The reverend choked on his whiskey. He cleared his throat, wiping amber liquid from his rosy double chin. "Ryland told you about Rosalee, did he?"

"He said she died the same year Martin was born," Sheila said. "During childbirth. He told us to talk to her father, Michael Creemore."

"Yes, Michael." The reverend peered over his shoulder at the photograph Martin had noticed, the three men and the deer. "Terrible shame what happened with his little girl. And what became of him following her untimely death."

"We were on our way to talk to him when the ferry crashed," Sheila said.

"You were on the ferry? My goodness, gracious. I thought you looked a touch worse for wear but I had no idea—"

"We're fine," Martin said. "Just lucky to be alive. What can you tell us about Rosalee Creemore and her baby?"

He nodded. "Much of what I know was told to me in confidence. In confessional. Michael Creemore and I were close friends. I was Rosalee's godfather. I couldn't possibly reveal—"

"Tell us what you can. Please. All my life I thought Ruby was my mother. Now I find out she wasn't even related to me."

And worse, he thought. Much worse. But he didn't say it. No way to know if the reverend could be trusted, how deep he was in the Midwives' back pocket. Mulligan suspected the man had a dirty secret. Something he would sell out his closest friends to keep.

The reverend sighed. "Very well. Rosalee came to me when she discovered she was with child. We spoke very briefly about it. She was quite young and worried what her father would think. After what she told me, quite frankly, so was I."

"What did she tell you, Reverend?"

"Father, please."

Martin caught Sheila's gaze and tried not to react. Mother. Father. Structures of power, filling in for absent parental figures.

He indulged the man. "What did she say, Father?"

"I'm not at liberty to divulge that. What I can tell you is that the pregnancy was accidental. I can also tell you I convinced her to carry the child to term. In cases like hers it has become... an issue of contention, if you will, whether or not a woman should carry. The stance of the Catholic church is still quite firm. Abortion is a mortal sin, regardless of circumstance. The penalty in this life is excommunication. Without repentance, the penalty is Hell."

"Patriarchal bullshit," Sheila said.

The reverend offered an apologetic half shrug. "Be that as it may, I encouraged her to carry and she did. For Martin's sake, I'm sure you'd agree she made the right decision?"

Sheila conceded with a half-shrug and a nod.

"Who was the father, Reverend Atkins?" Martin asked. "Did she have a boyfriend in school? An older man?"

"The parent's name was told to me during confession. If I were to tell you that it would break the sanctity of the—"

"Reverend, I'm a psychologist," Sheila interrupted. "I know all about the ethics of confidentiality. But Rosalee Creemore is dead—"