“He hurt your mother, often on purpose,” she said.

“And my brother,” he continued, bending his head. “He was abundantly cruel to my brother. He used to pretend as though he would include him on outings, to teach him to take his role. They’d rub it in my face, laughing that it was for first sons only, but then my father would leave without my brother. He waved from his horse as he rushed out of the gate, laughing at both his sons. And yet Solomon kept trying to earn his love. Earn his regard.”

Thomasina shook her head. She understood a little about never being able to earn a parent’s love, but her father had certainly never been so abjectly cruel about it. “I’m so sorry that happened to you both,” she said, fighting the urge to touch him, to comfort him with more than mere words.

“Here is the building,” he said, digging in his pocket for a key he’d retrieved from Willard before they left the house.

As he fiddled with the rusty lock, she saw the worry line his face. He was truly afraid of what he would find here. She knew as well as he did it might destroy any small bit of goodness he recalled in his brother.

She couldn’t imagine feeling that way about Juliana or Anne. She knew their hearts and characters. To lose that faith in them would crush her.

“You told me once you were separated from your father at some point,” she said softly. “How did that happen?”

He pushed against the door with a curse and it slowly creaked open. She caught her breath. She’d been expecting a few trunks or items in the medium-sized building but it was filled with them. Boxes and piles of an entire life.

“Jasper,” she breathed as he stepped aside to let her come into the room.

He stared at it with her, and his voice cracked as he said, “I didn’t want any of it when he was dead. I didn’t want it at all.”

Now she couldn’t deny herself anymore. She turned on him and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him against her. He let her for a moment, sighing against her shoulder as she smoothed her fingers through his thick hair. She felt him soften, releasing some of the tension he always carried. She took it, bearing it on her shoulders for a moment and praying it would give him strength to carry on.

But the moment passed, and at last he lifted his head and stepped away. “I don’t deserve that kindness,” he said softly. “After what I did.” He turned away, cutting her off from his emotion and looked at the pile before them. “God’s teeth, there is so much. Where to even start?”

She motioned to the back corner of the room. “From the back forward, I think. We can clear a bit of space away from the wall, go through each trunk and stack them afterward.”