After hours of walking, she reached the forest’s edge, where an abandoned overseer’s cabin stood hidden among the trees. Ruth knelt, placed the baby on an old blanket, and wept. “You deserved better, my son,” she whispered, using a word she was never meant to claim.
At dawn, as Ruth returned, she heard horses approaching. Her heart froze. Colonel Whitmore had arrived early. “Where is my wife? Were the children born?” he shouted.
He ran upstairs and collided with Mrs. Price. “How many?” he demanded.
“Three, Colonel. Three boys,” she replied without thinking.
“Three heirs,” he exclaimed.
But inside the bedroom, Amelia held only two infants. Pale and trembling, she whispered, “There were three… but the smallest didn’t survive. He couldn’t breathe. God took him back. The body has already been buried.”
Henry’s smile faded. “He died?” he murmured. Amelia nodded, tears spilling. After a moment, he crossed himself. “The Lord gives, the Lord takes away. These two will live. Jonathan and Benjamin, my sons.”
Hidden nearby, Ruth heard everything. The child she had left behind no longer existed. He was a ghost.