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of his babies, the man whose house he used to egg on Halloween night and laugh about later on with Peter.
    â€œI know,” Doctor Nelson answered and stirred his tea in the herringbone china cup, his pinky extended and crooked gracefully. “How do you think I felt, falling in love with Sheila’s mother, Jane, with no background, family, or money, living in post-war London?” He laughed. “I knew I’d have to leave home too. So I worked hard. I had one shot at rising up, and I went for it, took the scholarship to Oxford and went for gold.”
    â€œIt worked out? I mean, of course —”
    â€œWell, yes and no. I won the woman I loved, that’s for sure. A brat like Jane wouldn’t have married a commoner like me otherwise. Don’t get me wrong,” he said and slurpped his tea loudly, “she loved me the minute we met. I was serving hors d’oeurves at one of her mother’s arts philanthropy parties. I told her I was going to marry her and that I was going to be a doctor like her father.”
    â€œDo you enjoy medicine?”
    â€œI don’t love it, but it comes fairly easy to me, and it serves society, so I did what I thought was best, knowing full well it would take me to different parts of the world, far from home in London. Jane knew that too, but she accepted it.”
    â€œDid you ever want to go home?”
    â€œYes, of course. But I chose to support my wife and family, and I was rewarded, and I’m not talking about the contents of my over-stuffed house, or the frames on my wall declaring to the world my worth. I’m talking about spending my life with my wife and child. I wouldn’t have changed that for anything.”
    Jack finished his tea. He rubbed his palms on his thighs, jiggled his feet, and sat with arms clamped under his armpits. As Doctor Nelson talked about the miners’ strikes in England and Thatcher’s latest response, Jack silently decided he would prove to Angela that he could take care of her. He wanted to be like Doctor Nelson. He wanted to spend the best years of his life with his wife and children, even though he’d be far from home, far from his mother and father, and all of the comforts of being established in a community that knew and loved him for who he was.

Chapter Four
    I t rained the morning Jack and Angela loaded up the car to catch the ferry in Channel-Port aux Basques. Jack at the wheel, nervous in the fog, watched for the mud brown of the moose’s hide, prone to charging, plowing vehicles of all weights and sizes off the road under the girth of its weight.
    He thought of his brother Bill, driving to town with Rose, barely ten minutes out of Brighton when a moose charged past the front of the car, smashing the windshield to bits. Bill had clamped his hand on the horn and driven back to their father’s house, Rose immobile, shattered glass over her face and thighs, her legs trembling with fright. The horn sounded sharper in the panic, neighbours clamouring to get a look out their windows, tired miners just finishing their night shifts hauling curtains closed, angry at the bleating horn.
    When they’d pulled in the driveway, Jack had been the first out the door, steadying Rose on his shoulder, shaking and pale, her legs rubbery as a vinegary bone from the shock.
    Now on the road to Port aux Basques to catch the ferry, Angela said, “We’re well past dawn, honey,” and offered Jack a can of cola. She knew he was worried about hitting a moose. But she also knew there was little chance of the animals being on the highway at this hour, even during a foggy fall morning.
    â€œWe’ll be in Port aux Basques before dusk,” she said.
    Besides which, she felt blessed and protected. She had driven to St. John’s when she was pregnant with Katie, and it had been nothing short of a miracle. She’d gone with her mother to shop for baby things. Angela already four months along