Sweet Sanctuary

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  The harpist finished a tune, and restrained applause broke out across the room. Micah and Lydia joined in briefly. The music began again, and Lydia allowed her gaze to move around the tea room, taking in the tapestries and gilt and tall columns. And of course the potted palms.

  She released a sigh of satisfaction and faced Micah again. “This is a beautiful room. A very relaxing, enjoyable spot. Do you come here often?”

  “I’ve been here twice—both times with special ladies.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him, hiding the rush of jealousy his statement evoked.

  He chuckled softly, reaching for one of the slivered ham-on-carrot-bread sandwiches. “When my parents came to visit me shortly after I arrived, I brought my mama. And now, you.”

  Heat filled Lydia’s cheeks as she realized he’d called her one of his “special ladies.”

  Micah continued. “So, no, I don’t come often. I don’t get away from the clinic much.”

  Lydia swished the silver-plated tea-leaf spoon through the hot water in her hand-painted, footed teacup. “How long have you been at the clinic, Micah?” She placed a watercress sandwich on her plate then lifted her eyes to his face.

  “Well, let’s see . . .” He puckered his lips, eyes rolled upward. “Almost two years now, I guess. I stayed a little longer at Schofield than I’d originally been commissioned, to help with the cleanup after the attack, and then I spent one month in Arlington with my family before moving here.”

  Lydia nodded, taking a small bite of the sandwich. She swallowed before speaking again. “And do you plan to go back to Texas someday?”

  “I plan to follow God’s leadin’.”

  Lydia smiled, noting the twang sneaking into his voice. Being in New York must have softened it somewhat—it had been much more noticeable at Schofield—but when he was very relaxed, or in a teasing mood, the Texas twang made itself known.

  “Wherever He sends me, I’ll go. Right now I know I’m supposed to stay here. God planted me here, and it’s the perfect spot to be helpin’ Jeremiah. I can’t even consider leavin’ as long as I still have packages to retrieve.”

  Micah’s reference to “packages” brought to mind once more the three little children they’d delivered to the rabbi. Lydia leaned forward and whispered, “Do you suppose those children are in homes right now, sitting down to supper?”

  “I hope so.” His tone deepened with emotion. “They deserve normalcy after what they’ve been through.”

  Lydia nodded, then tried to set aside thoughts of the Jewish children. She really didn’t want to focus on anything negative this evening. It was so nice to be with Micah in this pleasant atmosphere, enjoying simple but tasty food. Being with Micah was intoxicating—having his blue eyes focused on her whenever she spoke, watching his strong features relax into the familiar lopsided smile that tugged at her heart, admiring his broad shoulders encased in a neatly tailored black coat. . . . The mere action of looking across the table at him caused her pulse to increase and her mouth to go dry. It gave her reckless ideas, too. She dropped her attention to her flute-edged plate and picked up her sandwich once more.

  “What about you, Lydia?”

  Her gaze bounced upward to meet Micah’s.

  “What are your future plans? Other than being mother to Nicky, I mean. Will you use your nursing training in Boston?”

  Lydia gave a gentle shrug. “To be honest, Micah, because Father does so well, I haven’t had to think about doing anything except take care of Nicky. In the past few months, Father has been encouraging me to consider becoming plant foreman.” She grinned. “Or, more accurately, forewoman. He’d like for me to know how things operate so I can keep the business going, and then eventually give it to Nicky.”

  She could have sworn Micah’s face pinched in disapproval, but as quickly as the expression appeared, it cleared and a gentle smile replaced the frown.

  “That’s a fine offer. There are so many women assuming roles they wouldn’t have had before the war. And as bright as you are, you’d probably be a terrific businesswoman.”

  Lydia laughed softly, pleased by his compliment. “I don’t know if I’m interested in taking over the business, but Father has no other children. I feel obligated.”

  “Have you prayed about it?”

  The question caught Lydia by surprise. It seemed so obvious that she would inherit Father’s business. Why should she pray about it? “Actually, no. It didn’t seem necessary. What other choices do I have?”

  Micah’s gaze softened. “Lydia, you have many choices available. The question is finding where God wants you to be. He has a plan for your life, and you should be actively seeking His plan.”

  Lydia considered his words, but before she could form an answer, the waiter came around and asked if they’d care for dessert. Micah tipped his head and asked, “What would you recommend?”

  “If you want to sample something unique, I suggest the fig preserves on currant scones. If you prefer a more traditional dessert, then the custard tarts with fresh peaches are quite well received by most patrons.”

  Micah looked at Lydia, one eyebrow raised. Lydia pressed a hand against her stomach and shook her head. “Nothing for me, Micah. I’ve had quite enough.”

  Micah turned back to the waiter. “I suppose we’ll pass on dessert. Thank you.” The waiter placed a bill on the table next to Micah’s elbow and disappeared. Micah picked up the bill, then smiled brightly at Lydia. “You know, as long as we’re here, we should take a peek in the lobby of the hotel. It’s quite somethin’. Then, if you’re up to it, we could take a stroll through Central Park.”

  Imagining walking arm in arm with Micah on a summer evening sent a shiver of delight up Lydia’s spine. “That sounds lovely.”

  Micah paid the bill, then escorted her with a hand resting lightly on the small of her back around the corner to the Fifth Avenue lobby. Micah held open the glass door for Lydia to precede him. She took three steps into the massive lobby and stopped, completely enthralled.

  “Oh, Micah, it’s beautiful!” She looked up at a recessed ceiling at least twenty-four feet above her head. Plaster moldings with gilt accents ran the full circumference of the ceiling. Square flowerlike decorations dressed each corner. A crystal chandelier hung from a gold chain, the light from its two dozen lamps reflecting on the highly polished wood floor. Tiny crystal teardrops ran like rain from the chandelier, creating hundreds of tiny prisms around the room.

  The suited elderly man behind the counter glanced up, smiled, and invited, “Step on in, miss. Welcome to the Plaza.”

  Fire seared Lydia’s cheeks. “Oh, we’re not staying. I only wanted to look.”

  The man chuckled lightly. “That will be easier for you if you step all the way in.”

  Lydia laughed at herself, flashing an embarrassed look in Micah’s direction. With his warm fingers anchored on her spine, he propelled her forward. Her heels clicked on the marble floor, then abruptly muted as she stepped onto a large Oriental rug. The rug created an island in the center of the room, so she remained there, turning in circles until her eyes had drunk their fill of the gilt-touched plaster moldings decorating the walls and front of the desk. The white-and-gold décor offered eye-pleasing elegance.

  Chinese urns larger than Nicky stood sentry at the sides of every doorway, feather-like fronds splayed from the open tops. Unique arrangements of Louis XIV furniture upholstered in wine velvet invited one to sit and bask in the hotel’s beauty.

  “You’re right, Micah. This is quite something.” She shook her head, awed by the grandeur of the hotel. “I’m so glad New York hasn’t been bombed. I imagine many fine buildings like this have been destroyed in Paris.” The thought tarnished the edges of her pleasure.

  Micah’s hand returned to her back. “Let’s not talk about the war tonight, Lydia. Tonight is for . . . well, for building happy memories. Okay?”

  Lydia stared into his eyes. Building happy memories. What a wonderful idea. Yes, she wante
d happy memories to carry away from here. She nodded.

  He raised his brows. “Are you ready for a walk through Central Park now?”

  “Oh yes.” She turned toward the door, but before leaving, she lifted her hand to wave at the man behind the counter. “Good night, sir. And thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, miss. Enjoy your time in New York.”

  Lydia took Micah’s arm as they stepped out of the hotel and moved to the curb. They waited for a clearing in the traffic, then dashed across the street, their feet clattering against the pavement. Once on the other side, she giggled. “Thank you for checking your stride to match mine! It’s very hard to take big steps in this skirt.”

  Micah looked her up and down, causing her cheeks to heat again. How she hoped the falling dusk hid her blush. When he’d finished his perusal, he grinned. “I didn’t mention this earlier, but you’re quite fetchin’ in that yellow suit. Probably as pretty as Nicky’s canary.”

  Lydia burst out laughing. “Oh, Micah, what other man would dare to compare a woman to a canary and think that he was paying a compliment?”

  “Do you mean I insulted you?” He assumed a hurt air, a hand on his chest.

  Lydia shook her head, her hair lifting in the light breeze. She smoothed the strands back into place with her fingers. “Of course not. You just have your own brand of speech. Frankly, I find it refreshing.”

  “Good.” Micah took her hand and slipped it through his elbow. He began moving her forward at a snail’s pace. “Let’s enjoy a leisurely stroll around the park. I’m sorry you missed the lilacs in bloom. Stunnin’ to see. And the perfume of those blooms! Quite heady.”

  Lydia found it heady enough simply walking beside Dr. Micah Hatcher.

  “But I do believe a few peonies might be hanging on, and the roses should be in full bloom, as well. So we’ll see flowers.”

  Ahead, a bench waited beneath an arbor laden with thick vines covered in an abundance of deep green leaves and red roses in various stages of bloom. Micah pointed to it, and Lydia nodded in approval. Her sling-back white pumps, though stylish, were a far cry from walking shoes. Her aching feet welcomed the opportunity to rest.

  Micah sat sideways on the bench, laying his arm across the back so his fingers rested right above her shoulder. His fingers didn’t touch her, but her awareness of his presence was so acute she felt a tingle in her flesh. They sat in silence, breathing in the scent of the roses and listening to the traffic noises and the soft-toned conversations of other people walking through the park.

  Lydia rolled her chin to face Micah, who gazed upward, seemingly admiring the darkening night sky. How handsome his profile appeared in the soft light. Micah’s strong features gave an appearance of self-assurance. And he had such a giving heart. Admiration swelled in her chest, but then collapsed against a feeling of insignificance. She examined her own life. Still living with her parents, no real plan other than to learn her father’s business, her only responsibility to care for Nicky . . .

  As she recalled Micah’s question concerning whether she’d prayed for God’s plan for her life to be revealed, the words she’d heard the night after returning from the parking garage winged through her mind. She’d been clearly directed to be patient and wait—she would know in time what she was to do. She held no doubt the message came from God, and she also knew she needed to continue to pray and listen for God’s leading. If she shared her experience with Micah, might he pray for her, as well? She turned to ask, and at the same time his head swiveled to meet her gaze.

  “Lydia!” His eagerness dispelled the question quivering on the tip of her tongue. “I think I know how you can find Mrs. Fenwick!”

  16

  Micah caught hold of Lydia’s shoulders, excitement coursing through him with such force he had a difficult time staying seated on the bench. “How did your father locate Mrs. Fenwick in the first place? When Eleanor needed help.”

  Lydia blinked a couple of times, as if awakening. “I believe—if I remember correctly—he found an advertisement in the newspaper, offering her services as midwife.”

  Forming a fist, Micah punched the air and let out a hoot of elation. “Of course! So doesn’t it make sense that she will need to support herself in New York, if she’s here?” He bounded to his feet. “She’s probably still working as a midwife.”

  A slow smile crept up Lydia’s cheek. “Her neighbor told Father and me how Mrs. Fenwick got a ‘glow’ from helping bring babies into the world. It does seem reasonable she would try to continue that work.”

  “And if she advertised in a newspaper before, it’s logical she would choose the same means of alerting people to her services here.” Micah slapped his forehead, laughing. “Why didn’t I think of it before?” He held out his hand to Lydia. “Come on. Let’s go purchase every paper printed in New York and look through the advertisements.”

  Lydia bounced up, placing her hand in his. As his fingers closed around hers, his happiness suddenly dimmed. Once they found Mrs. Fenwick, Lydia would have no reason to remain in New York. The realization weighted his heart with sadness. Her responsibilities were in Boston, and his were here. The world was at war. This was no time for romance.

  “This is no time to be squeamish.” Nic held tight to Bosco’s soiled shirt collar, their noses inches apart. Sweat dribbled down his forehead despite the late hour and the coolness of the dark alley. “I can’t show my face over there again after that copper spotted me the other night. He’d recognize me right off.”

  Bosco’s watery eyes crinkled with his grin. “Yeah, you’re pretty hard to miss with that empty sleeve flappin’ in the wind.”

  Nic gritted his teeth, battling the urge to release his pal’s shirt long enough to plant his remaining fist in the middle of Bosco’s whiskered face. “Never mind about that. Will you go or not?”

  Bosco rubbed his hand up and down his cheek, stretching the skin and sending his oil-smudged corduroy cap askew. His callused fingers scraping across two days’ growth of whiskers made the same sound as sandpaper on a board. “Dunno, Nic. Like I already told ya, it’s a mighty big risk. Somebody sees me a-gawkin’ in them windows an’ calls the coppers? I end up in the clink for bein’ a peepin’ tom. Ain’t too keen on spendin’ another night on one o’ them cots. Hard on my arthur-itis.”

  Nic rolled his eyes. “Didn’t I say I’d bail you out if you got caught?” Not that Nic had money to squander for bail. But Bosco would turn yellow and run if he knew all Nic had in his pocket was the five dollars he’d promised in return for the alley rat’s help. “So don’t worry about sleepin’ on a jailhouse cot. You’ll be warm in your own bed no more’n an hour after you’ve done the job.”

  Bosco squinted at Nic. “An’ you’ll pay me five dollars? Just for peekin’?”

  “Five dollars for five minutes of work. Just look for anything that would tell me if a kid lives in there. Toys. Little shoes, or a small-size jacket.” Desperation crawled like lice across Nic’s scalp. He was running out of time. If his kid wasn’t with the Eldredges, he’d have to set his sights elsewhere. Maybe even kidnap someone else’s kid. And he’d do it, if it came to that. He gave Bosco’s jacket a yank. “You game?”

  Bosco’s lips stretched into a foolish grin, exposing yellowed teeth. “I’m game. Let’s go.”

  “How many do you have on your list?”

  Micah finished writing the last phone number and looked up at Lydia. He squelched a grin. She must have run her hands through her hair one too many times—it was a disheveled mess. Upon their return from dinner, they’d changed into comfortable clothes and met in her apartment to search the newspapers he’d purchased. In a wrinkled, untucked shirt and faded trousers, her hair flying wild, she was still too pretty for good sense to prevail.

  He shifted to a seated position on the floor so he could look eye to eye with her where she lay on her stomach across the end of a swaybacked cot. “I have nine so far. How about you?”

  “Nine, too.” Lydia bent t
he corner of her list up and down with her thumb, her forehead creasing. “Do you really think Mrs. Fenwick will be one of these midwives?”

  He reached out and tapped her knuckles with his pen. “Hey, what happened to that faith you were telling me about?”

  She bounced to her knees, the cot springs complaining with the sudden movement. Her lips pursed for a moment, then she sighed. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s a good idea to search for her here. Of course, it would be simpler if they would put their names in the advertisement!”

  “Ah, but I do enjoy a good challenge.” Micah sent her a crooked smile intended to lighten the mood. To his pleasure, she grinned at him in response, then turned back to her paper.

  Micah flipped to the front page of the Long Island Daily Star and checked the lead articles. An update on Operation Cobra caught his eye, and he eagerly scanned the columns of print. Germans had been forced to retreat as Sherman tanks and the armored infantry of the U.S. Second Armored Division broke through their defenses southwest of St. Lo. His heart tripped in excitement at the news. Anytime the Germans had to retreat gave reason for celebration. Micah prayed daily for the Germans’ defeat, for liberation of the Jews held in captivity, and for Jeremiah to come home.

  On the cot, Lydia tossed aside her paper and gave a loud huff. “There is nothing here about Jews being killed. Nothing! Wouldn’t you think the murder of innocent civilians would warrant front-page coverage? Micah, I don’t understand this situation at all.”

  “Neither do I.” Micah lowered his paper to his lap. “My sincere hope is our government leaders honestly don’t know the extent of Hitler’s madness. If they know, and have chosen to ignore it, I’m not sure I could reconcile myself with the truth.”

  Her face crumpled into a grimace. “Micah, the other evening I said I didn’t want you involved. I’m so sorry. You’re my friend, and it frightened me to think of you being caught up in something that could bring harm to you.” The genuine contrition shining in her eyes touched him deeply. She went on quietly. “But I want you to know I’m proud of you. You and Jeremiah are risking everything to save those children. I admire you very much for what you’re doing.”