So many images rampaged through Emma’s mind, the strongest and most painful being that of a cobbled street outside a prison. And of a girl-child, newborn and abandoned to the gutter. ‘Oh, Molly! Can I really believe you’re home with me now?’ she cried brokenly. Through her tears, Emma saw that Molly also was crying. Taking a hesitant step forward, she stretched out her arms, unable to speak for the strength of emotion that overwhelmed her. Without a word, Molly fell into her mother’s loving embrace. Together, in a silence that bound them like no words could, the two of them went at a gentle pace to where Marlow, Mick and the children had waited, and had witnessed the tender scene with full hearts. There was so much to talk about. So many memories to relive, and so many more to make.

Now, as the children surged forward to take their place with their mammy and their grandmother, Marlow took out his handkerchief and surreptitiously dabbed at his eyes. His voice was shaking as he told Mick, ‘I’m a fortunate man, Mick Darcy… a very fortunate man.’

‘No more than meself,’ Mick replied, ‘for I have the love of my Molly at long last.’

Emma stole a moment to go to her father’s resting-place. Here, she whispered of her love for him, telling him with glad heart, ‘It’s all over, Papa. We must forget the heartaches now, and learn to live again with hope for the future.’ She paused for a moment, remembering the man her father was. He had always been her strength. Her example. ‘I love you,’ she murmured, momentarily closing her eyes and bathing her mind with fond memories of him. How he would have loved Molly and the children, she thought. And now he could rest in peace because at long last, her life was fulfilled. Over the coming years she would tell his granddaughter and great-grandchildren all about him. Thadius Grady was a special man, a man they could be proud of.

The horse-drawn ensemble travelled slowly down the winding lane that passed the churchyard. From the carriage, Martha saw how proudly Marlow stood beside his grandchildren, and how occasionally he glanced lovingly towards Molly, who was safely enfolded in Mick’s strong embrace.

In the foreground was Emma, bent over her father’s tombstone, her handsome face so peaceful, so very proud. Fleetingly Emma saw Martha, and her smile was warm and genuine. Emma bore no grudges. She believed that Martha had suffered enough. They had all suffered enough.

Martha, too, was of the same mind. She returned Emma’s smile, and settled back in the seat beside her son Edward, the awful truth kept hidden in her heart. What her father had told her must remain her secret forever.

Martha realized with shame how, many years ago, she would have enjoyed inflicting a degree of pain on Emma. But not now. Not after all that had happened. The resentment was all a long time ago – to do with hate and love and passion.