Max came to his feet and started pacing. “Patrick’s family?”

Ruby nodded. “Patrick’s family. I saw them, watching me in silence, and I knew. I opened the fence gate, and faced them. Some of them were angry, I could see it, and I knew that at least two of Patrick’s brothers had fought in the Pacific theater and might very well hate the Japanese. Hate me.”

Kellen felt her blood pressure rise as she pictured the scene. A peaceful working-class neighborhood, a white picket fence, a hostile family facing one lone Japanese-American woman.

“Mrs. Sullivan stepped forward, and she said, ‘Ye’re looking for Patrick, are ye, Ruby Morgade?’ I said yes, and she said, ‘Ye’ve come to the wrong place. He’s in the graveyard at the edge of town with a white cross planted at his head.’”

Kellen was aghast. “That was no way to tell you!”

“It was a test. I dropped to my knees and wept bitter tears.” Ruby’s voice choked.

Kellen teared up, too.

Verona sat with her hand over her heart.

“Aileen came to me, wrapped her arms around me, yelled at her sons to help me. I ended up on a lounge on the porch. The test was over, and they took me into their hearts.” Ruby sat quietly, gazing at a grave she’d seen long ago and far away. “Patrick had died in 1943, and why should anyone tell me?”

“The Sullivans should have told you!” Rae burned with outrage.

“He’d written them, said I no longer corresponded with him, and his heart was broken.”

“Your bastard of a father—” Rae said.

“Rae!” Verona said.

Rae subsided. “Well, he was,” she muttered.

Ruby fought a smile. “Yes, my father confiscated my letters, and Patrick’s. But Patrick also told his family he suspected foul play, and he feared for me and my fate. So the Sullivans were inclined to believe the best of me. They took me to Patrick’s grave, let me weep and place my flowers. They took me to their church and had another memorial service for him, so I could participate. When I told his mother about the baby—” Ruby developed a hitch in her voice “—she cried for me and wished we had that bit of Patrick in this world, and she prayed for the baby’s soul. I had never done that. I had cried, but never prayed. I had no surety of God or belief in another world. Turns out, I didn’t need it. Aileen Sullivan had enough for the two of us.” Ruby smiled with the remnants of lost hope. “All of her sons had gone to war. Patrick was the one who didn’t return. When I left, I had found a comfort of sorts, and a family. I corresponded with Mrs. Sullivan until her death in 1981. Then the Sullivans forgot me. As they should. That was a long time ago.”