Ginny Aiken

by Light of My Heart

  The typewriter! Perhaps it would help him reach Dr. Letitia Morgan-soon-to-be-Wagner.

  Now that Mortimer Medford was awaiting trial, Eric knew he could take on Hartville’s outmoded attitudes, and now he could win. He swept the papers out of his way, sending loose sheets through the air. With his hands poised over the keys, he thought for a moment. Once his ideas came together, his fingers rapped out a furious rhythm.

  SELFLESS CARING, GIFTED HEALING

  Dr. Letitia Morgan Battles Death for Child

  The morning’s editorial soon took shape, followed by the one for Sunday’s edition.

  PUBLISHER ADMITS ERROR

  Children in Brothels: A Town’s Lack of Love

  A satisfied publisher closed the Hartville Day’s offices that Friday afternoon. Eric felt that his persuasive description of Letty’s fight for Steven’s life would make even the hardest-hearted in town give her another chance. His public admission of error regarding the youngest soiled doves would play music to Letty’s heart.

  Debating whether to stop by her home and visit, Eric paused at the corner of Willow and Main. He remembered the day he saw Daisy run in to visit Letty. She’d even been right about the girl. Daisy was hardworking, efficient, and clever with words. She’d become vital to the office, and now Eric lived in dread of the day Ford would marry her. Not that Ford had said anything about marriage, but from the looks they sent each other, it was only a matter of time before Eric lost his best employee to his best reporter.

  He decided to put off his visit until the morning paper came out.

  Whistling, he stopped at the livery, collected his mares, and headed home. As he pulled in, he paused to count his blessings. The ranch, although small, was thriving. From the looks of the smudges of dirt on Amelia’s face as she dashed behind a heavily laden rosebush, the Patterson brood was blooming, too. Making certain Steven rested sufficiently had become a daily battle. Eric couldn’t wait until Letty joined them and became the one to run herd and wipe the grime off those mischievous faces.

  Each time he thought of the children, a pang struck his gut. What if Douglas found a family to adopt them? What if he lost them?

  “Mister Eric! Yo’re home!” He looked at Suzannah’s sweet face, and his heart turned a somersault. Why did he have to lose them?

  He vaulted from the carriage, threw the reins on the seat, and tossed the little girl through the air. “And how is my liebchen?”

  Her blue eyes sparkled as she giggled. “Sehr gut,” she answered, thrilling him with her newest language skill.

  He set her down, and she grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the barn. “Kommen Sie mit mir,” she said, insisting he accompany her. When they reached Heidi’s corner, she showed Eric where she’d set out the stool and pail. She smiled. “I’m ready.”

  “Go on, then.”

  Suzannah had taken to starting his evenings with the ritual of milking Heidi, and the otherwise ornery nanny goat seemed to bask in the child’s attention. Suzie’s little fingers fought to extract thin streams of the rich milk. She soon turned, beamed her bright smile at him, and, following their standard pattern, announced, “Yore turn.”

  She bounced off the stool, and once Eric sat down, she slipped in between his knees to lay her head back against his shoulder and watch. He reached for Heidi’s udder and began to milk the goat in earnest. When he was done, Suzie turned around and threw her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she whispered.

  Eric’s heart swelled with emotion. “I love you, too, Suzie.” He kissed her, pressing his cheek against her silky hair.

  “If you love me and I love you, can you be my papa?”

  Could he? Had he really let the Lord free him from his bondage to the past? Was he finally free to marry Letty and live the life he so wanted? Was he the father Suzie and the others needed?

  Wanting and wondering, a sudden flash of clarity showed him the flaw in his final set of fears. He realized that with baby Karl, he couldn’t have done a thing to keep his son. The unborn child’s life had been in Martina’s control. This time, the fate of Caroline, Steven, Amelia, Suzie, and Willy lay in his hands. Only he could decide if he would be, as Suzie had just asked, their father.

  The decision was his, and the almighty Father’s. Could that be the joy God held for him at the end of his long night of sorrow? Peace suffused him with a richness and certainty he’d never felt. He closed his eyes.

  “Thank you, Father,” he whispered. He cupped Suzie’s chin. “I am, liebchen. I already am your papa.”

  After cleaning the milking equipment and storing Heidi’s contribution for the day, Eric set off to satisfy the desires of at least two of the most important females in his life. Suzie held his heart in the palm of her grubby hand. Her softly voiced question sent him running to Douglas Carlson’s house after hours.

  In all honesty, Eric had to admit to an additional reason for his haste. Another softly voiced question required his response. Another feminine voice, one with the power to bring to him either happiness or sadness, had posed a similar question once before. His heart told him that if he failed to correctly answer Letty’s and Suzie’s questions, seven lives would be filled with sadness.

  “Couldn’t I keep them?” she’d asked. At that time, Eric had been forced to speak of the children’s father. This time, he had the power to grant her heart’s desire.

  After a hurried ride into town, Eric leaped from his rig and pounded the Carlsons’ brass door knocker. When Douglas responded, Eric strode in, his steps strong with determination. “I’m keeping them,” he said. “All five of them.”

  “The Pattersons? Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “Never more,” he answered, certainty warming his heart. “Has another family tried to adopt them?”

  Douglas shook his head. “You know the answer to that. No one is willing to take five half-grown delinquents.”

  “Watch your words, counselor. Those are my children.”

  “You really are serious.”

  “As a parson.”

  Douglas removed his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and rubbed the slight indentation there. An owlish look to him, he studied Eric. Eric didn’t care how long his friend stared at him. He was willing to stand under close scrutiny until those five imps became his. His and Letty’s.

  His expression must have satisfied Douglas, who nodded and smiled wanly. “Here I thought I was brave with one on the way. You’re taking on a full regiment! Come on, let’s start the paperwork.”

  Over cups of steaming coffee, attorney and client accomplished the best thing that ever happened to those five neglected children.

  By the time he left the Carlson residence, with Randy’s vow not to breathe a word of his surprise to Letty, Eric felt certain he would soon be a married man. As he drove past the corner of Willow and Main, he knew he was unable to see Letty and not tell her about the adoption. So he went home to spend another night dreaming of the day when she’d be at his side when morning came.

  When he awoke, he knew that tomorrow he’d see Letty and reveal his plans. He spent the day working around the ranch and playing with the children, enjoying them even more than before. He especially relished hearing Suzie call him Papa.

  When Ford came to relate the town’s favorable response to his piece on Letty, Eric sent her a message. He would stop by in the morning so they could all attend Sunday worship together. Once she saw the town’s renewed acceptance at church, he would break the news about the children.

  As usual, he helped Caroline put the younger ones to bed. The joy in Suzie’s candy-sweet kiss would stay with him the rest of his life. Amelia no longer scuttled away when he came near, and Steven asked if he, too, could call him Papa.

  “I am your papa now.” Joy brought tears to his eyes. “And soon Dr. Morgan will become your mother. What do you think of that, son?”

  Steven’s eyes grew large, and he let a whoop rip from his lips. His approval brought the two older girls runn
ing into his room. Eric reassured them and then asked them the same question. In their unique ways, each answered similarly.

  When the house teemed with the night’s peace, Eric sat on the settee, missing Letty more than ever. His Bible in hand, he noticed how the lamplight brightened everything in the room, seeming to illuminate it from inside. Just as Letty glowed with the love in her heart. Just as his heart now guided him with the light of God’s love.

  He set the Bible on the lodgepole table next to his armchair and leaned his head back on the leather upholstery. Life had begun to feel quite good, indeed. All he needed for complete contentment was the silver-eyed dove at his side.

  The clopping of horse hooves broke the haze created by his pleasant fantasy. He found Ford coming up the porch steps.

  “What brings you out at this time?” he asked, worried that something might have happened to Letty.

  Ford’s spectacles slid to his upper lip. He shoved them back, further smearing the mess of ink on his nose. “I thought you might want to see the first copy of tomorrow morning’s edition.”

  Eric searched his mind for possible problems that might have cropped up. He found none. “Let me see the thing. Here I was finally settling down to a well-earned rest . . .”

  His words trailed off as he opened the paper. His editorial confessing to his wrong response to Letty’s mission took up half the page. That didn’t steal his voice, but next to his piece, in bold print, Ford had published a most outrageous letter.

  To the editor:

  After much careful consideration, this mule-headed doctor capitulates. You were right, sir. It is a mere matter of solving a problem. One we can best tackle together.

  Therefore, with due respect and honor, I accept your proposal of marriage.

  Yours,

  Dr. Letitia Morgan

  The torrent of German outside her door announced her betrothed’s arrival. Smiling with mischief, Letty opened the door.

  In he stalked, waving his arms. “You contrary woman, you. You’re likely to be the death of me one day.”

  He stormed into the waiting room and paced its short length. “I never loaned you that blasted typewriter for you to make public every last bit of correspondence we exchange. Why didn’t you come to the ranch to tell me you’d finally stopped being stubborn?”

  Lifting a shoulder, Letty smiled even more.

  “Furthermore, how dare you pry newspaper information from my employees? They never should have revealed the contents of my editorial. There is such a thing as journalistic privilege and protection for a source.”

  Eric was growing pompous again. Perching on the least uncomfortable of the six chairs in the waiting room, Letty suppressed a laugh, although her smile never faltered. “I felt that since I’ll soon be your wife, I should take greater interest in your business.”

  Her soon-to-be-husband glared in response. She had gone a bit far, but it had been worth it. He’d been so noble confessing his errors in public that with Daisy’s and Ford’s help, she’d matched his gesture. Now, the poor man didn’t know how to contain his irritation.

  Letty knew just what to do. She stood and reached up to stroke his golden hair. His pacing stopped.

  “Eric,” she said. “Let’s not quibble. We have a lifetime of happiness to plan.”

  She watched the thrilling transformation. The chocolate brown of his irises gave way to the deepest darkness.

  “Is the waiting finally over?”

  “Yes, it’s over.”

  “Why?”

  She stood on tiptoe and placed a featherlight kiss on his lips. “Because, my darling man, when you stripped yourself of all pride and wrote that article for my sake, I realized that nothing mattered so much but that God had brought us together, and nothing else should keep us apart. Not the town’s opinions, not a scandal, nothing. He will be faithful to help us overcome all those. I was wrong to place such significance on those matters.”

  “I’m hardly that noble,” he said. “My selfishness inspired that editorial. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to have you as my wife.”

  As he spoke, Eric remembered saying similar words earlier—to Douglas. He’d best tell Letty she was about to become the mother of five wild urchins, before she imagined their married life a paradise for two. “Ah . . . Letty?”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s one other thing you should know.”

  “And that is . . . ?”

  “Well, I just couldn’t let anything happen to them, and since I know how much you care for them, and because I love them myself . . .” Eric ran his hand through his hair, thinking over what he’d said. “Blast, but I sound like Ford!”

  “I noticed.”

  “Well, they’re ours. All of them. And you’d better like it, because I refuse to quibble about it.”

  She reached a finger to his mustache, then feathered her touch onto his lips. “I know,” she said.

  “You know? How could you? They promised not to tell.”

  Letty’s finger followed the angle of his cheekbone. “I don’t know who promised what, but I’ve known all along that the man I love would never let anything harm those children. You love our five rapscallions too much to leave them unprotected in this fallen world. I presume you’ve spoken to Douglas about the adoption.”

  Her trust stole his ability to speak, to think. He could only feel, and he felt humbled. Letty loved him. She trusted him to be the man he wanted to be, the man she needed. With her at his side, her faith behind him, he could be just that—a family man, a man of God.

  For a moment he treasured the emotion in his heart. Then he saw the lamp in the corner of the room. Its flame glowed, steady and clear, illuminating their surroundings. For the first time ever, he recognized the corresponding glow within his heart. Tears of joy welled in his eyes, tears of love.

  “I’m yours,” he whispered into Letty’s violet-scented hair. “You led me back to God, and He gave me life again. Now I’m His . . . and yours.”

  “As am I, my love.”

  “That you are, light of my heart.”

  Ginny Aiken, a former newspaper reporter, lives in Pennsylvania with her engineer husband and their four sons. Born in Havana, Cuba, and raised in Valencia and Caracas, Venezuela, she discovered books at an early age. She wrote her first novel at age fifteen during downtime from the Ballets de Caracas, later to become the Venezuelan National Ballet. She is now the author of fifteen published works.