“Gloriana. Gloriana Womack. My father owned this cottage and rented it to your brother and Sally.”

Luke gave her a broad smile. “Then at least I’m in the right place. Do you by any chance know where my brother and his wife might be?”

At this, the woman looked away and bit her lower lip. She said nothing for several long moments. Luke was surprised by her attitude but waited patiently.

Finally she spoke, motioning to the two chairs at the kitchen table. “You’d better sit down.”

Chapter 8

“Dead?” Luke shook his head.

“Yes, I’m sorry.” Gloriana had tried to figure out an easier way to share the news, but in the end had found herself blurting out the truth. “They were crossing to the North Shore to deliver fish, and the storm came up out of nowhere. They were all caught off guard. Sometimes storms do that. My father didn’t usually have that trouble. He always seemed to have an intuition about storms, but this time apparently it failed him.”

It was obvious the poor man was having trouble reconciling the news. Who could blame him? Gloriana was still struggling to reconcile it, and it had been two days since she’d learned the truth.

“Sally is next door. She’s in labor, but the midwife says she’s lost the will to live. A doctor has been sent for, and he may well have to cut the baby from her.”

“I want to see her.”

Gloriana nodded. “I’ll take you to my house, but first, do you have any questions? I don’t want to talk about this in front of Sally. She can’t bear it.”

“I don’t think I have questions. Scott went fishing with your father and his crew, and the storm came up and the ship sank.”

The way he said it seemed so matter-of-fact that it made Gloriana angry. “Yes, and eight men lost their lives. Perhaps you weren’t that fond of your brother, but I was, and I loved the rest of the crew as well.”

Luke’s brow furrowed as confusion filled his expression. He shook his head. “I didn’t mean to sound callous, honestly. I loved my brother deeply.”

Gloriana forced herself to calm down. She could see the hurt in his eyes. “And I didn’t mean to sound so angry. But I am angry. I’m angry at the loss, and I’m angry at trying to figure out the future. My eight-year-old brother is blaming himself for his father’s death, and now he has no one but me to rely on.”

“I am sorry.”