“Because it felt so good when he stopped.”

She sighed and felt the tears starting up again as she placed her hand over his on one knee. “Edward, you make my ass tired.”

Then she began to laugh.

Epilogue

Flora Parker had mailed Gilbert’s copy of his birth certificate to Wooster’s Daily Record the day after he’d been shot and killed. Harry Sweeney hadn’t bothered to check the Canadian postmark on the anonymous envelope. If he had, he could’ve made the story that much more intriguing, but Harry could be careless like that. That was one of the reasons he hadn’t been promoted to editor.

Flora and Gilbert had both kept copies of their birth certificates with them throughout their lives, as their mother had insisted upon it. She had been certain that having that information would be important and useful to them one day. Gilbert had harbored more anger toward their biological father, but Flora’s anger toward him might have just been dormant. It came exploding to the surface when she heard about Gilbert being shot. The news reaching her over the police radio Bill had rigged up in the attic of the house. J. Ellis Reed deserved to face the consequences and be held accountable, something she was sure he had never before had to do in his long, privileged life.

People in Wooster would gossip that the entire criminal caper had been premeditated. They would concoct wild speculative stories about Flora and Gilbert and J. Ellis Reed. That Flora and Gilbert had been plotting their revenge on their birth father since before they even moved to town. Flora would expect nothing less of the good people of Wooster.

From what her mother had told her, Ellis had promised to marry her, and insisted that race didn’t matter. But then he had gone running back to Wooster “like a yellow-bellied river rat,” when push came to shove. That was also how her mother had described giving birth to twins, “Push coming to shove,” and then she’d laughed, and said, “Flora, you were pushing your brother before you could even breathe for yourself.”

Isabelle Jacobs had too much pride to go chasing after a man who ran from her, and too much sense to love a coward. The attending nurse in the Colored Wing at the hospital offered her counsel when it came time to fill in the details of the twins’ birth certificates. Isabelle had told Nurse Tucker about Ellis.

“Would you like your son to have his name?” Nurse Tucker asked, her stiff blond curls springing wildly from beneath her starched cap. “I’ve seen this a lot in my time here, and women like to make sure the father knows that child belongs to him.”

“No,” Isabelle responded. “That man was a disappointment. A foolish mistake. The boy will be Gilbert, after my brother. And Ogden, for my stepfather.”

“All right, then,” Nurse Tucker said. “Let’s make sure I’m getting the spelling correct.” She held the form out in front of Isabelle.