"That's my girl," Jack murmured proudly under his breath before he could stop himself. He had just finished reading the latest article from Jenny and leafing through the 8x10 prints that had come through over the wire. He cleared his throat. "Anything else?" he asked in a normal tone.
"No, sir." Alice was looking at Jack strangely. "That poor young pilot," she said in a wavering voice. "I can't imagine her terror at being caught and tortured by those...those..." She looked up at her boss. "Can you believe such barbarity really exists in the world?" she whispered.
"Yes," Jack said sharply, tapping the sheets of paper together smartly on the surface of his desk. "Call the board members together, Alice."
"Right away, sir."
When Alice had left his office, Jack leafed through the pictures again, stopping on the close up of Kara's mangled and distorted right hand, a cigarette held between the middle- and forefinger. He shook his head at the cool heartlessness that it must have taken for that Nazi to smash all twenty finger joints of a then nineteen-year-old girl. A girl whose only crime was defending her motherland. It made his stomach churn, and yet he knew this was exactly the kind of story that needed to be told. The whole world needed to know what had happened, not only to the countless Jews who had lost their lives, but also to the resistance fighters and other members of the Allied forces.
The story, the pictures all contained Jenny's special touch. Her special style that made Jack's heart ache for her. Only she could have done this story justice, only she could have found this woman who, by all accounts, had gone into hiding after her ordeal had rendered her useless to Stalin's 588th. And only Jenny could have captured these photographs and all their grotesque beauty. He decided the byline would not contain her alias, but her real name, Jennifer Snow, and to hell with what his wife and father-in-law thought about that.
But, first the board meeting. Then he would compose a letter to Jenny, sending it in care of the last place she had been known to reside in Paris. The longing for Jenny had turned into a palpable ache. He could feel Ashton's choke hold closing in on him and, though he knew it was wrong, he longed to see her smile, look into her eyes even if it was for the last time.
After the board meeting, Jack put on his hat and threw his overcoat over his shoulder. He decided to walk the sixteen blocks home that evening, recalling a disagreement he'd had with Ashton earlier that week. It had been his intention to shop for a home for the three of them. Soon to be four. His idea was to look for a spacious four-bedroom house upstate, away from the city. Ashton had violently objected to that, accusing him of wanting to secrete her away from the city where he would continue to work.
"You're treating me like I'm bloody Mrs Rochester! I won't have it, Jack!"
Jack had massage his temples wearily listening to her. "Ashton, that's not true. The city is no place to raise a family. I'm trying to think of the children. Someone has to."
"The children!" she that venomously, remembering to place a hand over her swelling belly. "That's all that matters to you, isn't it? The children! That little orphaned brat and,"...her eyes drifted down to her middle..."now this one."
"I thought you were happy to be pregnant, Ashton," Jack said steadily, not looking at her as he lit up a cigarette. "That and holding Natalia's secret over my head is how you managed to hold onto this marriage, isn't it?"
Ashton's hateful expression melted into one of pleading. "Why are you so cruel to me, Jack?" she whined, fingering the empty left sleeve of her dress as she often did for sympathy. "I didn't ask for this, you know."
He turned around and looked at her seriously. "Neither did I. Let's not start with accusations and recriminations, Ashton. We've had a couple of good weeks lately. We're married; nothing's going to change that. We're going to have a child. Can we at least try to be a family and put the horrors of the war behind us?"
"Horrors?" she asked archly. "Like me?"
Jack didn't answer her, he merely put out his cigarette thoughtfully, crossed the room to his wife and brushed his fingers against her scarred cheek, unable to bring himself to kiss her. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he said softly and then stalked out of the room before they could say any more hurtful words to each other.
Jack truly didn't hate Ashton; he resented her, true, but he knew he had to shoulder the blame for most of what had happened that spring of 1945. But he was all too aware of the fact that the only thing keeping his temper and anger in check was the determination to protect Natalia and her innocence. Her pure belief in the adults around her having her best interests at heart.
It ate at him day and night; made him reach for the whiskey decanter far more than he would have in the past. It was not in his nature to be cruel, but the searing heartache of losing Jenny was not easing with the passage of time. If anything, it was getting worse. The upcoming birth of a child should be a joyous event in a man's life, and yet much to his shame, Jack could not summon up in himself the happiness and anticipation he knew he should be feeling. Instead, all he felt were the shackles and chains drawing tighter and tighter around him and dragging him further and further away from Jenny and the life they might have had.
Now, walking home amidst the rush of people eagerly doing the same thing, Jack was not in a hurry himself. In fact, save seeing Natalia and scooping her up into his arms, very little awaited Jack at home. Even his grandfather, with whom he had once shared a very close camaraderie had grown cool and distant with him since his controversial speech at the Onyx Club and the publication of Jenny's bombshell article about the sexual assaults against women by Allied troops.
"Jack!"
Jack turned at the sound of his name being shouted through the sea of people walking the streets of Manhattan. He greeted the woman coming up behind him with a smile.
"Martha," he said warmly, taking her into his arms in a fond embrace. "How are you?"
Martha returned the hug heartily, squeezing Jack almost painfully. "Not as well as you by all accounts! A Pulitzer is quite a present. And expecting a bouncing baby in December! It's all coming up roses for you, isn't it, Jack?" Jack's old friend leaned closer. "A more deserving man couldn't be found."
The smile on Jack's face froze and his expression became troubled. Martha didn't throw praise around like that unless it was merited and he could easily see the sincerity in her eyes. Still, that night at the Onyx Club, the last time he had seen Jenny, stung him to the core. "Thanks, Martha. The Pulitzer, though..."
Martha touched his arm, drawing back. "I know. I know all about Jenny and Monsieur de Rêve and I think it's bullshit. I'm planning to donate to your foundation. Smooth move, Jack. It won't always be just you boys, you know." Martha paused as if debating whether or not to tell him something.
"What is it?" Jack asked sharply, his wartime intuition kicking in.
Martha lifted her shoulder. "Just thought you'd be interested to know Jenny's gotten General MacArthur's permission to access all areas in future war zones. And she's going to be covering the Russian blockade of Berlin."
Jack was only momentarily startled then a warm rush of pride and admiration flooded him, and he smiled gently. "That sounds dangerous," he murmured. And he ached for Jenny...ached to hold her, breathe in her scent, kiss her poppy-scented blond hair.
"Dangerous?" Martha was saying. "Not as dangerous as snapping pictures in a foxhole during a firefight with the Germans, Jack. Or typing up stories in a field hospital under German shells."
"That was different," Jack protested.
"Why?" Martha asked coolly. "Because you were there?"
Jack was silent and stunned for several seconds. He pictured Jenny back in uniform, dirty and tired, hoisting her Rollei to capture what couldn't be described with words. "I'd like to be there with her now." He suddenly found himself smiling, genuinely for the first time today, but then realizing what he had just said out loud, he cleared his throat in embarrassment.
"I know. So does she. But you're doing a damn fine job here in New York, Jack," Martha said, placing a hand on his arm. "Your last article about the double amputee and his wife killed me. I wept for days." She paused, her eyes not meeting his. "You and Jen...what a force to be reckoned with, you two."
"Anything else you want to tell me, Martha?" he asked in a hesitant voice, noting the conflicted look in her eyes. She was holding back, he knew.
Martha's face became shuttered. "Nope. Just what I told you."
Jack's eyes searched her face. "You're not going to tell me where she is?"
Martha shook her head. "She thinks it's better this way, Jack," Martha's said softly. "She's proud of you though."
"Come on, Martha," Jack said impatiently.
"You gave your country over five years of your life...you deserve a break, Jack. How's the house hunting coming?"
Jack sucked in his lower lip thoughtfully, unsurprised that she had changed the subject so deftly. "Not so great. Ashton wants to stay in the city. I'd like to raise our kids in the country." Jack trailed off, losing his train of thought.
Martha was laughing but Jack could sense it was something bittersweet behind the laughter. "Oh, I'm sure she'll come around. Some women! No understanding us, is there?"
Jack joined in the laughter half-heartedly but in the back of his mind was the thought that there was one woman he understood very well and who understood him. And she was, apparently, out of his reach forever. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.
"Well, it was good running into you, Martha," he said blindly. "Come by the house sometime for drinks, won't you? It'll be good to catch up, talk about...things."
"Sounds great, Jack," she said, her eyes shining with unspoken memories of their time in the war together. "I'll do that. And I'll bring the whiskey. Although you know I've purchased a flat in London and that's where I plan to spend most of my time writing my new book. New York reminds me too much of Hem and our rather unpleasant short union."
Again, Jack felt that catch in his gut at Martha's words, that punch of shock with each reminder that he was irrevocably tied to Ashton because of the result of one night's mistake. His marriage should have been a short union. And he wasn't even thinking of the night he had slept with her. It was the night of the jeep accident that haunted him. If only he could go back and do things differently...
He hurried on towards home before the devastation could show in his face. The foyer was dim as he stepped inside. No doubt, his grandfather was out drinking with his retired news buddies at the Onyx Club which suited Jack just fine. If his luck held out, perhaps he could even avoid Ashton tonight.
He slowly ascended the stairs, making his way towards Natalia's room just as he did every evening when he came home from work. He found her sitting at her desk, pen in hand, writing something feverishly. He walked up slowly behind her so as not to startle her and his mouth slowly opened and shocked as he read a few of the words she was writing. It appeared to be a story, a story about an enchanted princess who lived in a spellbound chateau in France. The detailed descriptions of the chateau left no doubt in Jack's mind that it was Havre de Rêve of which she wrote.
She seemed to sense him standing there behind her and calmly turned to look over her shoulder at him. She didn't fly into his arms as she normally did, just gave him a sweet, sad smile.
"Hello, Papa," she said in a voice that told Jack she had been crying earlier.
Jack crouched down beside her, bringing his eyes down to her level. Sure, enough they still shown with unshed tears. "Natalia." He reached up and gently tucked a stray blonde curl behind her ear. "What's wrong, sweetheart?"
Natalia swallowed hard and hesitated, as if she wasn't sure she should tell him. Then she took a deep, steadying breath. "Papa, can I go to boarding school in Paris?"
Jack drew back in shock, his eyes never leaving her face. His mouth opened but no words came out at first as his eyes dropped to the pen in her hand and the words she had written he shook his head slightly as if confused by her simple request. "But...why, Natalia? Aren't you happy living here in New York with me?"
Immediately, Natalia reached up and put her arms around Jack's neck, laying her head on his shoulder. He knew the tears had begun to flow again; he could feel them seeping through the fabric of his shirt. "I love you so much, Papa," she wept. "But you will have a new baby soon. I'm not really yours. This one will be. And Ashton..." Natalia gulped. "Ashton doesn't like me. And if I'm in Paris, perhaps I will be able to see..."
She stopped abruptly and lifted her head to look deeply into Jack's eyes, the name floating unspoken between them. Jenny.
Jack drew in a sharp breath. "I don't want you to leave me, Natalia," he said, willing his voice not to crack. "I would miss you terribly if you were gone, sweetheart."
"But the new baby..."
"Will not take your place," Jack rushed to reassure her, stroking her hair and gently thumbing away the tears on her cheeks. "No one ever could, Natalia. You're my own. My own child, just as much a part of me as this new one." He pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. "Never, ever think otherwise, sweetheart."
"But Ashton said..."
"Ashton is wrong," Jack said with cold, stark finality. Then he caught himself before he could go any further. He closed his eyes briefly and forced his voice to soften for Natalia's sake. "It's a trying, tiring time for her. I'm sure she's very worried and nervous as any expectant mother would be. I'm sure she didn't mean anything she said that might have hurt you, Natalia."
Natalia sniffed and nodded. "But will you at least think about it, Papa? I think I would like to go to boarding school in Paris."
Jack studied the sincere, innocent blue eyes swimming in tears for a long time. It was difficult for him to keep his own lip from quivering as he nodded. "Let's just park this to the side for now, Natalia, shall we? There's plenty of time. We'll discuss it after your birthday, okay sweetheart?"
Natalia smiled. "Yes, Papa," she acquiesced, the light of hero worship turning her eyes an angel blue.
"Now," Jack said, turning his attention to her notebook. "What are you doing there?"
"It's a story," Natalia readily replied. "About a beautiful princess, caught in a spell cast by an evil man. She's trapped in the chateau, you see? She's afraid that he might be hiding the trees again to hurt her."
Jack pursed his lips, nodding slowly. This was not the first time Natalia had mentioned a bad man. "Tell me, what does this evil man look like?" he asked, his eyes going to Natalia's flushed face.
She looked haunted. "He's big and tall like you, Papa." She paused, her fine, blonde brows drawing together in consternation. "He wore a uniform..."
The blue eyes and the brown locked for a long moment. Jack felt a familiar chill travel down his spine as he looked into the guileless eyes of his adopted child. "A uniform?" he questioned softly. "What kind of uniform, darling? One like mine?"
Natalia did not look at Jack as she nodded slowly. "Yes but...different. He didn't have as many medals as you, Papa."
Jack huffed in amusement, a brief smile touching his face before he frowned again. "So, the man wore an American uniform, sweetheart?"
Natalia nodded her head. "Yes."
"Can you tell me more about him?"
Natalia squeezed her eyes shut and began shaking her head. "He hurt her. He hurt mama."
Hurt Jenny? Jack wanted to know. "You mean Jenny?" he said hoarsely, his eyes burning.
Natalia's bottom lip quivered as she nodded.
"How did he hurt her?" Jack forced himself to ask.
Natalia's cheeks flushed red, and she flung herself into Jack's arms, shaking like a leaf and clinging to him as if her life depended on it. Shock and foreboding paralyzed him for a second and then his arms went around the trembling, weeping child and he held her tightly to him once again.
"It's all right, Natalia," Jack soothed her. "It's all right. It was only a dream." He prayed it was. "Jenny's safe. No one can hurt you or her. I promise." He swallowed hard and it pained him to say to Natalia what he knew he had to say next. "Sweetheart," he began, "I'm going to ask you something and I want you to promise me you'll do it. Will you promise?"
Natalia drew back and looked into her Papa's eyes, her own still swimming in tears. She nodded. "Anything for you, Papa."
Jack felt the twinge of guilt at her sweet, innocent, trusting words. He brushed blonde curls back from her temple and looked seriously into her eyes. "You must promise me never to mention Jenny again. And especially not in front of Ashton." He placed a finger against Natalia's lips as she started to protest. "I know you love Jenny. I love her too. And she'll always be with us in our hearts. But we have to be a family, you, me, Ashton. And the new baby. It'll be your little brother or sister, understand?"
Natalia looked down sadly but wanting more than anything to please her papa. She wouldn't want to disappoint Jack for anything in the world. "I understand, Papa. I'll try not to mention Jenny again."
Jack's throat was tight, but he managed to smile and nod approvingly, his hand stroking Natalia's golden curls comfortingly. He leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead. "That's my girl," he murmured for the second time that day.
Jack stayed with Natalia until she fell asleep.
It would be nearly twenty minutes later before Natalia's breathing became slow and steady as she fell asleep in Jack's arms. He carefully carried her over to her bed tucking her in, then standing watch over her for a few seconds, watching her peaceful inhalations and exhalations, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his gut filled with dread at the next visit he would have to make. Too many thoughts were whirling in his brain to give him peace tonight and though he hated it, but tonight might be the night he would desperately need a whiskey.
He crossed the hallway to Ashton's bedroom, pushing the door open on its silent hinges with the tips of his fingers. She sat up in bed, the lamp on the opposite side lit, its rosy glow casting her in a fetching shadow that almost obscured her deformities. Her hand rested delicately on her lower abdomen where Jack noticed the pregnancy had begun to make itself known. He stared at the silk covered bump for a long moment before his wife's voice forced him to meet her eyes.
"What took you so long?" she asked peevishly. "I heard you come in nearly an hour ago."
"Natalia was still awake. I went to tuck her in," Jack said tiredly.
Ashton sighed. "Did she tell you she wants to go to boarding school in Paris?"
"She did," Jack replied, studying Ashton's face closely. "I wonder whose idea that was?"
"You think it was mine?"
Jack walked over to the window, reaching into his breast pocket for his cigarette case, lighting one, drawing on it and blowing the smoke out in a long thin stream before replying. "I don't know, Ashton. She seems to be under the impression that there'll be no room for her in this house once your child is born."
"Our child, Jack."
Jack nodded. "Our child," he repeated, still unable to reconcile the fact that that horrible night with her had produced a baby. He frowned and turned his head to the side but did not quite look at her over his shoulder. "You're due in December, correct?"
"Of course," she replied almost irritably. "Christmas present for you, Jack."
Jack turned to look at her, amazed that she could meet his eye with her basilisk stare. Ashton lifted her chin and continued to look at her husband defiantly, meeting Jack's stony stare with one of her own. He winced as he remembered some of the faces in the photographs Jenny had taken at the Nuremberg trial...the cool, calm of the vanquished Nazi leaders. It seemed to him Ashton wore a similar expression. Unashamed, completely unbothered by her own heinous actions.
"I'm deferring the decision to send Natalia to boarding school in Paris until after her seventh birthday and the baby's birth," Jack finally stated, leveling his gaze at Ashton. "I would appreciate it if you would keep what you know about her parents to yourself between now and then. She's seen and knows things that no child should ever see or know about." Jack frowned remembering Natalia's words about the bad man in the uniform. Perhaps in time whoever or whatever that was would fade from her memory. Jack could only hope so. "Now that we're enjoying some peacetime, the first she's ever known in her life, I would like to keep things that way for her. You understand, Ashton."
"Of course, Jack," Ashton replied promptly. "I wouldn't dream of traumatizing a poor little war time orphan."
"Good," Jack said quietly, getting to his feet. He crossed the room to where Ashton sat and bent at the waist to plant a soft, perfunctory kiss on her cheek, just where the ugly, puckered scar bisected her face. "Get some rest." His voice was softer now, almost affectionate. "You need it."
Ashton closed her eyes briefly, accepting the dutiful token of affection from her husband. She lifted her lashes and watched him carefully, half expecting him to make further overtures to her. In her experience, men couldn't go long without sex. She didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he turned towards the door to leave. She wondered if he was getting it somewhere else and decided she didn't care. As long as he was discreet about it, she thought, shrugging and pulling open the ribbon tie of her silk bed jacket as Jack softly closed the door behind him.
It was a long time before sleep found Jack that night. He spent most of it awake in his study, telephoning his many correspondents and stringers stationed across the world. Every time he hung up the phone, his fingers hovered over the receiver, itching to try to find her, to call her up, just to hear her voice again even if it was an ocean away. But he resisted the urge. He couldn't risk Ashton finding out and possibly using that as an excuse to make life even more hellish for him and Natalia, knowing she probably lifted the receiver of the phone in her room and listened in at times. Jack sighed deeply, his elbows propped on the desk, chin resting on his balled up fists. Natalia was all that mattered now. Making sure what remained of her childhood was tranquil and loving was no less than she deserved.
The war was over, he realized and smiled wryly to himself, yet, the war effort went on and on for people like him and Natalia. And Jenny, no doubt. He ended up falling asleep that night in his armchair, nightmares of rogue Panzers, mortars, grenades, air filled with white phosphorus and the screams of dying men plaguing his subconscious the entire night. And an unknown, faceless man in a United States Army uniform, his hands seizing Jenny violently, Jenny's terrified eyes, her cries for help.
He awoke with a start. "Jenny..." he whispered, sure that he needed to lead his men on a raid, sure that Jenny was only feet away needing his help, only to look down at himself, tie undone, wrinkled shirt with cuffs rolled to the elbow, and realize, almost regretfully, where he was. He sank back against the chair, his head rolling wearily to one side. He needed Jenny...she would understand. He ran a hand over his face, over the bristly patch of beard that had begun to grow, and grimaced.
At least he hadn't touched any whiskey he thought to himself as he set up and groggily rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't going to go down that drain, he'd decided a long time ago. The clock on the mantlepiece said it was 5:30 in the morning; no time for a shower then. He would simply have to do with a quick wash and shave. He had done with far less in his days as lieutenant colonel. As he quickly performed this task, the sight of his shadowy, unshaven face in the mirror made him look disreputable, he decided. But fifteen minutes later he looked every part the editor-in-chief, the man in command, the boss.
As Jack sat in his office that morning after the board meeting, sipping his coffee and re-reading Jenny's latest article, pouring over her photographs she had taken of the former Soviet night witch, it suddenly hit him...Natalia's overwhelming urge to go to boarding school in Paris. Not just to get away from the intolerable situation with Ashton, but to be near Jenny. Jack felt the same urge, the same pull, the same magnetic attraction. Along with the urge to untangle Natalia's haunting recurring dream about the man hurting Jenny. Was it truly a nightmare, a manufactured terror brought on by Natalia's traumatic wartime experience? Or was it a memory?
Over the next few weeks that thought didn't diminish but grew and grew as did his desire to see or at least speak to Jenny. Even his grandfather couldn't say anything, although he wasn't saying much to Jack these days, about Jenny's name on the bylines of the articles because they were outselling the Times and the Post with each outstanding and controversial article. The supreme joy in Jack's life at that time, other than Natalia, was publishing those articles, those pictures, and sending on the payment to Jenny's Paris hotel. In addition, the grants and donations to her namesake fund were pouring in, some from anonymous donors whom Jack suspected were political hopefuls that believed in the cause but were cautious due to their precarious positions.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and sipping his coffee, beaming with pride that bordered on possessive that Jenny had done this. Jenny had accomplished this. His blue angel.
***
Ashton's and Jack's baby was born just after Thanksgiving, healthy and robust despite being a few weeks early, after a long and difficult labor. A boy.
Ashton had rallied through the nearly twenty-hour labor and delivery. She had hemorrhaged terribly and, although it had been touch-and-go for several tense hours, the doctors had managed to save her by performing an emergency hysterectomy. There would be no more children for Ashton and Jack, a fact that she was secretly glad about, but which she belabored and bemoaned.
"Now I'm maimed and barren," she said sorrowfully to Jack as if it were all his fault.
"Ashton, you're alive and we have a beautiful, healthy son," Jack said to her, mustering all the tenderness he could find to try to soothe her. "Thank you for that. You were so brave..."
"You wish I had died in childbirth so you could be free," she accused, tears swimming in her green eyes.
He smoothed her hair back from her forehead and kissed her. "I don't wish anything of the sort, Ashton. I never would." But his gut twisted as the only emotion he could summon up for his wife was a resentful pity.
Jack's tenderness seemed to mollify her for the time being, as did the pearl and diamond earrings Jack gave her as a present hours after her surgery. Jack left her sitting up in the bed applying her cosmetics to her face and admiring the way the diamonds in the earrings winked and flashed in her ears. He made his way down the hall of the hospital to the nursery, following the tiny whimpers and soft cries of newborn babies. A smiling nurse happily ushered him in to the nursery and scooped up a tiny bundle from a bassinet with a small card adorned with a cartoonish picture of a stork sporting a pale blue bowtie attached that read in elegant script: Boy: Delaney. The tiny infant was swaddled in a blue blanket and Jack suddenly felt too large and too awkward when the nurse handed the bundle over to him.
Suddenly, in that moment, all the misgivings he had felt over the past few months, all the ambiguous feelings towards Ashton's pregnancy and this coming child, melted away as Jack looked into the face of his newborn son and, for the first time, realized he not only wanted the child but that he loved the child with all his heart. The baby was asleep, his perfect rosebud lips pursed, his lashes already long and beautiful formed dark crescents on his chubby cheeks.
Jack stared in awe and wonder at the tuft of reddish-brown hair that dusted the baby's head. His eye color was a mystery, although Jack knew that most newborns had blue eyes. His features were very reminiscent of Ashton's before the accident: classically beautiful and symmetrically perfect in every way.
"My son," he murmured to himself, ignoring the nurses hovering nearby. He turned with the baby, staring down into the sweet, sleeping face and gently oscillating back and forth, rocking the tiny creature. Jack marveled that's so small and insignificant a creature could actually have the power to heal wounds inflicted by a bloody war and the monsters it created. But in those first few moments as he held his child, Jack began to feel for the first time as if the internal wounds inflicted on him were slowly closing up. Heaven, it seemed, had just given him a new lease on life.
His heart was so captured by the sight and feel of the newborn in his arms, he was only dimly aware of his grandfather joining him minutes later. He smiled, accepting the congratulatory slap on the back from his grandfather as they stood there, staring down at the sleeping, helpless face and feeling the armor around his heart crack. He knew he could not have loved the baby more if it had been his and Jenny's own.
"We'll have to beat the women off with a stick," Edward Delaney declared, a cigar clamped between his teeth, his eyes shining with pride.
The comment only made Jack smirk slightly, his gaze never leaving the baby's face. My son. And in that moment, inexplicably, Jack thought of Jenny, and his heart felt such pain and such happiness that he thought it must surely burst.
"Have you decided on a name, Jack?" He heard his grandfather ask.
"Mm, yes, we have," Jack hummed, nodding his head once, still staring down at the baby he cradled in the crook of his arm. "We're naming him Patrick, after my brother." He looked up at his grandfather. "Patrick Edward Delaney."
Edward removed the cigar from between his teeth, his eyes moist with emotion. "Now, that sounds like a name for a man of destiny," he said.