“I’m sorry—I didn’t pry, honestly. Siobhan mentioned it, when she told us you were coming.”
Her Aunt Siobhan and Uncle Joe knew about her mother, probably more than she did, of course. During the week she’d spent in their house she’d wondered if they’d talk about her mother, or about the reason her father hadn’t spoken to his brother in over twenty-five years. But they hadn’t, and Fiona was too accustomed to not rocking the boat to mention it herself. In any case, the breach between brothers meant they’d know little of what happened after her parents left.
“It’s all right. I don’t know much about her myself. She died shortly after I was born.”
“I’m sorry,” Nolie said again. “But your father must have spoken of her.”
“No.” She transferred her gaze to the chest, because that was easier than looking into Nolie’s candid eyes. “My father couldn’t take care of me—I was in foster care for years. By the time I went to live with him, he’d remarried.”
And he hadn’t particularly wanted reminders of that early mistake. She wouldn’t say that. She wasn’t looking for pity, and she’d already said more than she’d intended.
Nolie’s hand closed over hers, startling her, and she repressed the urge to pull away. “I know what that’s like. I was in foster care, too. And with a great-aunt who didn’t want me. It can be tough to get past that sometimes.”
Fiona’s throat tightened in response, but the habit of denial was too ingrained. She used the movement of picking up her handbag to draw away.
“It was a long time ago. I don’t think much about it now.” At least, she tried not to.
Nolie made some noncommittal sound that might have been doubt or agreement, but she didn’t push. “I suppose you’ll want to look up your mother’s family, too, now that you’re here.”
Fiona shook her head. She’d been over this and over it, and she was sure she’d made the right decision. “I don’t plan to do that. It’s not the same thing as coming to see the Flanagan family. Aunt Siobhan always tried to keep in touch, and I knew she’d be glad to see me.”
“But they probably—”
“No.” That sounded too curt. She’d have to explain, at least a little. “My mother’s family never made any effort to contact me. The one time my father spoke to me about it, he said they’d rejected my mother for marrying him. It’s hardly likely they’d want to see me.”
“You can’t be sure of that.” Nolie’s face was troubled. “I’d be glad to help you find them. Or maybe that police officer you met could help.”
“No. Thanks anyway.” She forced a smile. “I appreciate it, but I’ve made my decision. I don’t want to find them.”
Because they rejected your mother? The small voice in the back of her mind was persistent. Or because you’re afraid they might reject you?
“If that’s what you want—” Nolie began, but her words were interrupted by a wail from downstairs. “Uh-oh.” She smiled. “Sounds like trouble. That music video keeps her happy for a half hour, but then only Mommy will do. All my years of taking care of animals didn’t prepare me for the demands of one small human.”
“And you love it.” Fiona picked up her corduroy jacket and handbag. “Go ahead, take care of little Siobhan. I’m fine, really.”
Nolie nodded. “If you ever want to talk—”
“Thanks. I’m okay.”
The wails soared in pitch, and Nolie spun and trotted down the steps. “Mommy’s coming. It’s all right.”
Fiona followed more slowly. The maternal love in Nolie’s face was practically incandescent. Seeing that when it happened for the first time was one of the best rewards of being a midwife. Once her practice got on its feet, she’d have that opportunity again and again.
She was off to take possession of her new house, the first step toward her new life.
Lord, please bless this new beginning. Help me not to dwell on the difficulties of the past, but only on the promises of the future.
Chapter Two
When no one answered his knock at the old Landers house, Ted pulled open the screen door and stepped into the hallway, glancing around. Come to think of it, he’d have to start calling this the Flanagan place. Or Flanagan clinic, maybe. Rumor had it she was starting a midwife practice here.
Whatever she was doing, Ms. Flanagan really shouldn’t leave her door standing open that way. Then he noticed that the latch had come loose when he pulled on the screen door, probably one of hundreds of little things to be fixed.
“Ms. Flanagan?”
The two large rooms on either side of the central hallway were empty, except for a few odds and ends of furniture left by the last inhabitants. He could see what attracted the woman to the house—under the dust and neglect were beautiful hardwood floors, and the rooms were graciously proportioned, with bay windows looking out toward the street.
“Hello, is anyone here?”
A muffled call answered him from somewhere upstairs. Taking that for an invitation, he started up the staircase, running his hand along the curving banister. An oval stained-glass window on the landing sent a pattern of color onto the faded linoleum someone had been foolish enough to put over those beautiful stairs.
Sunlight poured through the tall window at one end of the center of the second floor landing. He paused, blinking at the sight of a rickety stepladder under what had to be the opening to the attic. A pair of sneakered feet balanced on the very top. Nothing else was visible of Fiona but a pair of trim legs in dust-streaked jeans.
The stepladder wobbled dangerously, and he grabbed it, steadying it with both hands. “What on earth are you doing up there? Trying to break a leg?”
As soon as the words were out, he realized that was more or less what he’d said that first night when he’d spotted her. Now, at least, she owned the house, but that was no excuse for endangering herself.
Fiona poked her head down from the dark rectangle of the attic opening, looking disheveled and annoyed. “What are you doing here?”
“At the moment, I’m keeping this ladder from collapsing under you.”
“It’s perfectly fine.” Her weight shifted, and the ladder swayed.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to let go?”
Her lips clamped together. “No.” She seemed to force the word out. Then, hands braced on the edge of the opening, she started lowering herself.
He caught her elbows and lifted her the rest of the way to the floor. The stepladder, relieved, collapsed in a heap on the dusty floorboards.
For a moment Fiona looked as if she’d like to kick the recalcitrant ladder, but then she managed a rueful smile. “Much as I hate to admit it, it looks as if you’re right.”
“I’ll
