“You are allowed to be angry, Samuel. You are allowed to grieve for the years you lost. But don't let the people who lied to you decide what kind of husband or father you become.”
He looked at her for a long time.
Then he bent and pressed his forehead against their joined hands.
For the first time since she had told him she was pregnant, he allowed himself to consider the possibility that the child might truly be his.
The thought frightened him.
It also filled him with a hope so powerful that he could barely breathe.
The following morning, Samuel rode to town.
Anna wanted to accompany him, but he insisted she remain at the ranch until he had spoken with Dr. Harris. The journey would take several hours, and the roads were still muddy from the recent thaw.
Before leaving, he placed the original medical notes inside a leather folder and tucked it beneath his coat.
He also took the bank draft.
He did not take the letter from Dr. Lang.
That document was too important to risk losing on the road.
The town of Alder Creek was beginning to wake when Samuel arrived. Wagons stood outside the general store, smoke rose from the chimneys, and a delivery boy was sweeping mud from the steps of the post office.
Dr. Harris’s office stood beside the apothecary, a narrow building with two front windows and a faded sign.
Samuel tied his horse and entered.
The waiting room was empty.
Behind the desk, a young assistant looked up.
“Good morning, Mr. Whitaker.”
“Is Dr. Harris available?”
The assistant hesitated.
“He's resting.”
“I need to speak with him.”
“I was told not to disturb him.”
Samuel placed the leather folder on the desk.
“Then tell him I have the documents he has been waiting fourteen years to see.”
The assistant's expression changed.
She disappeared through the back door.
A minute later, Dr. Harris emerged.
He looked older than Samuel remembered. His shoulders had narrowed, and his hair had turned almost entirely white. A walking stick rested in his right hand.
But his eyes were clear.
“Samuel,” he said.
“Doctor.”
Harris glanced at the folder.
“You read the letter.”
“I did.”
“Then you know I should have spoken sooner.”
“Yes.”
The old doctor lowered his gaze.
Samuel had come prepared to shout. He had imagined demanding explanations, accusing Harris of cowardice, and forcing him to answer every question he had avoided for years.
Instead, he found himself standing before an old man who looked as though he had spent too long carrying a burden he had never learned how to put down.
“Tell me everything,” Samuel said.
Harris nodded.
“Come into my office.”