That night, Jonathan stormed into his father’s study. “You have another son. Mother tried to have him killed.”
Henry erupted with fury. Ruth was dragged into the courtyard. Kneeling before the colonel, she lifted her eyes.
“Yes, I hid him,” she said. “Because your wife ordered me to kill him, and I couldn’t.”
May be an image of child
Henry dropped the whip. “Bring me the boy.”
When Daniel was brought forward, Henry saw his own features reflected in the child’s face. His son. His blood.
“This child is a Whitmore,” he declared. “And blood is not hidden.” He turned to Ruth. “You saved my son. You and your daughter are free.”
Mary ran to her mother, sobbing.
Daniel was brought into the house. “You are my son,” Henry told him. “You are no less than anyone.”
Daniel grew up alongside his brothers, educated and acknowledged, yet never forgetting the cabin in the woods. Ruth and Mary lived nearby, free at last.
