“Had your father died-” Bertha choked on a sob and hid her face in her hands. I put my hand on her shoulder.

“It’s all right, Bertha,” I said. “I don’t blame you.”

She looked at me through a veil of tears. “Oh, but I blame myself. I can never forgive myself for my insufferable stupidity. Your father being hurt is my doing, not John Pete’s. My daughter being kidnapped is my fault, too. I swear I could kill that man!”

“So John Pete is his brother? I thought my dad ran away from his family.”

“And John Pete followed suit not long after. He always admired your pa. Wanted to be just like his older brother. They were thick as thieves – pardon the pun, but there it is – before they had their falling out.”

“Dad told me it was because of my mother.”

“Aye, John Pete fancied her for himself. But she chose your father instead, and the two brothers didn’t speak to each other for years. I met John Pete again in Barbados about six months ago. He’d said he wanted to make amends with your father. I should have known…”