Sweet Sanctuary (4 page)

Micah couldn't refute that—Nicky was a very likable little boy. But he wouldn't validate what Allan Eldredge had done. “It was wrong of him to bring me here, Lydia. It was deceptive, and it only served to create another problem.”

Tears trembled on Lydia's eyelashes. “Micah, what you have to understand is we've lived in fear for the past three years that somehow Nicky would be taken from us. Father should not
have dragged you into this, but his having done so only proves to me how frightened and desperate he is. He loves Nicky as his grandson. He can't bear to think of losing him. Neither can I.” Her voice broke.

Instinctively Micah reached for Lydia's hand. He linked fingers with her, offering comfort. “I understand your fear and worry. But, Lydia, you can't continue to mislead everyone.” Micah shifted slightly on the seat, his knee bumping against hers. “If nothing else, Nicky deserves to know the truth. Do you ever plan to tell him about Eleanor and the sacrifice she made to bring him into the world? And you're going to need help from legal authorities if you're going to protect Nicky from his father. You've got to go to the police if this man is making threats.”

“I can't!” Lydia yanked her hand free. “Don't you understand? The courts will take Nicky from me if we admit I'm not his mother. I won't risk losing him.”

“But all of this will eventually unravel, and you could end up losing him because of your deception.”

Lydia ran both hands through her hair, then held the strands, her elbows splayed outward. “No one can find out Nicky isn't really mine. The only solution is for me to provide a father for Nicky. If I have a legal document—a birth certificate—stating I am Nicky's mother and another man is Nicky's father, then Nic will have no claim to him.” She dropped her arms, clasping her hands together once more. “So I have to do this, Micah. If I don't, Father will never forgive me.” She brought her hands beneath her chin in a prayerful position. “Micah, will you marry me?”

4

H
ave you completely lost your mind?”

Lydia cringed at Micah's incredulous outburst. She'd expected it, but she had to ask the question, nonetheless. She would never forgive herself—and her father would never let her forget it—if she didn't at least ask. She sighed, her chin low. “Yes, I suppose the fear of losing my son has finally driven me over the edge.”

Her quiet admission seemed to remove Micah's indignation. He slumped into the seat, leaning his head back. A long sigh heaved from his chest. “Lydia, I apologize. That was uncalled for. You just took me by surprise there.”

The word “surprise” held his Texas twang, and Lydia smiled, remembering Nicky's imitation of Micah's accent.

“Well, I suppose then we've both gotten a surprise today. You just now, and me when you showed up.” She touched his arm, and he rolled his head sideways, meeting her gaze. “I am truly sorry my father pulled you into this.”

“Aw, it's okay, Lydia. I understand why he did it. Just wish I could really help you.”

Warmth flooded Lydia's frame at his kind acceptance and forgiving attitude. She removed her hand, finally relaxing a bit.
“You are a nice man, Micah. I remember that about you. You were always a nice man.”

Micah chuckled lightly. “Is that why you proposed?”

Lydia laughed, finding sweet release in letting her amusement escape. The teasing also reminded her of the Micah from Schofield. She looked outside, noticing for the first time that night had completely fallen. She'd been so caught up in her tale, she hadn't paid attention to the lateness of the hour. As if on cue, Micah yawned.

Lydia grimaced. “I'm sorry—I know you're tired from your trip. May I offer you our guest room?”

“I got a room at the Parker House. My travel things are there. But thank you for the invitation.”

Lydia started the engine and pushed the button to turn on the headlights. “I'll take you to the hotel.”

“Just head back to your house. I can get a cab.”

“No, it's the least I can do.” She pressed the clutch and shifted into gear, expertly guiding the Hudson down the road. “You know, we could pick up your things at the hotel and cancel your room—get your money back.”

Micah yawned again, shielding his gaping mouth with his palm. “Naw. Actually, I kinda like the idea of sleepin' in a place with some history. The bellman told me John Wilkes Booth stayed there.”

Lydia shook her head, smiling. Micah was something else. But then her thoughts turned serious. Micah had paid for a train ticket at her father's prompting—no, at her father's threat. They should cover Micah's hotel bill. She'd address the situation with Father when she got home. She glanced at Micah. A grin crept up her cheek when she saw he slept with his face turned sideways against the seat and his mouth open.

What a nice man.
What an incredibly nice man . . .

When Lydia arrived home, she let herself in quietly through the back entrance—the servants' entrance, her father called it, although the only servant was a cleaning lady who came once a week to tidy up and do laundry.

The light above the kitchen sink burned, and she pushed the off button, blanketing the room in darkness. She stood in the gray shadows, her mind playing over the suggestion Micah had made before he'd gotten out of the Hudson to enter the hotel. Shame washed over her. Why hadn't she thought of it herself?

She moved to the stairway in the dark, navigating the familiar surroundings easily even without light. Upstairs, she cracked open Nicky's door and peered in, smiling fondly when she spotted his sweet face illuminated by the gentle glow of his nightlight. He lay on his back under a rumple of blankets, his battered teddy bear tucked under his arm. She tiptoed in, then leaned down to kiss his cheek and smooth the dark curls from his forehead. He stirred slightly, and she murmured, “Shhhh.” Instantly he quieted, pulling the bear closer, his eyelids quivering. After giving him one more kiss, she sneaked out, quietly closing the door behind her.

Across the hall, the double doors leading to her parents' suite were closed, but a thin band of light shone from the crack along the floor. She crossed to the doors and knocked lightly. Mother's voice called, “Come in.”

Lydia turned the crystal knob and entered. Both of her parents were awake, the bedside lamps on, books in their hands. Mother turned her book upside down in her lap and worried her lower lip with her teeth. Lydia crossed to the foot of the canopied bed and seated herself near her mother's feet.

“We waited for you,” Father said gruffly. “Will he do it?”

Lydia crossed her arms and raised one eyebrow sardonically. “You mean, will he marry me?”

“That's what I mean.”

“Of course not. Did you really expect him to?”

Father slapped his book closed and plopped it on the marble-topped table next to his side of the bed. “So I brought him here for nothing.” His tone held disgust. “Couldn't you have convinced him? Do you know how hard it was for me to track him down? It's taken weeks. Now it's all lost time.”

Lydia placed her hand on her father's foot. “Father, you can't honestly believe Micah would be willing to marry a woman he doesn't love and assume responsibility for a child who isn't his, just because you want him to.”

Father jerked his foot, his nightcap slipping sideways. “He could do worse. He's a fool not to want Nicky—the boy is already crazy about him. And you love him. What more could he want?”

Heat climbed her cheeks, and she fought the temptation to turn her face away. Instead she raised her chin in a silent challenge. “What makes you think I love Micah?”

Father's neck became mottled with color as Mother sent him a disapproving look. “I have my reasons.”

“Father, you read my diaries, didn't you?” Lydia was careful to keep resentment from her tone. She knew a reasonable front was the best offense with her father.

Father cleared his throat, his thick brows coming together in a fierce scowl. But a hint of embarrassment glittered in his eyes. “How else was I to find a likely prospect? You don't talk to your mother or me. And it was the best solution to keep that . . . that insane Pankin away from Nicky.”

Lydia sighed. “Father, I understand why you did it. Truly, I do. And Micah does, too. But bringing him here . . .” She shook
her head. “We're lucky he's a forgiving man. I think we need to pay for his room at the Parker House and also his train ticket home. He was brought here under false pretenses. You made an unfair accusation, knowing full well it was fabricated.”

Father went on as if she hadn't spoken. “What if you were to quietly marry—not a real marriage, but a marriage in paper only. Long enough to file for Nicky's birth certificate. Then, when the document is in hand, you could quietly divorce. Do you suppose he would be willing to do that much, at least?”

“Oh, Father.” Lydia hung her head. “There's been enough deceit surrounding Nicky. Let's not make it worse.”

Father huffed and thumped the bedcovers. “Well, young woman, do you have a better way of handling this problem?”

Lydia recalled Micah's parting words. Strength filled her frame. She raised her head and met her father's gaze. “Yes, Father. I think we need to pray.”

“Pray?” The word came out like a rifle shot. “What can that possibly do?”

Lydia leaned back, resting her weight on one hand. “Father, when I got the letter from Eleanor, begging for my help, I felt absolutely powerless to help her. I was filled with guilt for having introduced her to Nic, and I was angry that I couldn't repair the damage. I was lucky to have found friends who believed in prayer, who prayed for me even when they didn't know what my problem was. I felt those prayers, and when I acknowledged Jesus as my Savior, I became a child of God.” Lydia watched her parents' faces closely. Mother seemed receptive, as she had been in previous times of discussing spiritual matters, but Father remained dour and doubtful.

Lydia continued. “All the way back from Oahu, every day on the ship, I prayed for a way to help Eleanor. I prayed for Eleanor's baby—for its health and safety—and for it to have
a happy home. Of course, I envisioned the happy home with Eleanor and Nic, but my prayer was answered in a different way. Nicky
was
safe—with the midwife. He
was
born healthy, even though he came too soon and his mother didn't live. And he
has
had a happy home—with us. All of my prayers were answered. And look at how we've been blessed by having him here.” Lydia pressed her hand once more against her father's foot, stressing her point. “Father, I know God heard my prayers. And if we talk to Him now, He'll listen and He'll help us.”

“I've always taken care of things myself,” Father insisted.

“Yes, you have. And I love you for it. But things are falling apart. I can hardly believe we've resorted to accusing the wrong man of fathering a baby and that I had the audacity to suggest marriage to him.”

Her parents exchanged glances, and Lydia was gratified to see contrition pinch her father's face. She continued gravely. “Micah said something tonight that has bothered me for a long time. He asked me if I never planned to tell Nicky about his real mother. Eleanor made such a sacrifice for Nicky—he deserves to know what she did. But if I tell him about his mother, I'll have to tell him about his father. And I don't think I can look into his innocent face and lie to him.” Tears gathered in her eyes, distorting her vision. “I don't want to lie anymore.”

Father, always uncomfortable in the face of emotion, harrumphed. “We should continue this discussion tomorrow, when you aren't tired.”

“I'm not tired, Father, I'm upset. And guilty. And confused.” Lydia squeezed her father's foot. “You said I never talk to you, but when I try to talk to you about what's important, you turn me away. We need to talk about this now.”

“Later, Lydia.” Father reached over and turned the key to extinguish his lamp. “Tomorrow morning I'll make arrangements for
the cost of Hatcher's hotel room and I'll contact the train station about billing me for his ticket. Good night.” He rolled over, pulling the cover up to his chin and effectively shutting himself away.

Lydia turned to her mother. Although Mother's face creased with sympathy, she remained silent. Mother would never cross her husband. Lydia stood, her shoulders slumped in defeat, and left the room. In her own bedroom—her place of solitude for as long as she could remember, she moved to the window seat looking out over the backyard. She sank onto the pile of pillows and lifted the shade to peer skyward. The lights of the city made it difficult to see stars, but Lydia knew they were there, even if she couldn't see them. She knew God was there, too, even though He held no physical presence.

“God, Micah believes You have the answer to this problem,” she whispered, her voice husky with unshed tears. “I'm afraid. I'm afraid of losing Nicky. I love him so much, God. You have a Son, too, so I know you understand my love for Nicky. I still believe keeping him with me is the best thing for him. You protected him and kept him safe before he was born, and I'm trusting You to keep him safe now. Keep him safe from Nic Pankin. Help us find a way to let Nicky stay with us without this threat hanging over our heads. Please, God.”

Her voice drifted off, but her heart continued begging, crying for comfort and strength. In time she calmed, comforted by her Lord's presence, and she dressed in her nightclothes. But before turning down the covers and slipping between the sheets, she knelt beside her bed and offered one more brief prayer. “God, thank you for Micah's concern and support. He truly is a nice man.”