Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

G wen and she were escorted to the Vicar's parlor by Charite du Pessac. The young woman's overly courteous greeting displayed her careful regard of those who might be interested in the little boy's future. She had cared for eighteen-month-old Sam with a devotion few would give to an orphan, a child not their own. Charite had done it with grace and charm, so said many in the town.

"I'll get Sam and tell Mr. Owen you are both here," she said, hands clasped before her, trying to be bright and cheerful.

"Thank you, Charite," Gwen said to her. "Vicky and I are grateful we can both see him together."

"She is very protective of him," Vicky said to her when Charite had left the room. "She has come to care for him."

Gwen leaned toward Vicky. "And may want him for herself."

"All well and good to say," Vicky said on a sigh, casting about to feel comfortable in the cozy well-appointed little sitting room. She was testy herself, eager to have this meeting done and the question of the child's future settled for her own mind. "If the boy is yours and mine, what do you say to rearing him? You and I have not discussed it."

"If he is Evan's and Yvette's, I want to know. If you and I ever really can declare he belongs to us… If there is any way to verify that this child discovered near Toulouse could possibly be my brother's and your sister's….

"So yes. If he seems to be ours, Vicky, I could not abandon him to be reared by strangers. He would be family… all I have left of Evan's. But to be quite frank—God forgive me for saying this—I cannot see how I could give him the care he needs. Jack says he will support whatever decision I make, and that he can afford to keep us all, while I build up the business to the success it used to be. It has not been doing well, with my father as he is. To be newly wed, caring for my father, and raising a child who already has a year and half… I reel at the thought. I will do it if I must, but between the two of us, I will make a better aunt to the boy than a mother."

She met Gwen's darkened gaze with her own grim fears. "I have thought long and hard about the possibility the boy is ours. I have a house, money, time and friends who would accept him even though he has no formal birth record. I know some would shun him because he was born in France and perhaps, even a few would question his parentage though we have proof Evan and Yvette were married in Portsmouth before he sailed for Portugal."

Yvette had written Vicky a letter with the name of the clergyman and the church with the date of their wedding. Vicky had told this to a very relieved Gwen as they walked over to the parsonage this morning.

"But if he is ours, Gwen,"—she could not help but wring her hands over this—"you would want to see him and enjoy his company from time to time. Wouldn't you?"

"I can't deny I would. I loved my brother and I miss him. You cannot know how often I think of him every day." Gwen fished in her well-tooled little leather pocket that she'd hung over her shoulder. Out came a handkerchief, and she dabbed at her eyes. "I hate this mystery. I do."

Vicky licked her lips. "So if he's ours, we must decide how we raise him so that he knows both of us and benefits from our love and remembrances of his parents. I don't want to divide him, Gwen. Evan and Yvette would not approve. After all, their love, their marriage was in defiance of the social rules that said they could not love or marry. You and I must not act like King Solomon and divide the baby in half."

Gwen reached over and squeezed her hand. "No, we won't. If he is ours, he is Evan's and Yvette's gift to us that proves that love is the most precious bond of all. We will not deny it, you or I, ever again."

Vicky stared at her and tears filled her own eyes. "I will remember that."

"For more than just the sake of this child."

Oh, yes. Vicky swiped at her own tears with her fingertips. "For our own lives."

Childish burble sounded on the stairs. Close behind were the instructions of Charite urging the boy toward the parlor. "Two ladies want to meet you, Pip. Come along now. In here! No, Sam, not the kitchen. This way!"

Charite appeared on the threshold of the parlor, one hand shepherding along a little blond boy with the biggest smile on his pink round face.

"Let's say hello to these ladies, Sam." She herded him over to Gwen who seemed suddenly frozen to her chair.

"He's charming," she said more to herself than others. "Good afternoon, Sam. I am Gwen."

"Gerem," he tried to copy her, but grinned his way through the attempt.

Gwen held out her hand.

He took it, seemingly well-versed in the art of meeting a great number of strangers lately.

Gwen could not take her eyes from him. "You say, those who found him came here because he wore an amulet from our town?" she asked Charite.

"That's true."

Gwen held out her hand. "I'd like to see it, if I may."

Charite studied her for a long minute, then reluctantly took it from a small leather pouch she held in one hand.

Out came the carved stone amulet dangling from a long chain. Charite held it, the amulet swinging.

The child giggled. "Mmmm," he said and grabbed the sandstone in his chubby little fingers.

Gwen blanched. One hand to her throat, she gave a little cry. "Oh, my. Oh, my. That's the chain I made for my amulet—the one I gave to Evan to give to Yvette."

Vicky shot to her feet and watched the baby laugh. This child with big blond curls like Yvette's. The round face of Yvette. The sapphire blue eyes of Yvette. The delicate chuckle of Yvette. This baby, this boy, this treasure was her sister's child. A child of love.

She would take him home with her. Educate him. Teach him. Love him.

And then, she fainted straight away.