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sign of the cross on her forehead with his thumb.
    “Do not be afraid, my child. This day, you will rest in Paradise with Our Lord Jesus Christ.”
    A sob escaped her throat.
    “Were any saved?” she asked.
    “Alas, no,” Father Keegan answered. “The men just now brought in the last two. One, I believe, is your husband.”
    Her eyes widened. “My husband?”
    “He is blond, is he not, with a full moustache? He was wearing a fur-trimmed coat.”
    “He is dead?”
    “Yes, my child.”
    Tears sprang to her eyes. She turned her head and was so still that Will wondered if she had already slipped away.
    Abigail opened her eyes again. Her voice was so weak they could hardly hear her.
    “All died, you say?”
    “Alas, yes, my child. Seven souls, all told.”
    She stirred slightly. “Did they all die instantly? Did you speak to any, Father?”
    “I did not. There was no chance.”
    A long sigh came from her lips. Then she said, “Will my baby live?”
    “Mrs. Cameron says she is healthy. Do you want to hold her?”
    She nodded. The midwife picked up the tiny creature, tightly wrapped in a blanket. Only the little red wrinkled face was visible. She placed the baby in the crook of the young mother’s arm, and Abigail touched her baby’s cheek tenderly.
    “She has not had the best entry into this sad world, has she?” Again, the young woman looked up at the priest. “The man in the coat, the blond man...”
    “Your husband?”
    “He was a good man. He saved me. He gave up his place in the boat for me. His name is John.”
    Father Keegan shifted to a more comfortable position so he could straighten his stiff leg.
    The young mother kissed her infant on the forehead, soft as snow touching the ground.
    The priest called over the midwife. “Mrs. Cameron, one of the village women, Mrs. Pierce, lost her own child but a week ago. She grieves the loss. I want you to have her brought here. Her breasts will still have milk.”
    Will blushed at the words and the image, and he lowered his head.
    Abigail spoke again. “There is money,” she continued. “It is sewn into the seams of the fur-trimmed coat. I must ask you to claim it on behalf of my infant child. I heard what you said to the midwife. Please, Father, promise me the money will go to that woman who will be her wet nurse. I want her to take care of my child.”
    “Surely you yourself have a family who will take the baby in?”
    “No, I have no one.”
    “Your husband, then?”
    “No, he has no family, either.”
    “What is your name, and where do you live?” Father Keegan asked.
    She didn’t reply but licked her lips. “I am so thirsty.”
    Father Keegan reached over to a table where somebody had placed a glass of wine. He brought it to her lips.
    She sipped, but she coughed so violently that the priest removed the glass. Will saw a gush of blood run from the young woman’s mouth. He wished he had the linen cloth from church to wipe the blood away for her, but he didn’t even have a handkerchief. Father Keegan wiped away the blood with a cloth that Mrs. Cameron handed to him.
    “Will you promise me, Father?” the dying woman begged. “I will die in peace if I know my babe will be well looked after.”
    Father Keegan did not answer, and Will wondered why he hesitated.
    “Do you wish me to hear your last confession, my daughter?”
    With unexpected strength, the girl caught him by the sleeve. “Father, is it true that Our Lord is all-knowing? That He can see into every soul and forgive even the worst sins because He understands them? Is that the truth?”
    “Yes, child, that is what Our Saviour Jesus Christ taught us. God sees everything.”
    She let go. “Thank you, Father, that is a comfort to me.”
    Those were the last words she would ever say.

Chapter Eleven

    “Whew,” said Wendy. “That is such a sad story. I think I’d like a cup of coffee, Dad.”
    “Okay. I’ll make it. And I’ll check on Amy.”
    Bill did so, and it looked like Amy