“What is it?” she asked, staring at it in confusion.

He moved forward at last and touched the corner of the fabric that she held up for his inspection. He had a flash as he did so, of his brother’s coffin, draped in black. He shook his head. “This looks like the fabric on his coffin. It must be the extra bombazine from the roll and for some reason Reynolds—”

He cut himself off as he stared down into the trunk and his gaze found the next item within.

“Reynolds what?” Thomasina asked as she bundled the fabric up and placed it aside.

He couldn’t answer. He had no words. Not when he was looking down at a reminder of childhood that froze his heart. Broke his heart.

“Jasper?” she whispered, and her gaze flicked to the trunk.

She saw the toy bear he was staring at and gasped. “Oh. What is it?”

“Solomon’s bear,” Jasper whispered. She reached for it, but he shook his head. “No. No, please don’t touch it.”

She drew her hand back and looked up at him in concern. “Jasper?”

He gasped for air, trying to draw it in when it felt impossible. The button eyes of the toy held his, accusing, reminding him of something he had forgotten. Someone he had convinced himself didn’t exist.

“He was too old for the bear, my father said,” he whispered. “Twelve, I think, and he kept it hidden under his bed. I think he slept with it sometimes. My father took it. He said he was going to burn it.”

Thomasina recoiled at the cruelty Jasper described. He could see Solomon’s face so plainly, young and frightened and so angry. So filled with righteous hatred for the man who had half-heartedly raised them.

“It seems he saved the toy after all,” Thomasina whispered.

“No,” Jasper said, his voice cracking as emotion overwhelmed him, crashing over him in a wave more painful than anything he’d ever felt before. “I saved it,” he whispered. “I saved it for him.”

And then he buckled at the knees and collapsed to the floor as a thousand tears he’d not let himself shed overcame him.

Chapter 23

The sound Jasper made as his knees hit the floor was unlike anything Thomasina had ever heard before. It was the howl of an animal in intense pain. The grief of a man who had never let himself feel it.

She crawled across the scant distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, drawing him to her chest, stroking his hair as he wept out all he had concealed for such a long time.

She felt it all as it flowed through her. His mask was gone, all his accusations quiet. That hate that had protected him had been taken by a child’s toy and he was no longer able to use it as a shield.

They sat like that for what felt like an eternity. He clung to her without apology or attitude, and she prayed her strength would be enough to buoy him through this storm that threatened them both.