Page 43 of Clashing Moon

“I’m nervous,” Elliot said.

“Don’t be,” Mama said. “You’ll both know what to do.”

“Do you have a name?” Mama asked, gazing lovingly at the baby as Elliot positioned the baby on her chest. The baby immediately latched on, thank goodness. I was not about to handle my sister-in-law’s breasts not even in the name of medicine.

“Yes, we’re naming her Madeleine—after my favorite pastry.” Elliot stroked Madeleine’s tiny head as the baby suckled. “Not even a pastry can compare to this.”

“And just like that, you’re a mama bear,” Mama said, brushing stray hair from Elliot’s forehead. “Not much better in this life, I can tell you that.”

I thought about Arabella’s mother, how she’d had to leave her baby behind, and how it must have broken her heart.

Would there finally be a reconciliation? Justice and peace and last?

11

ARABELLA

Rafferty had texted me not long after he and his mother left the house that the baby was coming. As I waited to hear that all had gone as planned, I busied myself back in the attic, sorting through boxes and deciding most of the contents had been stored away for a reason. Nothing but junk.

I’d gotten through most of it when Rafferty texted again.

We have a baby Moon. Madeleine Moon has arrived healthy. Elliot’s doing great, too. Caspian’s a little shaky but really happy.

A slight wistfulness came over me. I wanted a baby. A family. Would I ever get one?

I drove back to Jasper and Stella’s after I’d taken a load of trash out to the dump and then another to the donation drop-off. Maisie and I had come up with a plan and price that she felt would help move the ranch fast. She also gave me the name of a lawyer to hire to sort out any legal issues. I’d decided I wanted to keep five acres of my father’s hundred-acre plot. If all went well, I’d have enough to pay off my student debt and take out a loan to have a house built.

Jasper was not there when I let myself in through the back door, having left me a note that he went to meet his newgranddaughter but would be back before dinner. A minute or so later, Rafferty texted that he was on his way.

I sat at the kitchen island, staring at my phone. Should I call the number Sally had sent me? Should I wait? If it was bad news and she was deceased, I wasn’t sure I could take it.

Courage. I had to at least try to reach her. If it was bad news, I’d just have to deal with it.

I paced back and forth, the phone clutched tightly in my hand. My heart raced, and I had to take a few steadying breaths before punching in the number I’d already memorized. The room was so quiet I could hear the hum of the refrigerator and the faint ticking of the wall clock, but all my focus was on each ring.

Finally, a voice picked up on the other end, soft and warm, though cautious. “Hello?”

I gripped the counter to steady myself. “Is this Sally Nixon?” My throat was so tight I could barely get the words out.

There was a pause, and I could feel her hesitation—a stranger’s voice calling her something that had long since been stripped from her life. “That’s my maiden name.” Her tone held a faint tremor of hope. “Who is this?”

I cleared my throat, forcing the words past the knot that had tightened there. “It’s…it’s Arabella.”

A soft gasp and then silence. I imagined her standing there, phone to her ear, perhaps a hand clutched to her mouth as she tried to process what I’d just said. What did she look like now? Was she well? Had her marriage to Jacob lasted? And what about my brothers?

“Arabella?” Her voice trembled, full of disbelief. “I’d given up. All these years…”

“I didn’t know where you were. Or that you’d written to me.” A mix of remorse and relief and nerves bubbled into a complicated concoction inside me. “My father died recently, andI’ve been cleaning out the house to put it on the market. This morning, I was up in the attic, and I found a box with some of your things—keepsakes from what I could tell. And there was this stack of cards. All unopened. The birthday cards. From you. He never told me you’d sent them. He never told me what happened.”

“I figured he wouldn’t.” The warmth in her tone gave way to bitterness. “But I had to hope that he might give you the birthday cards, even if he wouldn’t let me see you.” Her voice broke, and I could hear how she fought to keep from crying. “It was a silly hope, I suppose, knowing who he is. Or was. What happened to him?”

“He had dementia,” I said softly, my own throat tight with emotion. “And wandered away from home. He died in a snowstorm.”

“Oh, that’s awful. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. He was…a terrible man.”

“Was he abusive to you? That was my biggest fear.”

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