An Unexpected Love

by Tracie Peterson

  Amanda had been by his side many evenings, helping to clean and decorate. She’d even enlisted Veda’s assistance. Paul wasn’t certain if the maid had come willingly, but she’d proved an excellent worker. In addition to her other good deeds, Amanda had convinced her father to release some of the household furnishings placed in storage after her grandfather’s death. Though Jonas had argued, he’d finally relented. But not without gaining Quincy’s agreement to reimburse him when the remainder of the furniture sold at auction. Paul had been taken aback by Jonas’s request, but Quincy had taken the matter in stride.

  With his hand clutching the gift he’d purchased for Sophie, he dozed as the train moved from station to station, finally arriving in Clayton by early afternoon. He smiled when he noticed one of Captain Visegar’s boats waiting near the dock. It was late in the season, with few visitors arriving at the islands, and he had wondered if the captain would still be meeting trains arriving at the station. He strode down the aisle carrying his leather Gladstone traveling bag in one hand and a smaller canvas bag filled with the items from Amanda in the other.

  Hoping to gain the captain’s attention, Paul dropped one of his bags at the end of the platform and waved his hat high overhead. It took but a moment before the captain saw him and motioned him forward. The captain cupped his hands to his mouth. “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes. Come aboard.” His shout resonated across the wood expanse that separated them.

  Paul handed his baggage down to the bearded man before stepping on board. “Glad to see you here. I was worried I might be forced to wait several hours now that the season has passed.”

  The older man raked his calloused fingers through his mane of graying hair. “Don’t you fret, young man. You’ll find my boats on the water when most others are in dry dock.” He grinned and deep creases formed in his weatherworn cheeks. “You off to see your gal on Broadmoor Island?”

  “My wife,” Paul corrected.

  The captain tipped the brim of his hat. “That’s right. I had forgotten you married one of the Broadmoor girls. The darkhaired one that enjoyed the parties and dances over on Wellesley Island. I seem to recall she enjoyed the festivities at Frontenac Hotel, as well.”

  Paul didn’t agree or disagree. Instead, he said, “Sophie. I married Sophie. We’re expecting a baby around Christmastime.”

  “Um-hmm. Doc said she was having some trouble, and he ordered her to stay put on the island until after the young’un was born. I’m guessin’ it’s a might hard for that gal to stay put. She never was one to let any grass grow under her feet.” He chuckled as he slowly maneuvered the boat away from the pier and then headed downriver. When they arrived at the Broadmoor dock a short time later, he once again tipped his hat. “Have a good visit.”

  Paul clutched a bag in each hand and made his way up the path to the house, his shoulders sagging by the time he finally arrived at the front door. His attempt to open the front door met with failure. Though he was pleased the locked door would prevent intruders, it also prevented his surprise entry. He walked around the perimeter of the house. Perhaps he’d discover the French doors to the library open—or the kitchen door. He rounded the corner to the back, only to give Mrs. Atwell a terrible fright.

  The older woman grabbed at thin air before finally steadying herself and planting her feet near a rosebush. “Dear me! What are you doing sneaking around the house like that, Mr. Medford? I may suffer a heart attack if you do that again.”

  By the time he dropped his bags, she had already regained her composure and her balance. “I’m terribly sorry, Mrs. Atwell. I had hoped to surprise Sophie, but the front door is locked.”

  “I don’t know about Miss Sophie, but you certainly surprised me,” she said. “You can come in this way. We keep the other doors locked unless we’re expecting visitors.”

  He agreed the practice was an excellent idea before hurrying up the back stairs and down the hall. The sound of his footfalls apparently captured Fanny’s attention, for she appeared in the bedroom doorway. He touched his index finger to his lips; she smiled and nodded.

  “Who’s out there, Fanny?” Sophie called from the bedroom.

  “Your husband,” Paul said, entering the room.

  “Paul!” Sophie glanced back and forth between her cousin and her husband. “Did you know he was coming for a visit, Fanny?”

  “I had no idea.” Fanny clasped her hand over her heart. “This surprise is Paul’s alone.”

  He grinned and nodded. “She’s correct. I didn’t tell anyone for fear something would interfere and I might not be able to come. A surprise is much better than disappointment, don’t you think?”

  “In this case, I would completely agree,” Sophie said. “I’m so pleased to see you.” She extended her hand and beckoned him forward.

  Her response surprised him. Did absence make the heart grow fonder? Or was it purely boredom? Would she have greeted any visitor with the same enthusiasm? He hoped not. When he presented her with his gift, her reaction would prove a better measure of her feelings.

  After a few moments Fanny excused herself to allow them privacy. “If you need anything . . .” She pointed to the bell on Sophie’s bedside table. “Sophie knows how to gain my attention.”

  Sophie giggled. “Fanny says she’s going to take that bell away from me if I don’t quit ringing it every time she goes downstairs.”

  “Now that your husband has arrived, I’m sure you’ll be on your best behavior.” Fanny waved and disappeared from sight.

  Sophie regaled him with the latest news in the area, though there was little to report now that the summer visitors had departed. “Dr. Balch and Mr. Atwell keep us updated when anything of interest occurs in Clayton or Alexandria Bay, but other than reports of the latest catch of fish or the purchase of a new skiff, they have little to tell us.” She scooted up against her pillows. “I hope you’re going to have lots of news that will entertain me.”

  He reached inside his jacket pocket and tightened his fingers around the small box. “I have something for you.”

  Sophie’s eyes sparked with excitement. “You do? Where is it?” She peeked at his bags, which he’d dropped near the door. “Is it something I’ll like?”

  “I hope so,” he said as he withdrew the box from his pocket. Lifting the lid, he presented the box to her and carefully watched her reaction.

  “Oh, Paul. Where did you obtain such rings?” She pushed the box back toward him. “These are far too expensive.”

  He shook his head. “This one,” he said, lifting the gold band from the velvet layer, “I purchased for you.” He lifted the other ring from the velvet nest—a large diamond surrounded by tiny sapphires. “This one belonged to my grandmother. When my mother returned to New York City after my grandmother’s death, she wrote that I was to have it. While I was in Rochester, I sent for it. Now it belongs to you.”

  Sophie recalled the ailing grandmother—the one Paul and his mother had gone to care for in England. Though Paul had been required to return to Rochester, his mother had remained until his grandmother’s death several months later. Sophie shook her head. “I couldn’t possibly wear your grandmother’s ring. You need to put it away and save it.”

  “For what? My grandmother bequeathed this ring to me with the specific hope that it would one day belong to my wife. And now that I have a wife, I want this ring to adorn her finger.” He gently lifted Sophie’s hand. “Please don’t disappoint me.”

  Her hand remained cradled in his palm, and he gently slipped the wedding band onto her finger, followed by his grandmother’s ring. “It fits perfectly, and it looks beautiful on your hand.” He lifted her hand to his lips and saw a tear slip down her cheek when he looked up. “I had hoped my gift would bring you joy.”

  She opened her arms to him and kissed his lips, the dampness of her tears brushing his face. “Both of these rings bring me great joy, but I don’t feel like I will ever be the wife you deserve. A preacher needs a special woman by his s
ide, and I don’t exactly fit that mold.” She squeezed his hand. “But I want you to know that I am going to do my very best to make this situation bearable for you.”

  Paul chuckled. “Bearable? You make my life complete. And once our child is born, I’ll be hard-pressed to contain my delight. I don’t want you to force your feelings for me. There is no rush. I’ll wait a lifetime if that’s what it takes. I love you.” He lightly touched her bulging stomach. “And I love this baby.”

  “I fear you are too good for me, but I’ll argue no further.” She offered him a weak smile. “Now tell me about the house. I’ve gone over and over the drawings Amanda sent, but you must show me what else has been accomplished since then.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know that she sent along some new drawings as well as some fabric for kitchen curtains. She thought you and Fanny might be in need of another sewing project.”

  Sophie wrinkled her nose. “Let’s look at the drawings. The fabric can wait.”

  How good it was to see her excited over the prospect of their home. He couldn’t wait for the day to arrive when the three of them could begin building a life together in their new home.

  Fanny measured the fabric and then retrieved her sewing scissors from her basket. Now that Paul had departed for Rochester, Sophie had agreed at least to look at the material Amanda had chosen for the kitchen curtains.

  “I don’t think these will take long for us to stitch.” Fanny looked up from her basket. “So long as you don’t sew the wrong sides together. I don’t want any hems turned toward the right side of the fabric.”

  Sophie giggled. “Is that all I must do to be relieved of the task?”

  “Don’t you dare,” Fanny warned. “I’m not going to sew these by myself.”

  Sophie’s muffled groan captured Fanny’s attention, and she hurried to her cousin’s bedside. “Are you having pains of some sort?”

  “No, but I’ve gotten so big that each time I shift my weight, I feel like an ocean liner trying to change directions in a washtub.” She squeezed Fanny’s hand. “You worry overmuch about my health. I’m fine.”

  Fanny forced a smile and nodded. She’d been attempting to push aside her fears since the first day Sophie had doubled over in pain. The thought that she might die in childbirth haunted Fanny, despite the assurances Amanda had given her. Fanny had revealed her fears to Mrs. Atwell, and the older woman had instructed her to pray and have faith. “Sophie will be fine. Childbirth is a natural thing. Most women have no difficulty at all,” she’d said. So Fanny had been praying for a safe delivery of Sophie’s baby ever since, but it didn’t seem as though her faith had increased.

  As the days pressed on, she’d become increasingly consumed with apprehension that Sophie might die. After all, Fanny’s mother had died giving birth to her. So whether childbirth was a natural thing or not, it didn’t mean Sophie wouldn’t die. Each time Sophie grimaced or groaned, Fanny would fret and stew. She’d even moved her bed closer to Sophie’s to make certain she could hear her should a pain strike during the night.

  “No need to push your bed about the room,” Mrs. Atwell had counseled. “You’ll have no difficulty hearing Sophie when her pains begin.” But the older woman’s words had fallen upon deaf ears. Fanny’s bed remained in the newly rearranged position. She must be prepared to take action the moment Sophie needed her. If something were to happen to her cousin, Fanny would never forgive herself.

  Sophie tried her best to maintain a cheerful disposition as the days passed. All of her life she had been somewhat selfish, and since her mother’s death she had become even more selfabsorbed. The second anniversary of her mother’s passing was soon to be upon them, and all Sophie could think of was how hard it was to be without her at a time like this.

  Her mother would have been a great comfort. She would have been able to answer Sophie’s questions about childbirth and caring for a baby. Sometimes Sophie’s fears overwhelmed her as she thought of being given the charge of another human being. What if she completely failed at the job of motherhood? She already feared she’d be a poor wife to Paul; what if she had no more love to offer her child than she did her husband?

  She sighed and gazed out the window to the gray waters of the St. Lawrence. The day was overcast and gloomy. It seemed to fit her mood.

  “I don’t know what to do, Lord,” she prayed awkwardly. “I want to make the best of this situation. I truly do.” She shook her head and tried to reason with her worried heart. “Paul deserves better. He deserves a wife who can be madly in love with him. I want to be that woman. I don’t want to spend a lifetime in a marriage where there is no love.”

  “I don’t want you to force your feelings for me. There is no rush. I’ll wait a lifetime if that’s what it takes. I love you,” Paul had said when he’d given her the wedding rings.

  Sophie looked at her hand and gently touched the pieces. He would wait a lifetime for her. Tears formed in her eyes, and she couldn’t help but feel a great sense of regret. Why couldn’t she have waited for him? Why had she given herself so foolishly to Wesley?

  “He showed me the attention I needed—he made me feel special. I loved him,” she whispered, wiping back the tears. Then reality dawned on her. Love had little to do with her relationship with Wesley Hedrick. He certainly had not loved her, and now that time had passed, Sophie could see that she’d never really loved him. She had needed him. She’d found him a substitute for the attention she craved from her father, but love really hadn’t figured into it. She’d been a naïve girl with dreams of romance and passion.

  And Wesley had mesmerized her. He had fascinated her with the promise of something she’d wanted more than life itself—love to fill the hole in her heart. There had been a great emptiness inside her—an emptiness that only God had been able to fill. The realization was almost more than she could understand. Perhaps she could love Paul. Now that her selfish ambitions were set aside and her heart was set right with both her earthly father and heavenly Father, maybe she could truly come to understand what love was honestly all about. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was love within her to give not only to Paul but to her unborn child.

  30

  Sunday, November 20, 1898

  Mrs. Atwell closed her Bible, and the three women joined hands and prayed. They’d been following this routine every afternoon since mid-October, when Fanny had divulged her fears to the older woman. And although the prayers centered upon Sophie’s condition and a healthy baby, Mrs. Atwell increasingly read Scriptures on trust and faith. Fanny had soon decided the older woman’s daily visits were as much for her as they were for Sophie. Although the devotions had lightened Fanny’s worries throughout each evening, her fears returned to stalk her during the nighttime hours. Attempts to pray herself to sleep evolved into worrisome thoughts that eventually exploded into overpowering terror. Pictures flashed through her mind: Sophie lying in a coffin with a tiny baby in her arms; Sophie in bed circled by a pool of blood; Michael blinded by a snowstorm; Michael’s frozen body lying beside a chunk of gold; Paul holding a baby and weeping. Night after night the images returned, each one an unwelcome reminder of the fears rooted deep in her heart.

  Where was her faith? Mr. and Mrs. Atwell loved Michael, yet they appeared content to place his safety in God’s hands. Why couldn’t she do the same? Even Sophie seemed willing to trust in God’s provision for her future. Was she the only one who lived with panic squeezing her heart?

  After uttering a soft amen to her prayer, Mrs. Atwell squeezed Fanny’s hand. “I have a lovely supper prepared downstairs. It will take me only a few minutes to dish up your meal.”

  Sophie shifted to her side and beckoned Mrs. Atwell to wait a moment longer. “I have been abiding by the doctor’s orders and doing much better, don’t you agree?”

  “Indeed, I do believe God is hearing our prayers for strength and health,” the older woman said.

  The instant Mrs. Atwell neared the bedside, Sophie clutched the woman’s
hand. “I am so very weary of lying abed for all these weeks. Do you think I could sit in the chair just long enough to eat my supper? My body aches from constantly being stretched upon this bed.”

  Sophie’s soulful look didn’t escape Fanny’s notice. Given the opportunity, her cousin could charm the rattlers out of a rattlesnake. Now she was using her wiles to win Mrs. Atwell’s agreement to get out of bed. Well, she would put a stop to that plan. “The doctor ordered bed rest.” Fanny’s ominous tone matched the fear roiling in her stomach. “We can’t be too careful.”

  “Now, now, Fanny. Sophie is correct. Lying abed is wearisome, and she hasn’t suffered so much as a twinge for weeks. I don’t believe the doctor would object if she sat in the chair for her evening meal.” Mrs. Atwell picked up her Bible and tucked it under her arm. “But back to bed once you’ve finished your supper. Promise?”

  Sophie giggled and nodded her head. “I promise. Thank you, Mrs. Atwell.”

  Fanny followed the older woman into the hall. “I’m still not certain—”

  “Have a little faith, my dear. All will be well.”

  When Mrs. Atwell arrived with their supper tray, Fanny and the older woman helped Sophie up from the bed. Then the three of them slowly made their way across the short expanse to the chair.

  Once seated, Sophie beamed at them. “Hard to believe something so simple as sitting in a chair could feel so wonderful.”

  “Ring that bell if she has the slightest twinge, Fanny. Otherwise, the two of you enjoy your meal. I’ll be back up to help you get her back to bed.”

  Perhaps it was Sophie’s excitement over her short time being up, but their meal proved extremely pleasurable. In fact, Sophie didn’t even argue to remain in the chair when Fanny and Mrs. Atwell escorted her back to bed. Her only complaint came when Fanny removed the curtain fabric from her sewing basket.