When he had finished, she was very still, and he wondered if he had made her angry.

“I did not know,” she said at last.

“There was so much danger, I did not dare to tell you. I wondered sometimes if your mother had.”

“No.” She shook her head. “Nothing.”

He had removed his arm from her shoulder while he spoke. Now he put his two hands together in his lap, and stared into the fire himself.

Then he felt her put her arm around his neck and as he turned toward her, she rested her head against his shoulder.

“I understand, Father, that you did what you thought you must.”

“I hope you do,” he replied.

“You know that I shall always love you, don’t you?” she said.

He turned to look at her, and she smiled.

“Always,” she said. “You are the best father in the world. Didn’t you know?”

He could not answer, but he took her hand and squeezed it, and her words meant more to him, almost, than even the birth of his son.

From that day, she seemed to be less sad. Life began to return to its usual pattern. As spring began, Jacob asked Sarah if she thought they might begin to think about a husband for her again.

“Wait a little,” she advised.

“I leave it in your hands,” he wisely said.

At the end of May, Sarah told him, “I think she is ready.” And a few days later, Naomi herself remarked to him quite casually: “I am in no hurry to marry, Father, but when the time comes, I wonder if we should consider the Renard boy. I trust him and he has always been my friend.”

Jacob needed no further bidding. The very next day, seeing Renard walking along the street, he fell into step beside him. After a few pleasantries he remarked what a fine young fellow Renard’s eldest son had become.

“I’m pleased with the way that Naomi’s turning out as well,” he added.

They walked on a few more paces before Renard turned to look at him.

The two men showed their ages in very different ways. What little hair was left on Jacob’s head was gray. Renard by contrast, like many redheads, had kept all his hair, and showed little sign of aging at all. Only the deep, long lines that ran down his face like gullies betrayed his years.

“She is a beautiful girl,” he remarked. “I should think you’ll be looking for a husband for her soon.”

“Yes,” said Jacob.

“I remember so well,” Renard continued quietly, “those days when you converted.”

“I owe it all to you.”

“Naomi would have been about nine at that time.”

“Indeed.”

“How did she take it, then—and later?”

“Well …” Jacob hadn’t expected this question. “She is an obedient girl, so she did not question her father’s judgment. And it’s been so long now. All her friends are Christian. Her brother, of course, has been a Christian since birth.” It wasn’t quite an honest answer, but it was the best that he could make.