His gaze whipped past Darcy’s shoulder, and he moved the few yards toward his wife, though he didn’t take her in his arms as Darcy thought he might. He looked awkward, standing there, and Darcy’s heart went out to him.
“Forgive me, Charleigh. Forgive me for staying away.” His voice came low. Brent averted his gaze, but Darcy watched the reunion out of concern for her friend. Charleigh nodded but looked as uneasy as Stewart did.
“I need to tell you something. Something that might help you understand why I had to go.” Stewart hesitated. “Since the war’s end, I’ve dealt with some tough issues. You were depressed about losing the babies, and I didn’t feel I should burden you, but now you need to know. Two days before the fighting ended, a good friend of mine, a lieutenant, died in my arms in the trenches because he obeyed my orders.”
“Oh, Stewart.” Charleigh clasped her hands in her skirt, seeming at a loss.
“I won a medal for saving others, but I couldn’t save Rudy,” he continued, as though he had to get the words out quickly before he lost courage to say them. “I failed him. A good man depended on me and died. Eventually I convinced myself that you’d be better off without me too—that I’d brought you nothing but heartache—”
“No, that’s not true.”
“Please, Charleigh, let me finish. I’m telling you this now because in mending the breach with my family and helping them, I began to heal. But it wasn’t until I was laid up with the flu and had idle time that I saw how unfair I was being to you, by not sharing what I was going through. And by staying away. I was wrong. I decided that as soon as I recovered, I’d come home and somehow make it up to you. So here I am.” He lifted his hands upward. “That is, if I’m still welcome.”
“Of course you’re welcome,” Charleigh whispered. “But you’re not the only one at fault, Stewart. I was wrong too. I was so absorbed in self-pity, thinking only of myself at the time, that I wasn’t even aware you were hurting and needed me.”
Unmoving, they stared at one another, then closed the short distance between them until they were in each other’s arms, murmuring words of love and forgiveness. “I’ll never stay away again, Charleigh,” Stewart said. “You’re all the world to me.”
Tears stung Darcy’s eyes, and Brent drew her close. “Perhaps we should go inside,” he whispered. Darcy nodded, and they moved to go.
Stewart pulled away from his wife, keeping her within the circle of his arms. “Please, wait—both of you. There’s someone I want you to meet.” He looked toward the child still standing where the car had left him off. “Clint, come here.”
The scruffy-looking boy hesitated, then, hands in his pockets, shuffled toward them and halted at the foot of the steps. Darcy figured he was ten. His wheat-colored hair hung in clumps around his ears, and he looked and smelled as if he hadn’t had a bath in weeks.
“This is Clint. I met him at the station in Raleigh—after I chased him down when he picked my pocket. He’s an orphan and was sleeping in some crates in an alley. I told him he has a home here at the Refuge from now on.”
“Of course he does,” Charleigh said, brushing a tear from her eye. “Hello, Clint.”
Darcy moved down the three steps and put out her hand. “Welcome to Lyons’s Refuge.”
The boy only stared back.
Darcy lowered her arm. “That’s all right. You’ll get used to us soon enough, I expect. Lyons’s Refuge is a place like no other, you’ll soon find.” She laughed and looked toward the porch. “That’s the schoolmaster, Mr. Thomas, and I’m the cook’s assistant. You can call me Darcy. Do you like apple cake? I baked one this morning.”
The boy shrugged. “Don’t know. Ain’t never et no cake before.”
“Suh-fee!” a child’s voice suddenly cried out. “Hi, Suh-fee!”
Everyone turned to look at the toddler in the open doorway. In her yellow frock, with her shiny, dark curls and big brown eyes, Angel looked as sweet as her name. Staring at Brent, she clapped her hands and jumped up and down, then fell to her frilled bottom.
From within the house an infant cried, the sound growing stronger. Alice walked out, a baby in her arms. “I think she wants you, Charleigh.” Seeing Stewart, she stopped in surprise.
Stewart stared at the infant with bright red hair, then looked at his wife.
“Um, I also have someone I’d like for you to meet.” Charleigh cleared her throat. “This is Clementine Marielle Lyons. Your daughter.”
Stewart remained motionless, as though in a trance.
“Here now—would you like to hold her?” Alice asked. Before he could reply, she placed the baby in his arms.
Clemmie stopped crying and stared up at him, wide-eyed. Tears rolled down Stewart’s cheeks. After a moment, he looked at Charleigh, his expression pained. “Why didn’t you tell me? I never would’ve stayed away—”
Shaking her head, Charleigh pressed her fingers to his lips to stop his strangled words. “You’re home now. That’s all that matters. Let’s put the past where it belongs—behind us.”
Stewart gave a short nod and with his free arm drew her tightly to his side.
Angel toddled over to Brent and tugged on his jacket. “Suh-fee?”
“What is that child saying?” Stewart asked. “And who is she? Do we take in small girls now?”
Darcy laughed, returning to the porch, and scooped Angel up in her arms. “She’s a friend’s daughter, and she’s saying Stuffy.” She grinned up at her husband. “Somehow she got hold of that name for Brent and won’t let go.”
“Stuffy?” Stewart repeated.
“Suh-fee!” Angel squealed. She leaned over and threw her chubby arms around Brent’s neck in a tight hug. They all laughed.
Stewart glanced at Brent. “Everything went well? No problems to report?”
Brent and Darcy shared a look. “Nothing we couldn’t handle together,” Brent said.
“Glad to hear it. You can fill me in on everything that’s happened later. Right now I just want to relax and spend some time with my family. It’s good to be home.” With one arm around Charleigh and the other cradling his daughter, Stewart went inside. Angel kicked her legs to get down, and Darcy set her on the porch. She ran into the house, and Darcy and Brent moved to follow.
“Hey, Lady!” Clint yelled after them. “What about me?”
Darcy turned her head and grinned. “Well, what are you just standing there for? This is your home now too. Come on inside, and I’ll get you a nice, thick slice of that cake.”
This time the boy didn’t hesitate. Wearing a bright smile, he was through the door faster than Darcy would have imagined it possible.
“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” Brent said. “But then that comes as no surprise.”
She grabbed his sleeve to stop him before he could follow the others. “Brent, about what you told Stewart—we do make a fine team, don’t we?”
“Indubitably!”
Darcy arched her brow, determined to look up that word as soon as she could.
Brent laughed and tilted her chin up with his forefinger and thumb. “Most certainly,” he clarified. “The very best.” Bending down, he gave her a gentle kiss.
“Well, then,” she whispered once he lifted his head, “would ye care to make it a threesome?”
“A threesome?” He looked puzzled.
Darcy smiled. “In eight months, I expect. Sometime around Clemmie’s first birthday. How do ye feel about the name Beatrice? ’Course if it’s a boy, he’d have to be Brent.”
His eyes widened behind the spectacles, and his mouth dropped open. “Darcy, you don’t mean. . .”
“I most certainly do! As long as everyone else is makin’ introductions tonight, I might as well be makin’ one of me own!”
She looped her arms around Brent’s neck and kissed him soundly. From the side of the house, boys’ snickering could be heard, but Darcy didn’t mind.
Neither, it seemed, did Brent.
About the Author
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Pamela Griffin lives in Texas and divides her time among family, church activities, and writing. She fully gave her life to the Lord in 1988 after a rebellious young adulthood and owes the fact that she’s still alive today to an all-loving and forgiving God and a mother who prayed that her wayward daughter would come “home.” Pamela’s main goal in writing Christian romance is to encourage others through entertaining stories that also heal the wounded spirit.
Dedication
As always I dedicate this book to my Lord Jesus, who looks beyond my imperfect outer shell to the loving heart that seeks only to serve Him. Also, thanks to my critique partners, who are always so willing to lend a hand. You girls are truly the best, and I never could have done it without you.
A note from the Author:
I love to hear from my readers! You may correspond with me by writing:
Pamela Griffin
Author Relations
PO Box 719
Uhrichsville, OH 44683
Heart Appearances (Truly Yours Digital Editions Book 560) Page 17