Love Unexpected

by Jody Hedlund

  Something white lay in the dirt several feet ahead. Once she reached it, she gave a cry of excitement. “This way! He’s gone this way!”

  Carefully she picked up the paper snake she’d made for him. It was wrinkled and damp, but it was definitely Josiah’s and a sign that he’d been here.

  Patrick caught up to her, his breath coming fast. He looked at the crumpled mass of paper. “What is it?”

  “I made it for him this morning.”

  Patrick assessed the length of the trail that disappeared into the woods. “Do you think he went home?”

  “Aye.” Home. The word taunted her, reminding her of all that she’d lost.

  Patrick took off at a sprint down the path, leaping over ruts and rocks. He didn’t stop, not even when the sheriff shouted at him.

  Emma started after Patrick, but couldn’t run nearly as fast. By the time she reached the peninsula, she was out of breath, her side aching. Her hair had come loose and stuck to her neck. She kept moving and didn’t stop until she came upon Josiah’s cap in the middle of the yard, not far from the tower. She scooped it up, squeezed it against her chest, and pressed a kiss to it. He’d made it back; he hadn’t wandered off the path and gotten helplessly lost.

  “Thank you, Lord,” she whispered past the tightness in her throat. Somehow she knew that this time God had answered yes to her prayer. Maybe He wouldn’t always, but this time He had, and she was beyond grateful.

  Clutching the little cap, she rounded the tower and stopped short at the sight that greeted her.

  Patrick was kneeling in the grass next to Josiah, who was curled up, asleep in a ball in front of the tower door. The boy’s dirty face was streaked with dried tears.

  Patrick’s chest heaved in and out as he bent down and kissed the boy’s forehead, brushing back the red hair with his fingers, his battered knuckles still bandaged in the same bloodstained strips from before.

  Josiah’s eyes fluttered open. He gave a shuddering breath, the tail end of the many sobs he’d likely shed as he tried unsuccessfully to open the heavy door before crying himself to sleep.

  “Daddy?” Then, opening his eyes wider, he smiled. “Daddy!”

  “It’s me, lad.” Patrick’s voice wavered, and he dropped another kiss on the boy’s head. He seized the boy into a hug and clung to him tightly, his face buried in Josiah’s hair.

  Tears sprang to Emma’s eyes, and her heart overflowed with love for both of them. She couldn’t imagine life without either one. But she knew she had no right to them or to this home. Not after today. Not after speaking ill of Patrick to Bertie and then losing his son.

  The sheriff stumbled to a halt behind her, coughing and wheezing from his pursuit. Sweat trailed down his forehead, and he took off his hat to wipe his face with his sleeve.

  “Me go home,” Josiah said, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck and looking up at him. “With Daddy and Mamma.”

  Emma was at a loss for words. What could she tell the boy to help him understand the situation when she herself didn’t know how to make sense of all that was happening?

  Patrick didn’t answer right away. He swallowed hard, kissed the boy again before pulling back to look him in the eyes. “Daddy has to go on a long trip.”

  “Me go with Daddy.” Josiah reached up to Patrick’s cheek and laid his hand there.

  “No, lad . . .” Patrick’s voice broke. “You have to stay with your mamma.”

  Emma wanted to shake her head. She couldn’t take care of Josiah. She’d allowed the boy to wander off and get lost.

  Josiah turned to her, his eyes big and trusting. “Mamma go with.”

  “Mamma can’t go. She has to stay and take care of the lighthouse. And you have to help her.”

  Josiah looked back at Patrick. She could tell he was digesting the truth of his daddy’s words. After several seconds, his lip quivered and he shook his head. “Me go with Daddy.”

  Patrick glanced at her over Josiah’s head. He silently pleaded for help. The pain etched on his face told her that talking with Josiah was torture for him, that it would have been easier to leave for the Fremont jail without having to say good-bye to his son.

  She quickly wiped her tears away. “How will I manage without you, Josiah?” She knelt in the grass facing the boy. “I need a man to help me with the chickens and the garden and the cleaning and all the other things.”

  Josiah’s bottom lip protruded further.

  She ran her fingers through his hair. “We’ll have to work together to keep the lighthouse in good shape until your daddy returns.”

  Patrick nodded at her, his gratefulness only sending more guilt ripping through her.

  She wasn’t good enough to be Josiah’s mamma, but she knew what she had to do. She had to stay and take care of Josiah and the light. She could do this one last thing for Patrick. Until he came back.

  And he would come back. She refused to think about the possibility that a judge might find him guilty and lock him away for a long time. Maybe he wouldn’t have his keeper job, but he’d have Josiah again.

  Patrick hoisted Josiah up until they were face-to-face. “I need you to be a good boy for your mamma while I’m gone.”

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  “And you can’t go off by yourself again.” Patrick’s expression was stern. “You must always stay where your mamma can see you, do you understand?”

  “Me will,” Josiah said in almost a whisper.

  Patrick nodded, lowering Josiah to the ground again. “Now, it’s time for me to leave.”

  The sheriff shifted behind them and gave a little cough. He wiped his sleeve across his face again, although Emma couldn’t be sure if he was wiping away tears or sweat.

  “Don’t go yet, Daddy.”

  “I have to, lad.” Patrick started to walk away.

  “Maybe we can go with you back to the harbor and say good-bye there,” Emma suggested with a nod toward the forest path. In the growing shadows, the thick green was dark and uninviting. With all her being she wished they didn’t have to return to the harbor.

  Patrick shook his head, but Josiah rushed forward and clung to him and wouldn’t let go.

  Patrick didn’t say anything for a moment, and then he released a weary sigh. “Okay. As long as you promise you’ll stay with your mamma.”

  Josiah smiled. “Me promise.”

  Emma couldn’t smile, not when her heart was breaking into a million pieces. If only she’d never said anything to Bertie.

  All of this was her fault. And as much as she wanted to make everything right, she had no idea how.

  Chapter 25

  Patrick stood on the dock next to the sheriff, who had begun to fidget with his badge. Evening was upon them now. While the sun was still visible in the western sky, the woodland shadows were lengthening along the shore. They needed to put out if they hoped to reach Fremont before nightfall.

  He was thankful the sheriff had been decent enough to allow him to search for his missing son. Now the little boy hopped up and down between him and Emma, holding each of their hands.

  “One, two, three, Mamma,” Josiah said with a grin.

  Emma smiled down at the boy, though the smile didn’t reach her eyes. “One, two, three,” she said, and then she lifted him and swung him back and forth in a game she’d played with him since they’d walked back to the harbor.

  The shore was crowded with the fishermen who’d returned in their rigs from their day’s catch. They were busy unloading wooden crates of fish and laying out their nets and sails. The usual good-natured teasing and laughter that accompanied their return was absent. Instead, the shore was eerily quiet, except for Josiah’s happy chatter.

  Farther up the beach, Fred Burnham stood near his sons and wife. Even Ryan had managed to drag himself out of bed and was propped against a barrel, his face pinched with pain. Emma’s brother had protested loudly to the sheriff, vouching for Patrick’s innocence and demanding his release. But it hadn’t made any difference
.

  Patrick nodded at Ryan, grateful for his support. Across the distance they shared a long look. He could read the assurance in Ryan’s eyes, the message that he would do all he could to take care of Emma and Josiah.

  That was all Patrick needed to know.

  The sheriff cleared his throat. They’d just finished reloading Mitch and his men into the boats, having allowed them to rest on shore during the search for Josiah.

  He could feel Mitch’s eyes on him, glaring at him. Patrick figured the only thing keeping the man from killing him had been the rope binding his hands behind his back. He wasn’t sure what bothered Mitch more, that Patrick allowed the fishermen to catch him or that he’d turned down the offer of fame and fortune. Either way, Mitch wasn’t likely to ever forgive him.

  Patrick crouched down next to Josiah. He dreaded having to say good-bye to his son and Emma. Even if she’d hurt him, he still hated the idea that this might be the last time he’d see her. He had no idea what awaited him once he reached Fremont. Of course, he’d have to sit in a jail cell for a while. Beyond that, he didn’t know what the judge would rule once his case was heard. If the judge set him free, he couldn’t return to the Presque Isle Lighthouse. He’d have to disappear someplace where no one knew about his previous life. He’d have to start over. Again.

  “This is it, lad.” Patrick placed a quick kiss on the boy’s forehead. “Time for me to go.”

  Patrick was unprepared for the speed and force with which Josiah threw himself against him. The boy’s tiny arms wound tightly around his daddy’s neck.

  Patrick wrapped the boy into a hug. “Good-bye, Josiah. I love you. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Emma laid a loving hand on Josiah’s head.

  Patrick kissed the boy one last time, knowing he had to break away and leave now, even though it was tearing his heart in two. He started to rise, but Josiah’s grip around his neck tightened.

  “Don’t leave me, Daddy!”

  “I told you, I’ve got to go now,” Patrick said gently. He began prying the boy loose.

  Josiah’s fingers dug into his shoulder, and he pressed his trembling body against Patrick. “Don’t go!” he cried.

  Patrick glanced at Emma, hoping she’d see his plea for help, that she’d take the boy and comfort him before Patrick lost all self-control and started sobbing.

  Emma’s cheeks were already wet. She nodded at Patrick with understanding mixing with sadness in her beautiful brown eyes. He’d seen an apology there earlier, but it wasn’t enough to ease the ache inside.

  “Come to Mamma, little love.” She reached for the boy, grasping him and attempting to pry him loose. But his cries turned into screams.

  Patrick was helpless to do anything but peel Josiah from his body and go with the sheriff. He got one arm loose and then the other and handed him to Emma.

  “Don’t leave me, Daddy! Don’t leave me!”

  He jumped into the boat, needing to put as much distance between himself and Josiah as he could.

  “Daddy!” Josiah struggled against Emma, craning his neck, squirming in her arms to get down.

  Emma couldn’t hold the boy. His desperation was too great. He scrambled down from her hold and stood at the edge of the dock, teetering too near the water. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he held out his arms toward Patrick. Emma hurried forward and gripped the back of Josiah’s shirt to keep him from falling into the lake.

  “I love you, Daddy!”

  “Stop!” shouted Mitch, who was sitting behind Patrick in the boat. “I can’t stand any more of this. Just stop.”

  The shout startled Josiah enough that Emma was able to kneel down next to him and draw him into her embrace, away from the edge of the dock.

  Patrick hung his head. He couldn’t bear to look at his wife and child a moment longer. He wanted the sheriff to get in so they could be on their way, so he could put an end to this ongoing torment.

  The boat swayed as Mitch rose to his feet. Before Mitch could steady himself, the sheriff pulled out his pistol.

  “Take it easy now, Sheriff,” Mitch said. “I ain’t gonna try anything funny. I’ve got my hands and feet chained together. If I try to jump, I’ll get a one-way ticket to the bottom of the lake.”

  “Then sit back down, son. Nice and easy.”

  “First I gotta come clean.” Mitch stared at Josiah, who had his face buried into Emma’s shoulder and was sobbing inconsolably. “I might be a terrible man, but I can’t sit here and let that little boy be ripped away from the only dad he’s ever known.”

  “You don’t have a say in the matter,” the sheriff said. “So sit down and be quiet.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Mitch said. “I may have been partners with Patrick Garraty at one time, but I ain’t seen him or talked to him in all these years.”

  The sheriff straightened. Mr. Yates, who’d been standing near the Burnhams, pushed his hat up.

  “You can ask every single one of my mates,” Mitch continued, raising his voice. “We didn’t even know Garraty was in these parts until a few weeks ago.”

  “Then why did he give you shelter?” the sheriff asked.

  “’Cause he’s a good man. He could have left me on the beach to die. Probably what he should have done. But Garraty saved my life and tried to get me to change my ways.”

  “That’s the honest truth, Sheriff,” Emma said over Josiah’s muffled sobs.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Bertie cut in. “She’s unreliable. Lost her own child today. She’s not fit to raise the boy.”

  Emma’s expression was stricken, as though Bertie had run up and stabbed her in the back.

  Anger pummeled Patrick’s gut. He wouldn’t let Bertie talk about Emma that way. He needed to put an end to Bertie’s hurtful words once and for all. But before he could say anything, Mitch spoke again.

  “Patrick Garraty didn’t have anything to do with the thieving here last night. He was trying to stop us, even if it meant he got himself killed in the fight.”

  Patrick sat up in surprise. Why was Mitch telling the truth about what had happened?

  “He didn’t want nothin’ to do with his old ways,” Mitch said, “even though I tried my hardest to get him to come along with us.”

  “Why you sharing all this now?” the sheriff asked, lowering his pistol. “Why didn’t you tell us the truth earlier when we were questioning you?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Guess I wanted to make Garraty suffer for letting me get caught, thought he deserved it for turning his back on me.” He looked back at Josiah. “But when I saw his boy crying out like that, it broke me down. I realized there’s no reason the boy should lose his father, not when too many other boys already have.”

  Patrick knew that Mitch was referring to his own childhood, to the day he’d awoken alone, not knowing where his dad had gone. The man hadn’t even said good-bye, probably figuring that Mitch was old enough to fend for himself. But if not for Patrick’s family and their friendship, Mitch might have died.

  “Let him go, Sheriff,” Mitch said. “Let him stay with his boy and wife.”

  The sheriff stared hard at Mitch, as though attempting to decide on the truth. And for the first time since Patrick had been arrested, he allowed himself a sliver of hope.

  “What about the murder charge and my dead cousin,” Bertie said. “You can’t just set a murderer free.”

  “I may have roughened up a woman once,” Patrick said, sick to his stomach at the admission. Yet he couldn’t stay silent any longer. If Mitch had spoken up, so could he. “But I never, ever hurt Delia. Never.”

  “You done it once,” said Bertie. “Who’s to say you can’t do it again.”

  “Might as well come clean with something else,” Mitch said. “Hook—I mean, Garraty—never beat up that woman. He was too good for that kind of thing. Wouldn’t even lay a finger on a girl to hurt her. Guess he already had the makings of Saint Patty even back then.”

  Patrick’s head snapped to Mitch
. “What?”

  “I hit her, took advantage of her,” Mitch said, refusing to look at Patrick directly. “I was so ashamed, I thought if I put her in your bed, I’d feel better about myself and what I did.”

  Relief swept over Patrick, and he sank to his knees. He’d lived with the guilt of that crime for so long and he’d hated himself for it. But he hadn’t done it after all. He bowed his head and fought back a wave of emotion. All these years he’d believed himself capable of violating and hurting a woman. Even though he’d been too drunk to remember much of what happened that night, he’d accepted responsibility for his actions. Later, he’d tried to locate the woman so he could apologize and make amends, but her friends told him she’d passed away.

  “I’m sorry, Patrick.”

  He lifted his head in time to see Mitch say the words. For an instant he caught sight of the boy he’d once known, who’d never known a father’s love. And he could only pray that maybe one day, Mitch would come to know the Heavenly Father, the one who would never leave or abandon him.

  The sheriff looked at Mr. Yates, who nodded. Then the lawman surveyed the fishermen lining the docks and shore, taking in their looks of encouragement and relief. He turned and gave Patrick the briefest of nods.

  That was all the permission Patrick needed. He leaped out of the boat and onto the dock. He fell to his knees in front of Emma and Josiah and gathered them into his embrace. They pressed against him. Emma cried silently, her body shuddering.

  Josiah’s sobs tapered into hiccups, and after a moment the boy pulled back his splotchy face and glanced between Patrick and Emma.

  “Daddy, Mamma.”

  “Aye, little love,” Emma whispered, kissing his head.

  “Daddy stay?”

  Patrick nodded and prayed the sheriff and Mr. Yates were serious about releasing him.

  “Mamma stay?” Josiah asked, reaching his chubby hand into Emma’s hair. He stuck the thumb of his other hand into his mouth and began sucking noisily.

  Emma cupped Josiah’s cheek. “I’m here.” For now. She hadn’t spoken the words, but they hung in the air anyway. She probably didn’t have the heart to tell Josiah she would be leaving soon, most likely after Ryan regained his strength. But Patrick knew that was what she meant.