Dr. Henshaw glanced at the baby cooing contentedly, then his gaze grew serious. “If I had no other obligations, I’d consider marrying you so you could adopt Abigail, but right now that’s not an option.” He gave a rueful shrug. “I don’t know if Ruth told you, but I’ve been raising my younger brother ever since our parents died.”
“She did mention that. I’m so sorry about your parents.” Why had she never bothered to ask about his personal life? He seemed so polished, so confident. Yet he’d experienced tragedy too.
“Thank you. Unfortunately, my brother’s been having a hard time coping, and it wouldn’t be fair to add any more upheaval to his life.”
“Of course not. It’s kind of you to even suggest it, Dr. Henshaw, but I could never let you do that.”
He smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Don’t you think it’s time you called me Mark? At least in private? I think of you as a friend, not merely a patient or colleague.”
She gave a small laugh. “Very well. Thank you, Mark.”
“I’ll continue to ask God to provide Abigail with a good home,” he said. “I have to believe that no matter what happens, it will be in her best interest.”
“I pray you’re right.” She looked down at the tiny being, so helpless and vulnerable. “I’d do anything to protect her. Anything to have the privilege of being her mother.”
“I know you would.” Mark snapped his bag closed. “It’s not much, but I’ll do what I can to stall Mrs. Linder and give you a little more time before you have to say good-bye.”
A lump of emotion lodged in her throat, and all she could do was nod.
Mark paused to pat her shoulder before he let himself out of the nursery.
Unable to sleep, Darius sat in his mother’s dark kitchen, his head in his hands. A ribbon of moonlight shone from the window over the sink, providing the only illumination in the room. He’d come down from his overly warm bedroom, but the change in scenery had done nothing to ease the torturous thoughts plaguing him. Thoughts of Olivia and her shocking past.
He still couldn’t fathom that she’d been pregnant and had a child. And been disowned by her family because of it. Her fiancé, presumably the child’s father, had gone off to war and been killed. How utterly pathetic was he that a stab of jealousy pierced him every time he thought about this phantom person? This man whom Olivia had loved enough to conceive a child with? Was she still in love with him? Still grieving his memory?
Which brought up another even more unsettling question. What, if anything, did she feel for Darius?
Not that he should even care about that right now, because he couldn’t get past his anger at her hiding such an enormous secret from him. Which he realized was totally hypocritical since he had kept his engagement from her.
Once again, his thoughts circled back around in a never-ending loop.
Frustration, disillusionment, and self-recrimination balled up into one hot tangle in his chest. He folded his arms on the table, laid his head down, and let the tears fall.
Lord, I have become a selfish, judgmental person and a poor excuse for a Christian. Even though I don’t deserve it, I’m asking for your grace. Help me rise above my pettiness and my own flaws and find a way to forgive Olivia.
The light over the sink blinked on.
“Darius. Why do you sit in the dark?” His father’s voice echoed in the room.
Darius swiped a hand across his damp face. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“So you lay on the kitchen table?” His father’s dark hair stood on end, while his favorite striped bathrobe hung open over an undershirt and pajama pants.
“I just put my head down for a minute.” Darius pushed up from the chair. “What are you doing up at this hour?”
Papá shrugged. “A little indigestion. I drink some milk and it will go away.” He opened the icebox. “You want a glass? It can help you sleep too.”
Darius hesitated. How long had it been since he and his father had shared a simple drink? Too long. “Sure. It couldn’t hurt.”
Minutes later, they sat together at the table, sipping the milk.
After Papá drained the glass and set it down with a thunk, he looked over at Darius. “Your mother worries about you. She thinks you have problems you’re not telling us about.”
Darius resisted the immediate urge to deny the claim and considered the benefit of confession instead. Who better to tell than his father? At the very least, he’d get an honest, albeit blunt, opinion. “It’s true. I do have a few problems weighing on me.”
“Is this about that girl you were going to marry? Because Mamá says she wasn’t good for you. That you don’t love her like a husband should.”
His mother’s astuteness never ceased to amaze him. “She’s right. But it’s not about Meredith.”
“Then what is wrong?”
Darius drew in a breath. “I . . . I’ve recently met another woman. One I thought to be kind, generous, and self-sacrificing. But today I found out that she’s been hiding an unsavory past. And I don’t know what to do about it.” He stared at the tablecloth, unable to bear the pity in his father’s eyes. “I know I should forgive her. But there’s something lodged here”—he pressed a hand to his chest—“that can’t let it go.”
He waited for his father’s words of admonition, citing the Lord’s teachings on forgiveness.
Instead, a warm hand landed on Darius’s back. “Everyone does things they regret at one time or another. I’m sure you have too.”
“More times than I care to admit.”
“And the people you hurt, they have forgiven you, yes?”
He thought about the many times Selene had excused him for not being the best husband. For putting his career above her. “Yes.”
“Did they do it right away? The moment you hurt them?”
“Not always. Sometimes Selene would make me suffer for a day or two before she forgave me.”
His father chuckled. “That is the way with all wives, I think. Your mamá does the same to me.”
Darius straightened on his chair. “You think I’ll be able to get past this in time? Is that what you’re saying?”
One thick brow rose. “Time is the gift God has given us. It gives us perspective. Allows our emotions to settle and tempers to cool.” He pointed at Darius. “Give yourself this gift. In a few days, you might feel very different.”
“What if I don’t? What if I can’t accept it?”
“Then perhaps she’s not the woman for you.” Papá squeezed his shoulder. “You are a good man, my son. I know you will do the right thing. For the woman and for you.”
The warmth in his father’s voice made Darius’s throat close up. “Maybe once I find out why she kept these secrets, I’ll understand better.”
“That sounds like a good place to start.” Papá nodded. “And you should keep praying. Pray for God to take away the anger and the hurt. To give you understanding and wisdom.”
Darius looked down at his father’s forearms resting on the table. Strong, muscular arms covered by dark hair, tapering down to thick fingers with the perpetual hint of black around his nail beds. Those hands represented good, honest labor. Hard work for the money he earned. Why had Darius ever been ashamed of them?
“The milk has done its job.” Papá patted his stomach as he pushed the chair away from the table, the metal legs scraping the linoleum. “Good night, Darius. I hope you sleep better now.” He headed toward the door.
“Papá, wait a minute. I owe you an apology.”
“Me? What for?”
Darius slowly rose. “I was wrong to deny our Greek heritage. I should be proud of it. We have nothing to be ashamed of.”
His father studied him, nodding. “I know it’s terrible, what happened to Selene and her parents. No one deserves to die like that.” He swallowed hard before continuing. “But it’s good that you finally see it’s not the answer to hide who you are. You can be Canadian, but at the root of it all, you’re Greek.�
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Darius considered his words. “I still want to send Sofia to a Canadian school, but I promise she’ll take Greek classes on the weekend.”
His father nodded again, a gleam of approval in his eyes. “You are a good son, Darius. Theós na se evlogeí.”
Darius’s chest tightened as he pulled his father into a hug. “God bless you too, Papá. And thanks for the talk.”
28
Olivia awoke the next day filled with new determination. If she had any hope of keeping Abigail, desperate measures needed to be taken. Mark’s words yesterday had inadvertently given her an idea, a potential way to be able to adopt the girl, and though it seemed farfetched, she had to at least try.
She carried Abigail downstairs and moved the bassinet from the parlor to the dining room, intending to have a quick bite to eat before putting her plan into action.
The main floor was oddly quiet at this early hour. Only Mrs. Neale seemed to be up and about, with a big pot of porridge ready on the stove. Olivia took her breakfast into the deserted dining room and sat, enjoying the solitude.
She was just finishing her coffee when the doorbell rang. Trepidation beat in her throat, and she prayed it wasn’t Mrs. Linder to take Abigail. Olivia would never be ready for that.
Instead, Mark Henshaw stood on the front porch, looking freshly groomed in a tweed jacket, his brown hair neatly combed. “Good morning, Olivia. May I come in?” He gave her an uncertain smile.
The coffee in her stomach churned. What would bring him by again so soon? “Certainly. Come into the dining room.” She led him inside and sat down. Even though it was summer, a morning chill hovered in this room where the sun never reached to warm it. “Would you like some coffee?”
“No, thank you. I can’t stay long.” Mark took a seat across from her. “I wanted to talk to you before my shift at the hospital.” The somber tone of his voice told Olivia this would not be good news. “I heard from Jane Linder late yesterday. I had to report that we had no new information about Mary. No one has come forward to say they are looking for her, and we haven’t been able to identify any relatives. Which means . . .”
Olivia’s spirits sank. “They’ll be coming for Abigail soon.”
“Likely today or tomorrow, depending on how long the paperwork takes.” He gave a sympathetic shrug. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stall her longer.”
She shook her head. “It’s not your fault. I knew this would happen sooner or later.”
Several sets of feet thumped down the stairs, accompanied by a chorus of female chatter. At almost the same time, Abigail gave a loud squawk.
“I’d best be getting to the hospital,” Mark said as he rose.
Olivia stood as well and lifted the baby from the bassinet. “Thank you for coming by. I appreciate you letting me know.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll see you later in the week for the residents’ checkups, if not before.” He gave her a quick smile, then moved into the corridor, greeting Patricia, Nancy, and Cherise as he went.
Olivia escorted him out and stood on the porch, wishing she could appreciate the beautiful day that was dawning. But a storm might as well be brewing, because by all accounts, Mrs. Linder could show up at any moment to take Abigail. On a sigh, Olivia closed her eyes and kissed the baby’s soft head, firming her determination to find a solution.
If she had any chance at all of keeping this sweet girl, she needed to put her plan into motion now.
Darius had considered going over to confront Olivia before coming into the office that morning but had just as quickly rejected the idea. As his father had said last night, Darius needed time to process everything before he saw her again. Time to have his emotions under control in order to be more objective. Perhaps in a day or two, he’d feel able to do just that.
Yet as the morning waned, he found he wasn’t able to concentrate on work, his mind continually drifting from Olivia to Meredith. In the end, praying for them both was the only thing that eased his worries.
When someone knocked on his door, he actually welcomed the interruption from the thoughts that kept circling in his brain. “Come in.”
The door opened hesitantly, and Olivia stepped inside. “Hello, Darius.”
A thousand emotions surged through his chest all at once, making it difficult to breathe. He jerked to his feet. “Olivia. What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you—if you have a few minutes.” She was wearing a dress he’d never seen before. It was blue with yellow and white flowers, paired with a yellow cardigan to match. She looked even prettier today if possible, her hair neatly rolled in the latest style, her lips painted a pale shade of pink. Was this for him, or was she on her way somewhere else?
“I’m free for the moment. Have a seat.” He glanced into the outer work area, where his office mates strained to catch a glimpse of what was going on, then firmly closed his door before resuming his seat.
He wasn’t prepared for this meeting. Hadn’t determined what he’d say when he saw her again. Now he’d be forced to act purely on instinct. “What can I do for you?” he asked in a level voice.
“I . . . I’m not sure how to begin.” Olivia seemed anxious, clutching her handbag and biting her bottom lip.
Alarm snaked through his system. “Is something wrong?”
“Yes. I mean, no. That is . . .” She pressed her lips together, then huffed out a loud breath. “I have a proposition to make.”
He schooled his features to keep his surprise from showing. Was this something to do with the property? Or could it be more personal? His conflicting emotions waged a battle within him, but he squared his shoulders. She’d done him a favor by talking to Meredith. He could at least hear her out. “What sort of proposition would that be?”
“A type of merger, you might say.” She leaned forward on her chair. “I know you were recently planning to marry Meredith. I was wondering if—” she drew in a breath—“if you’d consider marrying me instead.”
Darius simply stared, certain he hadn’t heard her right. Had she just asked him to marry her?
“You said you need a mother for Sofia,” she rushed on, “and I need a husband in order to adopt Abigail. It would be an advantageous match for both of us. I promise to be a good mother to your daughter and do my best to be a good wife to you as well.” Her brown eyes swam with a mixture of hope and what looked like terror.
Terror that he would say yes or that he’d turn her down?
Darius dragged a hand over his jaw, then got to his feet and walked unsteadily to the window, his heart beating too loudly in his chest. For a few seconds, he simply stared out at the buildings in the distance.
How did he begin to process this? If she’d asked him before he’d learned about her past, his answer might have been very different. But now, all he could think about was her lack of faith in him. Everything he knew about her had been thrown into question, leaving him confused and unsure if he could trust himself. More importantly, he had Sofia’s best interest to consider.
When at last he turned to face her, he kept his expression as neutral as possible. “Do you remember why I wouldn’t marry Meredith? Because she’d deceived me about her pregnancy?” He pinned her with a hard stare. “It turns out you haven’t exactly been honest with me either.”
The blood drained from her cheeks, and she closed her eyes. “Meredith told you,” she said flatly.
“She assumed I already knew.” He paced behind his chair, tension twisting his insides. “I don’t understand, Olivia. After all the conversations we’ve had, why did you never tell me you’d had a child? That you were once one of those women in trouble, which was your real reason for opening Bennington Place?” Despite his best effort, hurt and anger laced his voice.
When she opened her eyes, misery swirled in her gaze. “I . . . I was ashamed. Afraid I’d lose your respect. And your friendship.”
“You must have told some people. Like Ruth.” He stiffened. “And probably the doctor. Why was
I so different?” He hated the petulant tone to his voice but couldn’t seem to prevent it.
Olivia stared at her lap. “Ruth knows my story, or most of it. As for Dr. Henshaw, he figured out a large part of it on his own after he treated me when I was ill. But I never told him or Ruth the full extent of what I went through. I’ve never told anyone that.” Her lips quivered as she got to her feet, looking ready to bolt.
He moved toward her, needing more answers before he let her go. “Your fiancé, the one who died in the war. Was he the father of your child?”
She nodded. “He’d already left for duty when I found out I was expecting.”
Tension seized his muscles. What type of cad made love to his fiancée and then left her to face the consequences of their actions while he went off to war? Darius couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been for Olivia to break the news to her parents. “Meredith said your family disowned you. Did you have the baby in a maternity home?”
“No.” A stricken expression crossed her face. “I didn’t have that option because . . .” She bit her lip. “Because my father had me arrested.”
“Arrested?” Disbelief roiled in his gut. “What on earth for?”
Her gaze remained fused to the floor. “There’s a little-known law where a woman can be charged with being incorrigible if she’s pregnant, unmarried, and under twenty-one. The authorities had no choice but to incarcerate me.”
“He had you put in jail?” Darius’s mouth fell open before he clamped his jaw shut. He must look like a fish the way his mouth kept gaping open.
Olivia nodded. “I was sent to the Mercer Reformatory for Women.”
Darius scrubbed a hand over his eyes. How could a father treat a daughter so cruelly? Nothing could make him betray Sofia that way—ever.
“Did you give birth in jail, then?”
“No. When I went into labor, they took me to the hospital.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “I got to hold my son for about five minutes before the woman from Children’s Aid took him away.” Moisture glinted in her eyes, and she blinked hard several times.
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