“I’m so sorry.” Julia touched her friend’s shoulder.
Rachel stroked the fine hair on Clare’s head. “Aaron told me he didn’t care if we had a baby. He’s more concerned about me.”
“He loves you like crazy.”
Rachel kept her gaze fixed on her niece. “My life hasn’t turned out the way I expected. I thought I’d have my mom forever. I thought she’d be with me when I got married, and when I had babies.”
Julia made a noise and put her arms around her friend.
“But I just keep going, you know? There has to be a way forward. Aaron and I talked about adoption. Maybe that’s something we can explore.”
“Of course. And Gabriel and I will help, if we can.” Julia held on to her friend, a tear coursing down her face.
Although Rachel was very brave, there were no words that would heal her wound. No magic that would alter the circumstances.
“I want permission to spoil this child.” Rachel lifted the baby and placed her against her shoulder. “I want to start by buying a large and extravagant toy or contraption that will take Gabriel days or even weeks to put together. And I want you to film the entire process.”
Julia laughed. “Permission granted.”
Chapter Twelve
Just before midnight, Julia sat in the nursery, feeding Clare.
Gabriel was situated in the rocking chair, watching over his family. He was touching his wedding band, turning it round and round on his finger. Although his focus was primarily on his current conversation, in the back of his mind nagged an important piece of information he’d yet to share with his wife.
Julianne had wanted to delay having a family. Yet here they were. And Gabriel’s news was going to change everything.
He shook himself from his reverie. “I spoke with Father Fortin today. Rachel is correct—the official godparent has to be Catholic. We could baptize Clare in the Episcopal church.”
“Rachel says she would feel hypocritical being an official godmother.”
“I could speak to her.”
As if in reaction to her father’s words, Clare finished feeding. She gazed up at her mother.
“Let me.” Gabriel stood and crossed to Julia, taking the baby into his arms. He retrieved a clean flannel cloth from nearby and placed it on his bare shoulder, carefully positioning the infant over the flannel.
The child wriggled in his arms, protesting noisily until her father’s hand rested on her back. Gabriel began to pat her.
Julia rebuttoned the top of her silk pajamas. “I think we need to let Rachel be. She’s dealing with a lot and I don’t want to pressure her into doing something she’s uncomfortable about.”
“But Rachel’s doubts are serious,” Gabriel observed, swaying on his feet. “Someone should speak to her.”
Julianne’s gaze alighted on his tattoo, which was visible atop his exposed left pectoral. “Rachel’s doubts are caused by suffering. She’s missing Grace, and grieving the fact that she can’t have children, and now she’s afraid of losing Richard. She seems to think Rebecca has her eyes on him.”
“Nonsense.” Gabriel followed Julianne’s gaze. Under her inspection, the tattoo seemed to burn against his flesh. He found himself lost momentarily in a memory—a drug-and-alcohol-infused haze of loss that precipitated the tattoo. The pain that accompanied the remembrance was dull, not sharp. But it was pain, nonetheless.
He kissed the baby’s head and focused his eyes on her mother. “A brown-eyed angel spoke to me in my grief. She helped me.”
“She helped you by loving you and by listening. That’s what your sister needs. She needs you to love her and to listen. Words won’t heal her sorrow.”
Gabriel pressed his lips together. His inclination was to argue with people until they accepted certain conclusions. Julianne was much more Franciscan in her charism.
“All right,” he conceded, rubbing Clare’s back. “But Rachel isn’t going to lose her father. She’s seeing ghosts.”
“I disagree.” Julia’s expression grew grave. “Rachel’s problem is that she isn’t seeing ghosts.”
Gabriel’s dark brows knitted together. There had been times in his life when the supernatural had intruded. Seeing Grace and Maia at the house in Selinsgrove was one of those times. But he’d never mentioned the appearance to Rachel.
Richard had confessed to seeing Grace in his dreams. But Gabriel was fairly certain Richard had never mentioned those dreams to Rachel, either.
Gabriel changed the subject. “I’m fond of Katherine, as you know. Should we ask her?”
“I think she’s a good choice.”
Julianne paused to stare at her husband. His dark hair was tousled, his chest was bare, and he was wearing tartan pajama bottoms.
He adjusted Clare so that he was holding her in front of his body. And he smiled down at her, murmuring quietly.
Julia lifted her cell phone and began snapping pictures.
Gabriel grinned and moved Clare back to his right shoulder. As if on cue, Clare spat up, absolutely missing the flannel cloth and baptizing Gabriel’s shoulder and neck instead.
Julia continued taking photos.
“We aren’t filming a documentary,” Gabriel grumbled. “Must you immortalize every moment?”
“Yes. Yes, I must.” She mimicked his displeasure with a laugh and snapped away.
Gabriel retrieved a second flannel cloth and began mopping himself with one hand, while holding the contented baby with the other.
“You’d never laugh at Daddy, would you, Principessa?” The baby made eye contact with him and an understanding seemed to pass between them.
“Of course not.” Gabriel brought his nose to his daughter’s. “That’s my girl.”
Julianne captured the moment. Professor Emerson in a suit and tie was certainly attractive. But a shirtless Gabriel crooning at their baby was beauty itself.
“We need to put Clare to bed.” Julia walked to Gabriel and kissed him firmly. Her lips found his ear. “So we can go to bed.”
Gabriel lifted his eyebrows. “Are you . . .” His gaze drifted down to her lower abdomen.
“I am as I was.” She placed her hand at the back of his neck. “But I’d like to do something for you. Something creative.”
“Yes, Mrs. Emerson. I’ve always been very impressed by your—ah—creativity.” He gave her a heated look. “But you fainted this morning.”