Glass

A month and a half had passed relatively peacefully aboard the Rosalie now that it was finally back at sea. Summer would soon be upon them, but for now the days were pleasantly cool and while they were safe in the Mediterranean, the women had enjoyed the pleasant weather on the main deck. Helene continued her studies and Rosalie played with her growing son and mended in the warmth of the sun.

Liam had not been too terrible about treating his wife as though she might break if he touched her, but it was clear the memory of his sister’s miscarriage was fresh in his mind. It did not seem to matter that baby Patrick was a fierce little fellow, and more mischievous by the day; only that his wife might suffer the same way her sister had.

He spent most of his days below, out of their way. Helene had not had to endure too much mollycoddling. Not yet.

“There’s been a letter from Maman,” Rosalie was saying, wrestling his father’s shirt out of Patrick’s tiny fingers. He protested in his half-intelligible language, one that seemed half-French and half-Gaelic, but she tutted until he let go.