Sweet Sanctuary

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She fell silent for a few moments, apparently reliving childhood memories. Micah waited, allowing her the time to sort her thoughts. Eventually, she resumed the story.

  “About six months before I left, Eleanor’s father hired a new worker—a man named Nicolai Pankin. He was missing one arm—the result of an auger accident when he was a teen—but his remaining arm had more strength than most men possess in two good arms. Oh, he was handsome.” Lydia’s eyes slid shut, and she drew in a deep breath, as if savoring something sweet. Then she fixed him with a serious look once more. “Despite his handicap, he was very rugged and roguish, which only added to his masculinity. And charming . . . He could coax an apple tree to bear orange blossoms. I found him very attractive, and the first time Eleanor spotted him, she was instantly besotted. But, unlike me, Eleanor was shy. She was too afraid to approach Nic.”

  Although the dim light made it difficult to make out Lydia’s features, Micah heard a change in her voice. A tightness, an underlying anguish.

  “One time when Eleanor and I went to visit with her father, I saw Nic following her with his eyes. It bothered me at first—I liked him, too. But I realized that after I completed my Red Cross training, I would leave for nursing duty somewhere. Time with Nic would be short-lived. Additionally, I knew Nic was below my station—no matter how attractive I found him, my parents would never approve.”

  She lifted one shoulder, a flippant gesture that fell short of being convincing. “So I thought, if I can’t have him, then my best friend should.” She sighed, crossing her arms across her stomach. “I dragged Eleanor over to where he was working and introduced them. It was my only attempt at playing matchmaker, and it proved to be one time too many. They had a whirlwind romance, and I stood up as Eleanor’s maid of honor four months before leaving for Schofield.”

  She dropped her chin. “Of course, we didn’t know until after the wedding that Nic was addicted to morphine. Apparently, when he’d had his accident, the doctor had prescribed it for the pain, and he grew dependent on it. He’d hidden it well, and afterward, it was too late. When Eleanor got pregnant, Nic was furious. He didn’t want the worry and burden of children, he said. He found someone who would terminate Eleanor’s pregnancy.”

  Micah grimaced. Although he knew only a bit about Nicolai Pankin, he held no respect for the man.

  Lydia continued her story. “Eleanor ran away from him. She went to her parents, but they refused to help her. They hadn’t been pleased with her marrying a common laborer, and they told her she’d have to deal with the problem herself. So Eleanor wrote to me, begging for help. She didn’t know where else to turn. Besides, I had linked her with Nic, which made me partly responsible. It was her letter that created my emergency.

  “I wrote and told her to go to my parents and I would be home as soon as I could. My parents were afraid of taking Eleanor in—they didn’t know what Nic might do, and they knew it would create a serious rift in their friendship with her parents, which would also affect Father’s business. So they arranged sanctuary with a midwife, and they paid for Eleanor’s keep until her baby was born.”

  Lydia paused, and Micah, now certain he knew Lydia’s secret, interjected with a gentle question. “Lydia, Nicky isn’t really your son, is he?”

  “Not my son?” Lydia choked out a single sob. She pressed a fist against her mouth, gaining control. “Nicky has been mine from the moment the midwife placed him in my arms.” The fervency in her tone pierced Micah. “He couldn’t possibly be more mine if I’d given birth to him. He is my son, in every way that counts.”

  Micah contemplated her answer. He understood Lydia’s love for the boy. He’d only just met Nicky, and he already felt the stirrings of fondness. “Why isn’t Eleanor raising Nicky?”

  “Eleanor died three days before I got back from Schofield.” Deep sadness colored her tone. “Nicky came early. The midwife said there were complications—there wasn’t anything she could do because Eleanor refused to go to the hospital. Eleanor had instructed the midwife to give Nicky to me—she trusted me to come. The moment I held him, I knew I would keep him and raise him as my own. With God’s help, and the support of my parents, I’ve been Nicky’s mama ever since.”

  Micah shook his head in wonder. It seemed the self-centered Lydia had changed a great deal since her time at Schofield. And it was hard to think of that hardheaded man he’d just met assuming responsibility for someone else’s baby. “How did you convince your parents to take Nicky in?”

  Lydia raised her chin. “I didn’t give them much choice. If they wanted me, they had to accept Nicky, too. I was stubborn.” Then she shrugged, her tone softening. “And I was lucky my parents were much more accepting than Eleanor’s parents had been. Of course, it didn’t take long before they loved Nicky as much as I do. We all think of him as my baby.”

  “And where is Nicky’s father?”

  While Lydia talked, the moon had sneaked high into the sky, painting a golden pathway across the water and sending a soft glow into the car, illuminating Lydia’s silhouette. Her chin began to quiver. “Nicky’s father is hanging over our heads like a hangman’s noose.”

  A chill eased down Micah’s spine.

  “Shortly after Nicky’s birth, he somehow found out where Eleanor had been hiding. He visited the midwife, demanding the baby. The midwife told him the baby had died with Eleanor. But Nic didn’t believe her. He told her he’d found a family that wanted the baby—a family willing to pay for the baby—and he wanted ‘the kid.’ That’s what he called Nicky—‘the kid.’ Not ‘my son’ or ‘Eleanor’s child,’ just ‘the kid,’ like Nicky was nothing.” Lydia’s voice quivered with indignation, and anger swelled in Micah’s chest toward the unfeeling man. How could anyone see his own child as merchandise to be placed on an auction block?

  “For nearly two years, he periodically went to the midwife’s home, badgering her for information. With Father’s help, she finally moved to escape his constant visits. And it worked. For a while. It’s been almost a full year, but recently he found her again. She said he acted wild and desperate. She was afraid—for herself and for us. He wants Nicky.”

  Micah stared at her. “Surely he can’t still be hoping to sell Nicky?”

  “Why not? Nicky is young. Someone would surely take him.” Lydia’s voice rose passionately. “Nic moves in circles we would rather didn’t exist. If he didn’t sell Nicky to a family, he’d find some other way to make money from him. If he didn’t have a plan for selling him, he wouldn’t be trying to find him. We know he doesn’t want to be Nicky’s father. If he legitimately loved him and would care for him, I’d probably give Nicky up. It would be hard, but I would do it because I believe as Nicky grows older he’s going to need a father. I won’t be enough.” She uttered the last sentence in a harsh whisper. “But I can’t let Nic take him only to sell him to strangers, or—or—whatever he has planned. I can’t, Micah!”

  Without conscious thought, Micah pulled Lydia against his shoulder and rubbed her back. Her muscles quivered beneath his palms and he sensed she battled tears. But she didn’t allow herself the privilege of completely breaking down. After a few moments, she pulled away, offering a weak smile.

  Embarrassment welled. Why had he embraced her? He didn’t need to give her ideas. Years ago, Lydia had harbored affection for him, he knew. It wouldn’t do to encourage those old feelings to blossom. Yet, oddly enough, knowing how unselfishly she had turned her world around for her friend’s baby had ignited something within his own heart. But he had no time for such thoughts. His patients and Jeremiah needed him.

  Micah squared his shoulders and assumed a businesslike tone. “How many people know Nicky is really Eleanor’s baby?”

  “Four.” Then she grimaced. “Well, five. My parents, the midwife, of course I know—and now you.”

  “You’re sure the midwife hasn’t told anyone?”

  “Father pays her well to keep silent. She depends on the income. She won’t tell.”

>   “Eleanor’s parents don’t know?”

  Lydia shook her head. “Shortly after Eleanor’s death, they were in an accident. Her father was drunk and ran off the road. Both he and Eleanor’s mother were killed.”

  So much tragedy. “And no one has ever questioned how you came to have this child?”

  Lydia turned her gaze to the lights of the city glittering below. “Father said to let people believe Nicky is my child. Father is well respected, and since I had been away, the story was plausible. I’m sure there are those who disapprove, believing I had him out of wedlock, and they no doubt whisper about me behind my back, but Father’s standing in the community keeps them from being openly judgmental.”

  “In other words, you’re living a lie.”

  “Only to protect Nicky.”

  Micah didn’t respond. A lie was a lie, and someday—maybe quite soon—this one was going to trip her up. “What does it say on Nicky’s birth certificate?”

  “He doesn’t have one.”

  Micah shook his head, certain he hadn’t heard correctly. “Doesn’t have one?”

  “There hasn’t been a need for one. Father thought—” She paused for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not to trust Micah with the rest. Finally she sighed, threw her hands outward, and said, “Father thought eventually I would marry, and when I did, we’d get a birth certificate made with my husband’s name listed as the father. There!”

  Micah blew out a breath. “Your father is really full of plans, isn’t he?” He couldn’t hide his sarcasm.

  “I’m sure Father hoped, from what I wrote in my diaries, that the feelings I had for you were reciprocated and perhaps some affection still remained. I’m sure he also hoped once you met Nicky, you’d be taken with him. Nicky is rather hard to resist.”

  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

  Have 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.”