A Mom For His Daughter. Jean C. Gordon

except go back to her empty apartment and Mairi’s letter.

      He lifted one of the smaller boxes and passed it to Fiona. Her hand brushed his as she took it from him. The warmth of the contact left an imprint on her in the cold evening air.

      “Go ahead and take your box inside,” he said before reaching for another one. “If we alternate, we won’t be bumping into each other.”

      “Good idea.” She gripped the box tighter and headed back to the hall. Had he felt something, too, when their hands had brushed? She glanced over her shoulder. He’d stacked two boxes to carry in, confirming her thought that he wanted to be done.

      “Only two left,” Fiona said a few minutes later, placing a box on the table next to the two Marc had brought in.

      “I’ll get them,” he said.

      “And I’ll come and close the hatch.”

      He opened the outside door, and she brushed by him.

      “About the Farm Co-op meeting I mentioned. You might want to come and meet some of your potential food suppliers. I can tell you about it while we walk. I understand if you’re in a hurry to get your daughter home.” Fiona paused. “I saw her come in with you. She’s a cutie.”

      “I have time,” he said.

      “She must take after her mother, the red hair.” Fiona absently touched her own hair, then jerked her hand away. Why was she going on about his daughter and not the meeting? Because all she could think about was her unanswered questions about her sister and her niece.

      His eyes narrowed. “I can’t really say. She’s adopted.”

      Fiona stumbled, catching herself on the back of the car they were passing. Stella was adopted? Her heart leaped to her throat. From what she’d found out about Precious in His Sight, although the adoption agency was based near here in Glens Falls, it served Christian families throughout New York state.

      Fiona pressed her palm to her throat as the realization hit her. Stella could be her niece.

       Chapter Two

      The north wind blew the icy snow in Fiona’s face as she dashed from her car to the Ticonderoga Birthing Center. She was here in search of answers to questions about her sister. She hadn’t gotten any answers about Stella last night. Before Fiona had been able to form coherent words to ask Marc about the little girl’s adoption, a teen had come racing out to the parking lot to get him because Stella was crying and wouldn’t stop. And the callback Fiona had received this morning to the voice mail she’d left with Precious in His Sight yesterday was what she’d expected. The adoption records for Mairi’s daughter were sealed.

      Maybe she’d learn something about Mairi today from the birthing center’s midwife, Autumn Hanlon, or her ob-gyn husband, Jon. They apparently were the only game in town when it came to delivering babies. The next closest facility was in Vermont, and there were two others, each an hour away, in Saranac Lake and Glens Falls. But Mairi’s baby’s birth certificate said the Town of Ticonderoga.

      Fiona stomped the snow off her boots on the entryway mat. But what if Mairi had given birth by herself? She shuddered at the thought of her little sister giving birth all alone in the remote cabin where her body had been found. And her date of death was almost four weeks after the baby’s birth date.

      She removed her hat and gloves. Where had Mairi and the baby been during that time? Mairi had rented the cabin the day before her death, alone as far as the police could tell, giving a false name and paying cash for her stay. Of course, Mairi had known all about flying under the radar from their mother.

      Fiona crossed the entryway and pulled open the glass door to the center at exactly two o’clock, fifteen minutes ahead of her appointment time. When she’d called the birthing center yesterday afternoon, she’d been thankful Autumn had a cancellation in her schedule and an appointment had been available today. Learning anything about Mairi, what she’d gone through, what she could have been thinking, would help Fiona fill the void inside her.

      She walked to the reception window. “Fiona Bryce. I have an appointment to see Autumn Hanlon at two fifteen.”

      The appointment clerk pressed a key on her computer and handed Fiona some forms. While she waited to be called, Fiona sat in the waiting area, tapping the clipboard with the uncompleted forms against her leg and thinking about Stella and Marc. Marc Delacroix was an attractive, interesting man. An attractive, interesting man who was a business associate and could be her niece’s adoptive father.

      “Fiona Bryce.”

      Fiona gripped the clipboard, rose and followed the nurse to the exam room. A few minutes later, the midwife knocked on the door and stepped into the room.

      “Hi, I’m Autumn Hanlon.”

      “Hi,” Fiona answered, pressing her hand to her stomach to stop the sudden flutter of guilt about approaching the woman under the guise of being a patient.

      Autumn glanced at the clipboard with the blank forms and frowned. “What brings you in?”

      Fiona cleared her throat. “I’m looking for information. I believe you or your husband delivered my sister, well, half-sister’s baby. Her name was Mairi Collins.”

      “I can’t give you any information without your sister’s permission. HIPPA regulation,” Autumn said.

      Fiona blinked. “I know the HIPPA rules. But Mairi is dead.” Fiona took a certified copy of her sister’s death certificate and two other documents out of her bag and handed them to Autumn. “I was the executor of her estate and had her medical power of attorney.”

      “I’m sorry to hear about your sister.” Autumn glanced at the papers. “I remember her. We don’t have that many births a year, and she was unusual in that she’d gotten her prenatal care elsewhere.”

      “Thank you,” Fiona said. “She OD’d at a summer cabin not too far from here.”

      Autumn’s eyes widened. “That was your sister? The local news gave a different name.”

      “She used a fake name. It took the police a while to actually ID her and contact me.”

      “Again, I’m so sorry.” Autumn examined the document Fiona had given her. “Yes, I helped your sister birth her daughter.” The midwife looked as if she wanted to bite her tongue.

      “I know it was a baby girl. Her original birth certificate recently came into my possession. That’s how I learned the baby was born in Ticonderoga and deduced she was probably born here.”

      Autumn nodded.

      Fiona squeezed her hands in her lap. “Were there any signs of drug use, that my sister was shooting heroine?”

      “No. The baby was born healthy, and your sister tested negative.”

      “About the baby. Mairi gave her up for adoption?”

      “Yes, but not right away.” Autumn hesitated. “About a month after the birth, your sister returned with the baby and said she wanted to give her up for adoption. I talked with her for quite a while. From her demeanor and things she said, I suspected postpartum depression. I suggested an overnight admission so we could observe her and she could be sure adoption was what she wanted to do. Your sister was adamant about not staying. She started to fill out the papers, signed them and excused herself to use the restroom. She never returned. We released the baby to the adoption agency she’d chosen.”

      “Precious in His Sight,” Fiona said.

      Autumn tilted her head in question.

      “That information was with the birth certificate. Do you think Mairi could have committed suicide because of the postpartum depression?” Fiona stared at her hands. “Our mother was an addict. Overdoses were something we were both familiar