Sweet Sanctuary (17 page)

His chest gave a painful lurch, but before Micah could fully examine the reason, the clinic door opened, and a woman and two children entered. He bounded around the desk to help them in any way he could. He was needed once more.

20

L
ydia pulled back one curtain just a bit and peeked out in both directions. No sign of Nic Pankin. Relief flooded her frame, followed closely by a rush of frustration. No sign of Micah and Mrs. Fenwick, either. Father's lawyer had paperwork ready to petition the courts to make Nicky's placement with them permanent, but they couldn't proceed without Mrs. Fenwick's testimony. When would the woman finally come and bring an end to this living in concealment? The constant worry ate a hole through her stomach. And the walls were starting to close in on her.

Not once in the past week had she, Mother, or Nicky ventured out of the house. Father crept out the back door, a pistol in his pocket, at the crack of dawn, drove to the factory, and completed whatever work he deemed absolutely necessary, then returned well before lunch. The unfamiliar routine—and the loaded pistol always at the ready—had them all on tenterhooks. They'd taken to snapping at one another, the tension too much to bear.

Fingers descended on Lydia's shoulder, and she released a squawk of surprise. She spun as her mother leaped backward,
her eyes wide. Lydia let out a huge breath of relief. “Goodness, Mother, you scared me out of a year's growth.”

Mother's face creased in remorse. “I didn't intend to startle you. I just wanted to let you know your father took Nicky for a short drive.”

Fear attacked, creating a metallic taste on Lydia's tongue. “Is that wise?”

“I asked the same question, but Allan insisted he'd stay away from the city, where Nic might spot him.” Mother shook her head, a soft smile tipping up the corners of her lips. “Nicky needs to get out, the poor little boy. He's so restless. Allowing him to take a drive with his poppy is the least we could do, since his birthday had to slide by largely unnoticed.”

They'd celebrated Nicky's fourth birthday very quietly two days ago with a cake and a few presents. He had asked to go to the zoo, but they couldn't risk taking him out in public. His acute disappointment had pierced Lydia, and she wished they could explain everything to him in a way he could understand without frightening him. But all they could do was wait and hope to have it all settled without alarming him.

Lydia gave a reluctant nod. “I suppose you're right.”

Mother stepped forward and glanced surreptitiously up and down the street. “We haven't emptied our mailbox all week. Should I go see to it? The street appears very quiet.”

Even considering stepping outside raised a prickle of apprehension after their days behind locked doors and pulled window shades. But the postal deliveryman would begin to worry if they left the items uncollected much longer. Lydia held up her hand. “You stay here and watch. I'll fetch it.”

Her heart pounding like a bass drum in a Sousa march, she cracked the front door and looked left and right. Nothing appeared amiss. She sucked in a breath and raced to the mailbox
at the end of the walk. She turned the key, removed several small envelopes and one large brown packet, then dashed back to the house. After slamming and locking the door, she leaned against the sturdy wood, her chest heaving.

Mother plucked the items from Lydia's hands and riffled through them. Her eyebrows rose when she reached the larger packet. “This is from Micah Hatcher.”

At the mention of Micah's name, Lydia's stomach fluttered. She wanted to snatch the packet back—to examine his penmanship and imagine his blunt-tipped fingers holding a pen—but her trembling hands refused to cooperate. “What is it?”

“Let's go sit down and see.” Mother headed for the kitchen, and Lydia followed. Sliding into a chair, Mother used a butter knife left on the table from breakfast to slit the top of the packet. She spilled the contents onto the table. A bound leather book of some sort, a sealed envelope with the words “Mrs. Fenwick's testimony” printed in block letters on its front, and a folded lined sheet of paper slid across the smooth tabletop.

Lydia reached for the book first. She flipped it open and scanned its entries. She let out a little gasp of surprise. “Mother, look, this is Mrs. Fenwick's records of births for the year 1940.” She leafed forward until she found August. A smile tugged at her lips when she spotted Nicky's. “See? Here's Nicky's birth information. Eleanor's name, the time of birth, and also a record of Eleanor's death.” Her face clouded. “How sad that Nicky won't ever know Eleanor.”

Mother touched Lydia's hand. “He will, darling, through you. You'll tell him someday.”

Lydia nodded, blinking against tears. She would need an extra dose of courage the day she told Nicky she wasn't his real mother. She hoped it wouldn't change his feelings toward her. She fingered the sealed envelope, frowning. “Do you suppose this means Mrs. Fenwick isn't coming?”

Mother shrugged, her narrow shoulders barely lifting. “I . . . I don't know. Does the other paper say anything about her travel plans?”

Lydia picked up the last item and unfolded it. Micah's bold script filled the page. She quickly scanned the letter, her hopes fading with each line of print. She relayed the news to her mother. “Mrs. Fenwick is reluctant to leave New York because she is just beginning to work again, and she's fearful about facing Nic.” The next paragraphs explained Micah's reason for being unable to make the trip, but she shouldn't share the information with anyone. Not even Mother. She remained focused on the section involving Mrs. Fenwick. “So he sent the journal and Mrs. Fenwick's testimony in the hopes it would be enough. He advises us to leave the envelope sealed until it's handed to a judge.”

Although Lydia understood and fully supported Micah's reasons for not coming—of course he'd want to be available to the misplaced Jewish people—she couldn't put aside the immense disappointment of receiving only a letter in place of seeing him. Loneliness for him created a physical ache in the center of her chest.

Mother rested her palms on the table, leaning sideways a bit to peek at the page. “Does he say anything else?”

Lydia quickly folded the sheet. “Nothing important.” Not even anything of a personal nature. The absence of an “I miss you” or “I wish I could come” increased the sharp pain of longing. She pressed the brief missive to her chest and battled tears. “Oh, Mother, I can't wait for Father to get home. We should go to the lawyer's office immediately.”

“And now that we have the journal and signed testimony, we shall, the very moment your father returns.” The sound of a slamming car door carried from outside, and Mother brightened. “That must be your father now.”

“Oh, thank the Lord!” Lydia pushed Micah's letter into her pocket. “Odd that he parked out front, though. I locked the door when I returned with the mail—I'll go let him and Nicky in.” She trotted through the hallway to the vestibule and swung the door open, words of welcome on her lips. “Father, Nicky, guess what came in the—” Her voice stilled, her tongue losing its ability to function. Instead of her father and Nicky on the doorstep, Nic Pankin filled the entrance.

He offered a leering grin. “Well, Lydia Eldredge, lookit you.” His gaze roved slowly from her face to her feet and back again. He let out a low whistle. “Been a long time, hasn't it, honey? But I gotta tell ya, you're pretty as you ever was.”

Her frozen muscles thawed. She grabbed the door to slam it in his face. But he reached out with his one good hand—the hand that was stronger than most men's—and held it open. “Now, now, is that any way to greet a long-lost friend? An' you was askin' a question. ‘Guess what came,' you said. I can answer it—I came!” He laughed, causing Lydia's skin to crawl.

Mother scurried up behind Lydia's shoulder, her face pinched and white. “Nic Pankin, you are not welcome here. I demand that you leave.”

Nic laughed again. “Demand all you want to, lady, but I ain't goin' nowhere. Not 'til I get what I come for. I know he's here.” He barged past the women and into the hallway, peeking first into the sitting room and then the den. “Kid? Where are ya, kid? Come meet your daddy!” His booming voice filled the house. As he called, he ambled toward the kitchen.

He'd made it halfway down the hall before the shock of his arrival faded enough for Lydia to move. She charged directly into his path. Inwardly she quaked in fear, but she forced a fierce scowl on her face and planted her palm on his chest. “He isn't here. He's out.”

Nic lifted his shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. The empty sleeve moving up and down gave Lydia a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Then I guess I'll wait 'til he gets back.”

“You'll do no such thing. You will leave at once or I will call the police!”

Nic leaned on the doorframe leading to the den and looked down at her from his impressive height. A knowing grin creased his face. “Yeah, I think I'd like that, Lydia. Call the police and explain to them why you been keepin' my kid hid away from me all these years. Denyin' a father access to his son. You want to explain it, go right ahead.” He slid an insolent glance into Father's den and bobbed his chin at the telephone on the desk. “There's a phone right there. What's stoppin' ya?”

Micah's voice rang through Lydia's memory—
“In the eyes of the law, what you've done up to this point is kidnap Nicky.”
Even Father's lawyer had intimated the same truth. Lydia couldn't call the police.

Nic laughed again, showing surprisingly white, even teeth. “That's what I thought. Your old man threatened the same thing, but he never lifted a finger to dial. 'Cause you know I'm right.” He jabbed a thumb against his broad chest, his grin taunting her. “'Cause I'm that boy's daddy.”

“You're not!” Mother rushed forward and stopped a few feet from Nic, wringing her hands. “You're not his daddy. A daddy is a man who loves and cares for his child. You've done none of those things!”

Nic pushed off the doorframe, his face blotching scarlet. “I couldn't do none of those things 'cause you had my kid!” He waited until Mother skittered backward a step before nodding, the victory won. “But I aim to change that today. I ain't leavin' this house 'til you've handed over my kid.”

Indignation at Nic's callous way of speaking about Nicky
filled Lydia's middle and spilled from her lips. “Your
kid
has a name.” Nic advanced one step toward her, but she held her ground. “Don't you even care what it is?”

“Yeah.” He stuffed his hand into his pocket and scowled down at Lydia. “What'd Eleanor name him?”

“Eleanor didn't name him. I named him. I named him because Eleanor gave him to me.” Lydia threw her shoulders back, daring Nic to contradict her. “We call him Nicky.”

“Nicky, huh?” Nic popped out his lower lip in contemplation. He nodded. “Named for his papa.”

“No, named for his poppy.” At Nic's puzzled expression, Lydia explained, “That's what he calls his grandfather.”

Nic's thick brows formed a sharp V. “He's never met his grandfather.”

“I'm referring to my father. Nicky knows him as his grandfather.”

“An' I aim to fix that misconception.”

“Nic, please listen.” Lydia heard the pleading in her tone and hated herself for the weakness it showed, but she'd do anything for Nicky. Even get down on her hands and knees and beg if it would convince Nic to leave them alone. “What good will it do to tell Nicky I'm not his mother? He's just a little boy—only four years old. You'll hurt him if you tell him his mother is dead.”

A cunning look crossed Nic's face, sending a chill down Lydia's spine. “Well, I reckon if you want Nicky to go on thinkin' you're his mama, it's all right with me.”

Her heart leaped. “You . . . you mean it?”

“Why, sure. Seems I recall you favored me once.” He removed his hand from his pocket and slowly traced his finger from her temple to her chin and left it there, the pressure possessive. “He could've been yours, I s'pose, had things turned out different. But we could still get married, and that'd make you his mama.”

Revulsion turned her stomach, and Lydia started to lurch away from his touch. But might playing along with him earn his trust? If Nic believed she was willing to go with him, to continue being Nicky's mama, perhaps she could talk him into letting her adopt Nicky. Then, later, she and Nicky could escape him.
Help me, God! Help me know what to do!

She hesitated a moment too long. Mother forced her way between them. “Keep your filthy hands off my daughter. She wants nothing to do with you.”

Nic's lips contorted into a snarl of rage. For a moment Lydia feared he might actually strike Mother, but then he whirled on his heel and marched into the den. He plopped onto the sofa and sat, grinning, his eyelids at half-mast. “You forget somethin', lady.”

Mother slipped her arm around Lydia's waist, and they hovered in the wide doorway, listening.