Marc folded the last of the clothes from the dryer and walked into the living room to wake Stella from her nap. He and Stella and Fiona were all going to go to the introductory meeting of his sister Renee’s new toddlers Bridges group tomorrow morning. As far as he could tell from his sister’s enthusiastic description and the literature she’d given him, Bridges was a program for broken families.
He sighed. He guessed that’s what he and Stella were, and he was feeling it more since Fiona had dropped her bombshell.
Marc ran his fingers through his hair. He hadn’t had any other choice but to agree to have Stella participate in the group, not after the way Fiona’s face had lit up when Connor had couched his recommendation for Stella in such a personal way. And he’d given into Connor’s other suggestion that he and Fiona try the Bridges groups for parents that Renee’s supervisor at the Christian Action Coalition was starting. For Fiona. He’d been there, done that already with grief counseling.
Agreeing had given him some breathing room, time to investigate Fiona as much as he could. Before they’d left Connor’s office, he and Fiona had agreed to put off getting together until after the Bridges meeting. Tonight he was taking his mom and dad out for a Friday fish fry to update them.
Looking down at his daughter’s sleeping face, her long red-brown lashes resting on her plump baby cheeks, he hated to disturb her. Were Fiona’s lashes red-brown, too? He couldn’t recall.
“Stella, sweetpea.” Marc touched her shoulder and she blinked her eyes open. Eyes that were the same golden hazel as Fiona’s. “Time to wake and go to Aunt Natalie and Uncle Connor’s house to play with Luc.”
Stella sat up. “Luc? Luc at school. Stella go to school?”
He took her wanting to go back to preschool after spending the morning there as a positive sign. While Stella hadn’t resisted going, she hadn’t talked much about school, either, even when he’d prompted her. So he didn’t know whether she liked playing with the other kids or how she’d react to going to Renee’s group.
“No, not school. Aunt Natalie and Uncle Connor’s to play with Luc,” Marc repeated. “Remember? I told you when I picked you up at school? Daddy has a meeting.”
Stella nodded and climbed off the couch. “Burgers and ice cream.”
He laughed. “Yes, you guys are going out for hamburgers. I didn’t know about the ice cream.”
His daughter nodded emphatically. “Ice cream. Stella’s ready.”
Looking at her bedhead mop of curls, Marc laughed with love and wonder that God had given him such a treasure, a treasure he wanted to feel secure enough about that he could share her with Fiona.
“Let me brush your hair first.”
“’Rette?” Stella asked.
“Sure. I can put a barrette in it.”
He got her ready and over to the parsonage with plenty of time to spare to drive to the restaurant in Schroon Lake where he was meeting his parents.
“Give Daddy kisses.”
Stella bussed his cheek, and he rubbed noses with her before he placed her down in the parsonage kitchen.
“You be a good girl for Aunt Natalie.” He shifted his weight from foot to foot. Stella had never stayed with Nat before, but she obviously liked her cousin Luc, and the restaurant where he was meeting his parents wasn’t far from the parsonage or the Paradox Lake General Store, where Natalie and Connor were taking the kids.
“Stella good girl. Big girl.” She stood tall as if trying to match the height of her slightly younger, but taller cousin.
“All right, then. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Daddy come back.”
Was that a quaver in her voice? No, she seemed okay.
“We’ll be fine,” Natalie said.
His sister probably knew better than him. He grimaced. Even as Stella’s only parent for a good part of her life, with his long work hours in New York, he was sure he’d spent less physical time with Stella than Natalie had with Luc.
“Let us know how it goes,” Connor added.
Marc gave him a noncommittal nod and left.
His parents’ car was already parked in front of the restaurant when he drove up. The dashboard clock said he was ten minutes early, right on time for his scheduled plan to be there first, get a booth and have the upper hand from the start. But he hadn’t accounted for Dad’s philosophy that being on time was being fifteen minutes early. He pulled into a space a ways down the street and walked to the restaurant.
“Good evening,” said a waitress who looked familiar, but he couldn’t place. “Find a seat and I’ll be right with you.”
“Marc,” his mother called from the booth where he’d already spotted them.
The waitress smiled and handed him a menu.
“Thanks,” he said, finally recognizing her as someone who’d been a few years behind him in high school. Marc walked to the booth and slid into the seat across from his parents.
“So,” his mother said, “what’s the big news that merits you treating us to a meal you’re not cooking? Did you get the revitalization grant for La Table Frais?”
“Terry,” his dad cautioned. “Let the man catch a breath and look at the menu.”
“All right. You know, you could have brought Stella.” His mother glanced around the restaurant at the numerous families with children.
“I know, but I thought it would be nice to have an adult dinner with you.”
His father tapped the menu on the table in front of him. “I’m going to have the fish fry special.”
“Me, too,” Marc said.
“Guys, did you even look at the other specials?” his mother asked.
“Why would I, when I came in knowing what I want?” his father answered.
Marc laughed. This was an ongoing dialogue between his parents that went back as far as he could remember.
The waitress came and took their orders, and they had their food in front of them in no time.
Marc pressed the side of his fork through the tip of his battered fried fillet. It was time for his announcement. The prospect took him back to high school, the day he told his parents he wanted to study culinary arts in college and not farm management, that he didn’t want to be part of John Delacroix and Sons. Dad had mellowed a lot since then. But what he had to say tonight would hit Mom harder.
Marc cleared his throat. “I met a woman, a friend of Claire’s, one of her coworkers.”
“Oh.” His mother’s eyes brightened.
Bad start. “A business meeting. Fiona Bryce. She’s the new farm-to-table liaison.”
His father nodded. “I read about that program and her hiring in the Times of Ti. She’s a Cornell grad, like Claire.”
“Yes, a couple years behind Claire,” Marc said. One of the things he’d found in his online search about Fiona. “Claire suggested Fiona and I talk about how she can work with me, setting up connections with local food producers.”
“Do it,” his father encouraged. “The Cornell people know what they’re doing.”
His father’s words frustrated him. It wasn’t that Dad wasn’t proud of him graduating from the Culinary Institute or his youngest sister from the University at Albany, but he was inordinately proud of Claire and Marc’s younger brother, Paul, being Cornell graduates. His father had wanted to go to Cornell, but for financial and family reasons had settled for a two-year degree in dairy production and management from a state college.
“I already have a contract.” Fiona had wasted no time emailing it to him. “My partners are reviewing it. But there’s something else I want to tell you about Fiona.”
Both of his parents stopped eating and looked at him, his mother’s brow creased with concern.
Had it been something in his voice? “It’s nothing bad.” At least I hope it’s not. “I mean, it’s good. I wanted to tell you first because it affects the whole family.”
His mother made a show of wiping her hands on her napkin and placing it back on her lap. “You’re interested in this woman enough to want to tell us? You just met her.”
“No, not in the way you’re thinking.” Although his thoughts had gone in that direction, too—until Fiona’s claim to Stella had turned his world upside down. Marc gripped the table edge as if that would give him the extra boost of strength he needed. “Fiona is Stella’s biological aunt.”
The tension in his muscles went into overtime while he waited for their reaction.
“Is that what she told you?” his mother asked.
“Told and showed me. Stella’s birth mother, Fiona’s sister, is dead. Fiona had a copy of Stella’s original birth certificate and the Ticonderoga Birthing Center’s record of Stella’s birth, among other things. I talked with Autumn. She delivered Stella, and the birthing center released her to Precious in His Sight when Fiona’s sister returned with her a few weeks later to give her up for adoption.”
“You can’t let this woman take Stella from us.”
Red spots flashed in front of his eyes. “Fiona says she simply wants to be an aunt to Stella.”
“And you believe her? What do you know about the woman?”
“Terry.” His father placed his hand over his mother’s, the note of warning in his voice loud and clear.
Well, to Marc, at least. He wasn’t so sure about his mother.
“It was a sealed adoption,” Marc said. “I talked with the lawyer who handled it. Fiona has no legal grounds to contest it.”
“I see,” his father said.
“But what do you know about her?” his mother repeated.
Marc bit his tongue. Should he have prepared a dossier? “She’s Claire’s friend, and I haven’t found anything in my searching that shows she’s anything other than what she says. And now we can know more about Stella’s medical history if we ever need to, and answer her questions when she’s older and starts asking.” He faced his father. “You know I’d protect Stella with my life.”
His father nodded, understanding showing in his eyes.
“You can’t mean to just bring her into your...our family,” his mother said.
Marc sensed a tone of almost fear in her voice. Mom was always so open and giving. When he was growing up, their house had been a haven to any of their friends needing one.
“Stella isn’t ready to be told who Fiona is,” he said. “We’ll be working on that in the Bridges program.”
“This Fiona is going to be part of that?” his mother asked.
“Yes, we talked with Connor about it Wednesday evening.”
“You’ve known since Wednesday?” His mother pressed her lips together.
He wasn’t about to admit that he’d known in his gut for a week, since Fiona had told him on the phone. “All three of us are going to the Bridges meeting tomorrow, and I plan to invite Fiona to Sunday dinner at the house.”
He hadn’t actually planned to, not until this minute. But something inside him wanted to crack his mother’s uncharacteristically stony facade, to open her up to the family accepting Fiona.
Because, he realized suddenly, he wanted to accept her.
Chapter Four (#uab09f0e3-f685-5dee-9013-ef003b10b605)
Fiona breathed in a deep lungful of the crisp mountain air before she pulled open the door to the Hazardtown Community Church hall. She’d gone back and forth as to whether it would be better to be one of the first to arrive for the Bridges meeting or one of the last, and had decided on last. She hadn’t wanted to risk being there with only Marc, Stella and the meeting leader, even though that was the idea of the Bridges program, to help bring together members of changing families.
Fiona swallowed, remembering what Marc had said about Stella’s hostility toward women like her. Perhaps arriving early when fewer people were here may have been better after all, given that she didn’t know how Stella would react to her.
Too late now. She stepped into the hall, the door closing behind her with a startling bang that brought everyone’s attention to her.
“Welcome,” a man called to her.
“Hi.” Fiona looked past him to the table where the group was gathered, searching for Stella. She saw only adults, and her gaze settled on Marc’s expressionless face. The others blurred around him. She set her jaw against the shudder that threatened her composure. She wasn’t that poor little Bryce girl anymore that everyone had been quick to pity, no matter how little time her family spent in one place.
“I’m Noah Phelps, the group facilitator,” said the man who’d greeted her. “You must be Fiona.”
Fiona pulled her focus from Marc. She lifted her chin. She’d been the last to arrive. Not the unobtrusive entry she might have wanted, but she’d accomplished her goal of not being alone with Marc and Stella.
“Come join us,” Noah said. “We were about to go around the table and introduce ourselves.”
Fiona slipped into an empty chair kitty-corner across the table from Marc.
“As you already know, I’m the director of the Bridges program at the Christian Action Coalition. I’ll be moderating the group. Unlike the children’s programs Bridges offers, this group will focus on the needs of the adults in the transitioning families. Let me remind you of the confidentiality agreement you all signed when you registered for the group. What we share in group stays in group.”
Absorbing Noah’s words, Fiona looked around the table. Most of the people appeared to be couples, except for one, an older woman with a twentysomething man that might be a mother–son or mother-in-law and son-in-law pair.
Noah continued, “This group is as much or more about your sharing what you’ve found works for your family as it is about my providing guidance to give your new family structure a solid start.”
Fiona gazed down at her hands, running one thumbnail against a rough edge of another. She wasn’t against getting some guidance to use as a ruler against her perceptions. The promising start she’d made with Marc businesswise—his asking for a contract before his partners had agreed—hadn’t carried over when their situation became personal. And the start she’d thought she’d provided Mairi had crumbled when Fiona hadn’t been there to hold it up.
She shouldn’t be surprised. That had been her life. The glimmer of something going well followed by crushing reality. Her stepfather’s new job that had ended up being a prelude to his leaving. Her mother’s multiple promises of a new start. Fiona’s optimism when a teacher at her first high school had taken an interest in her, only to have her mother pull her out of the school a few months later for another new start. Fiona pulled her hands apart and straightened. That’s why she meant to be there for Stella, to carry through—no matter what it took.
“I’ve done enough talking. Now it’s your turn.” Noah motioned to the person on his right. The people between Noah and Marc shared about themselves and their families.
Fiona had been wrong. A few of those attending were single, divorced or widowed, with children. Had Marc signed on for the group before she’d told him Stella was her sister’s child? For whatever reason, that thought relaxed her.
“I’m Marc Delacroix.”
Fiona focused on Marc.
“I have a daughter, Stella, who’s almost three.”
Fiona’s stomach flip-flopped at the emotion in Marc’s voice when he said Stella’s name.
“My wife, Cate, died of cancer almost two years ago, and after a tough time of it on our own, I moved here with Stella to be close to my family.” He glanced at Fiona for a split second before looking away and taking a deep breath. “Stella is adopted, and this week I learned that she has an aunt in the area on her birth mother’s side. So Stella is adjusting to new family on both sides.”
The introductions moved around the table to Fiona. She’d been right that the older woman and younger man were an in-law combination, and one of the other women was an aunt raising a niece whose parents had abandoned her.
“Fiona,” Noah prompted her.
“Hi, I’m Fiona Bryce, and I’m the aunt Marc mentioned.”
She glanced across the table and ignored the frown Marc shot her for sharing the detail he hadn’t. Why wouldn’t she tell the group? They needed to know why she was here. She hadn’t brought a child with her. Besides, this was a small town. The information would be out soon anyway, even if no one here leaked it. That’s the way it was.
“I was working out of the country. I returned briefly after I was notified of my sister’s death, but I didn’t know I had a niece until last week.” She lowered her gaze to the table to avoid any looks of sympathy in the other people’s eyes so she could get through her introduction. “Stella doesn’t know who I am—yet.” Fiona smiled around the table, ending with Marc. “That’s it.”
“Thanks, Fiona, everyone,” Noah said. “I’ll let Renee know she can bring the children back in.”
The woman next to Fiona nudged her elbow. “Noah had his coworker take the kids to one of the Sunday school rooms to play while we had our meeting.”
“I wondered where they were. The pastor said we’d be interacting with the kids.” She bit her lip. Interacting. That sounded stilted and impersonal.
“Fiona,” the woman sitting next to Marc said—the other aunt in the group. “Do you want to trade places since you’re with Marc?”
She wasn’t exactly with him. Fiona looked to Marc for direction, considering Stella would be returning to him when the kids came back. He’d assumed the reserved expression he’d had when she’d joined the group at the table, which irritated her. They were supposed to be working together for Stella.
“Yes,” she said, louder than she’d intended. “Thanks.”
She and the woman changed places, with Fiona positioning her chair as far from Marc as she could without looking like that was her intention, which it wasn’t entirely. She wanted space for Stella to climb on his lap, as well as a buffer between her and the guarded signals radiating from the stoic-looking man beside her.
The sound of high-pitched voices and little feet preceded the children’s appearance at the inner door to the hall. Noah led the children in, with a woman who looked so much like Claire and Marc that she had to be another sister or other relative following behind, holding Stella’s hand.
“My youngest sister, Renee.” Marc answered the question in her mind with a chin lift toward the door.
Fiona felt Renee’s gaze on her before she saw it. “She knows?”
“Yes. She works with Noah, and I told my parents the other night,” Marc said.
His face didn’t give her a clue as to how they’d reacted. She counted the family members who knew: Marc’s parents, his brother-in-law Pastor Connor and, Fiona assumed, Marc’s other sister Natalie, the pastor’s wife.
Renee walked the children to their parents and guardians, bringing Stella over to Marc last and approaching him from the side opposite Fiona. The little girl scrambled onto Marc’s lap and gave him a big hug. A wave of longing for her sister, for family, rolled over Fiona.
“No Luc today,” Stella said.
“Luc’s our sister Natalie’s little boy,” Marc said.
Fiona remembered. The toddler in the video Pastor Connor had showed her.
“He goes to preschool with Stella.” Renee had walked around behind Marc’s chair. “I’m Renee Maddox, Marc’s sister.”
“Fiona Bryce.” She met Renee’s blatant perusal and reached around her obvious baby bump to shake her hand.
Fiona dropped her hand to her lap as Renee left to join Noah at the head of the table. She was going to have to get Marc aside and talk with him about her meeting his family, preferably one or two at a time. That way, she could talk with each of them personally before they set themselves against her as a group.
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