A Mom For His Daughter. Jean C. Gordon

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ