Of course they had known.
They knew she came from wealth, danger, grief, inheritance, expectation. And still they gave her chores, bedtime stories, church shoes, fishing afternoons, and a birthday cake every year with uneven frosting. They had not raised an heiress. They had raised a child.
In Ruth’s bedroom, Lenora found an old cedar chest. The lawyers had inventoried the house after Ruth’s death, but no one had disturbed the deeper layers. Inside were quilts, letters tied with ribbon, church programs, baby clothes yellowed with age, and a small stack of journals.
Lenora sat on the floor and opened the first.
Ruth’s handwriting filled the pages.
Marcus called today. Diana cried on the phone. They are scared but trying not to sound scared. Thomas says we will do whatever keeps the baby safe. I told Diana that Lenora will know love every day of her life, even if she cannot know the whole truth yet.
