Sweet Sanctuary Page 2

  Lydia frowned. What did he mean? Before she could phrase a response, her father appeared at the end of the corridor and strode quickly toward them, his hand extended to Micah.

  “Dr. Hatcher?”

  Father’s bearing—chin raised, shoulders square, eyes slightly narrowed and gleaming with arrogance—cowed most people. But Micah didn’t shrink. He grasped Father’s hand. “That’s correct.”

  “I am Allan Eldredge, Lydia’s father. It was good of you to come.” He kept his chin raised, peering at Micah in the superior manner Lydia knew well.

  Micah raised one sardonic eyebrow. “You didn’t give me much choice.”

  Lydia looked from one man to the other, questions racing through her mind. Choice? What was Micah intimating?

  “Let’s step into my den.” Her father glanced at her. “Lydia, have your mother prepare some tea.” He turned back to Micah. “Or do you prefer something stronger?”

  Micah shook his head. “Don’t bother on my account. I don’t need anything, thank you.”

  “Very well.” Father lifted a hand, indicating a wide doorway to the left of the corridor. “Then let’s get better acquainted.”

  Lydia tried to follow, but her father abruptly closed the pocket doors in her face. She considered opening them, demanding to be included, but she decided she wasn’t up to an argument. Sighing, she turned and headed to the kitchen, where she found Nicky at the table, swinging his feet and chomping an oatmeal cookie. Her mother hovered uncertainly behind him, a glass of milk in her hand. When Lydia entered, Lavinia Eldredge placed the milk on the table in front of Nicky and busied herself with some cut flowers on the dry sink. Lydia knew she’d get no information from her mother, assuming she knew anything.

  “Hi, Mama!” Nicky’s cupid’s mouth was ringed with crumbs. “Do you lahke Micah, too?”

  Oh yes, at one time she’d liked Micah. To the point of infatuation. But she wouldn’t admit it. She seated herself next to Nicky and reached for his foot, bringing it up to rest on her knee and tying the loose shoelace. “So you made a friend, huh?”

  Nicky nodded, a grin lighting his sweet face. “Micah-my-friend. He’s nice, Mama. He said I’m just right ’cause my feet reach the ground. And Buggy is prob’ly with his mama being glad I didn’t put him in a shoebox.”

  Nicky and his whims of imagination. Lydia couldn’t follow the little boy’s line of talk, but she nodded anyway. She rested her chin in her hand, watching fondly as Nicky finished his snack. Her mind carried her backward to the last time she’d seen Dr. Micah Hatcher.

  Under the sun on idyllic Oahu, standing beside the Pineapple Express . . . He hadn’t spoken to her as she’d waited to board the train. She hadn’t spoken either, caught up in worry about Eleanor. As much as she’d admired Micah and wanted his attention, she hadn’t sought it that day. And she wasn’t certain she should seek it now, even though he was only a few yards away.

  Voices exploded from the den. Mother turned from the sink, her fingers covering her mouth. Nicky sat up straight. His head turned toward the sound. Then he gave Lydia a worried look. “Mama, Poppy is yelling at Micah-my-friend.”

  How odd Nicky would express loyalty to a man he’d only just met rather than the grandfather who had helped raise him, but then Lydia listened again and understood. It wasn’t angry voices they were hearing, but only one angry voice—Allan Eldredge’s.

  Nicky jumped up as if to run to the hall, but Lydia caught him and eased him back into the chair. “Stay here, Nicky.”

  Mother crossed to the table and placed her hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yes, Nicky, stay here with Grammy. Finish your milk. Micah and Poppy will be fine—men are just noisy sometimes.”

  Nicky looked up at his grandmother, his expression innocent. “Like boys are noisy, Grammy?”

  “Yes, my little noisemaker, like boys are noisy.” Mother smiled and bestowed a kiss on the crown of Nicky’s head. “Your mama will make sure they quiet down,” she added, giving Lydia a meaningful look.

  Lydia rose and hurried to the pocket doors, but she jumped back as they burst open and Father charged into the corridor. His neck and cheeks were mottled, his jaw clenched. The question on Lydia’s lips remained unasked in light of the rage on her father’s face. She swung her gaze to Micah, who looked equally grim. Father kept his back to Micah, his arms crossed, the anger palpable.

  Micah spoke to Father’s stiff back. “Mr. Eldredge, I appreciate your concern. But you must understand this situation is between Lydia and me. She and I will need to be allowed to find the solution.”

  Lydia looked from one man to the other, hoping for a clue. What kind of situation existed between Micah and herself? She hadn’t seen the man for over three years.

  Father whirled, his finger pointing at Micah, but before he could speak, Nicky came racing down the corridor with Mother on his heels. He slid to a stop and wrapped his arms around his grandfather’s knees. Nicky’s bangs flopped across his forehead as he peered upward. “Poppy, I heard you yelling. Why were you being so noisy?”

  Father looked down at the boy, and his expression softened. He cupped the back of Nicky’s head with a tender hand. “Did I frighten you?”

  Nicky nodded, his little forehead puckered. “You yelled at Micah.”

  A brief look passed between the men. They seemed to reach a silent agreement to do whatever necessary to prevent upsetting the little boy. Father stroked Nicky’s tousled hair. “I’m sorry, Nicky. Poppy is a big man, and sometimes big men make big sounds. But I won’t yell anymore.”

  Micah crouched to Nicky’s level, a warm smile lighting his eyes. He was obviously touched by Nicky’s concern, and Lydia’s heart lifted as she watched him interact with her son. Placing a hand on Nicky’s small back, Micah said, “I won’t yell either, partner. Deal?”

  “Deal.” Nicky grinned and then released Father’s knees to turn and lean backward against his poppy’s sturdy frame.

  Micah rose, his gaze on Lydia. The warmth in his expression drained away. “We need to talk.” The quiet tone seemed ominous.

  A prickle of trepidation made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She swung her confused gaze on her father.

  Father, his hands now on Nicky’s shoulders, jerked his head in the direction of the door. “I suggest you take a walk.”

  Nicky angled his head nearly upside down as he tried to see his grandfather’s face. “Can I go, too?”

  “No, you stay with me,” Father said.

  “But I want to take a walk with Micah-my-friend.”

  Micah reached out and lightly tapped the end of Nicky’s nose with one finger. “Tell you what, partner. I’ll take a walk with your mama first, and then when I get back, I’ll take a walk with you. Sound good?”

  “You and me take a walk alone?” Nicky’s wide brown eyes begged.

  Micah glanced at Lydia, and she nodded her approval, her heart turning strangely in her chest at Micah’s kindness to Nicky.

  “Yep, just you an’ me, partner.”

  “Hurray!” Nicky suspended himself happily from Father’s hands. “Poppy, Micah and me are gonna take a walk!”

  “Good.” Father looked at Lydia, his expression carrying a warning. “Go on now.”

  Winging a quick, wordless prayer for strength heavenward, Lydia pressed her trembling palms against the hips of her trousers and raised her shoulders. “Well, let’s go then.”

  Micah followed her out the door.

  Micah’s anger had been stirred in his brief encounter with Nicholas Allan Eldredge the Second. Had he ever been part of such a one-sided, accusatory conversation? The man’s angry—and inaccurate—allegations still rang through Micah’s head. He needed to gain full control of his temper before he asked Lydia why she had named Micah as her son’s father. She walked slowly, purposefully, each step measured and stilted. Her gaze stayed straight ahead, not even acknowledging his presence. He sensed her tension, but why should she be tense? She’d started this mess with h
er untruths.

  Micah looked up and down the street. Square patches of grass formed emerald carpets leading from the sidewalk to the bricked faces of four-story-high houses. An abundance of flowering bushes and patches of flowers reminiscent of those his mama planted in her garden—geraniums, poppies, daisies, and bachelor buttons—created eye-catching splashes of color that helped soothe the frayed edges of his nerves.

  Lydia’s neighborhood was certainly different from the one where he lived in Queens. Her corner of the world seemed much more tranquil than his, few people and fewer vehicles around. A bird sang cheerfully from a snowball bush growing next to the railed stairway of one house. The lilting melody further quieted Micah’s irritation.

  They were well away from Lydia’s home, and Micah had calmed enough to address the issue. Help me keep my anger in check, God. He cleared his throat to speak, and Lydia jumped at the sudden noise. She turned in his direction, her brown eyes wide and apprehensive. The expression in her eyes brought to mind little Nicky’s pensive gaze, and he had to fight against a smile that threatened. He didn’t want to smile at Lydia. Not yet.

  “Is Nicky the reason you left Schofield?”

  She looked forward again with a defensive thrust to her jaw. “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  Lydia reached out and picked a daisy from a cluster growing near the sidewalk. She twirled the bloom as they continued ambling side by side. “I didn’t believe it concerned anyone else.”

  Micah sent her a sidelong look, irked by her indifferent response. “Your father obviously doesn’t agree with your opinion.” He paused, his hands clasped behind his back, lest he give in to the temptation to throttle someone. “Why did you tell him I’m Nicky’s father?”

  Lydia came to a dead halt and spun to face him, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide. “Why did I—?” She threw down the daisy with force. “I did no such thing!” The denial was adamant and—unless Micah was a poor judge of character—truthful. He remembered her expression when she’d found him on her doorstep earlier. Her shock had seemed genuine. Could she be innocent of creating this muddle?

  “Do you have any idea why your father would make that assumption?”

  “Father couldn’t possibly believe such a thing.”

  Her indignation was real but misguided. Micah reached inside his jacket and removed the letter he’d received from Allan Eldredge. He handed it to Lydia and watched her read it. Her face slowly drained of color as her eyes scanned the written script. Finally she raised her gaze, her dark eyes wide. She held out the letter as if it were a poisonous snake and shook her head.

  “I can’t believe . . .” She swallowed, glancing once more at the letter, her face pale. “I had no idea. Oh, Micah, no wonder you came. I’m so sorry.”

  Micah took the letter from her unresisting fingers, folded it, and returned it to his pocket. In the brief time he’d visited with N. Allan Eldredge, he’d been given the impression Lydia’s father was a man few people crossed. He suspected his daughter didn’t cross him, either. He gave Lydia’s arm a gentle squeeze, his anger with her completely gone in light of her very real distress. “Lydia, I’m sorry, too. I thought you knew why I was here and that you had told him to contact me.”

  She shook her head, her chin-length dark hair lifting in the slight breeze. “No, he didn’t say a word to me.” She placed one hand along her jaw as if she had a toothache. “But where would he have . . . ?” Then her shoulders slumped, comprehension dawning, the hand falling to her side. “About two months ago, I noticed my diaries had been moved. I didn’t think much about it at the time—I thought perhaps the maid had shifted them when she dusted my shelves—but now I wonder . . .”

  Micah could have made a teasing remark about her writing about him in her diary, but he didn’t feel much like teasing right now. “You think he read your diary?”

  She flipped her hands outward. “He must have. It’s the only explanation. I’ve never mentioned you in conversation. The only place he could have found your name would be my diaries.” She ran her hands through her hair from temples to nape, sweeping it into appealing wings away from her face. “I can’t believe he would violate my privacy this way!” She spun and stomped up the sidewalk, her heels clacking.

  Micah trotted to keep up. He had no difficulty believing that her father had read through Lydia’s private thoughts. Allan Eldredge struck him as a ruthless man, intent on having his own way regardless of the cost. “Did you write about Nicky’s real father in your diaries?”

  Lydia stopped again, dropped her head, and gave a slight nod.

  “Then he must not have read everything.”

  Lydia slowly brought up her chin and looked ahead, giving Micah a view of her profile. He found it just as appealing as he had the first time he’d spotted her across the mess hall at Schofield. Oh yes, he’d been interested. Until he’d discovered she had no interest in Christianity. He wouldn’t pursue a faithless woman.

  She spoke, her voice flat. “Father has no need to read my diary to discover the identity of Nicky’s father. He’s known all along.”

  “Then why would he—?”

  Lydia turned her gaze to Micah. Her eyes appeared much older than her years. “He’s afraid. I’m afraid. He did it for me—and for Nicky.”

  Micah crunched his brow, completely confused. “Lydia, I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’d have to know the whole story. . . .” Turning away again, she sighed. A tired sigh. A sad sigh. She ran a hand through her hair once more—a thoughtless gesture—then blinked rapidly, biting down on her lower lip. “Micah, you came in answer to a letter that should have never been sent. The least I can do is tell you about Nicky. But not in the open, on the sidewalk where anyone could overhear.” Her eyes begged him to listen and understand. “Can we go somewhere private?”

  Micah shrugged. “I’m new in town. You’d need to pick the place.”

  “We’ll take a drive,” she said. “I have my gas ration coupons for three weeks saved up—we’ll drive to Manchester-by-the-Sea, where there’s no chance of being overheard.” Such secretiveness set Micah’s teeth on edge. “Of course, you’ll have to take a walk with Nicky first.” A small smile appeared on her face.

  Micah chuckled. “I promised him. I won’t break the promise.”

  Lydia nodded, giving him an approving smile. Yet her eyes still seemed sad. “Let’s head back, then.” She turned, took one step, then stopped. Her expression turned desperate as she caught hold of his arm in a surprisingly strong grip. “Micah, what I share with you this evening must stay between us. Nicky’s safety depends on it.”

  A jolt of fear struck as firmly as a fist to Micah’s belly. He nodded, making a silent vow. She began walking, and he fell in step beside her. They didn’t speak, but his mind raced, his questions taking on a prayerlike quality. God, this has got me spooked. What kind of secret does Lydia harbor?

  3

  The sky had changed to a dusky pink by the time Lydia parked her Hudson at a high point overlooking a steep decline to the ocean’s expanse. Micah looked out the window, whistling softly at the view. Manchester-by-the-Sea stretched behind them like a twinkling blanket, electric lights shining in countless windows. On the opposite side, stars shimmered in a clear night sky, sending dappled reflections across the gently rolling waves. God had outdone Himself when He created this corner of the world.

  He cranked his window open to allow a breeze, and the sound of a cricket singing its night song intruded. The air was a bit cooler here, but certainly not cold. Sweet scents—fruits, flowers, and damp earth—drifted in, competing with the tang of sea air. He glanced at Lydia. Her gaze was turned outward, but he suspected she wasn’t really seeing the view. The fingers of one hand ran idly across the steering wheel, and her puckered face indicated she was lost in thought.

  “Are you ready to talk?” Although he spoke softly, she gave a start.

  Slowly she faced h
im, her hand stilling on the steering wheel and curling around the varnished wood as if in need of security. She released a breath, then set her jaw in a familiar, determined way. “Yes.” She shrugged slightly, the shiny fabric of her blouse rippling like the ocean waves with the movement. “But I’m not sure where to start.”

  Micah shifted, bringing up one knee to prop his heel on the edge of the seat. He wrapped his arm around his knee in a casual pose he hoped would reduce the tension in the vehicle. “How about starting at Schofield, when you left.”

  She tipped her head, seeming to considering this, then nodded briskly. “All right. Do you remember I asked permission to go to Honolulu?”

  He nodded. He’d been given instruction to drive her to the train station, and he hadn’t been pleased. Her penchant for flirtation made him uncomfortable. But she hadn’t been flirtatious that day.

  “I desperately needed to get away. You see, for weeks I had been struggling with a problem, and I just couldn’t find a solution. I had gotten a letter from a friend, Eleanor . . .” She paused again, grimacing. “Micah, I’m sorry. For all of this to make sense, I’m going to have to go farther back—to when I took the Red Cross classes and agreed to a year of army service at Schofield. Please bear with me.”

  Micah reached out and gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Take your time.”

  She gave him a grateful look, then continued. “Eleanor and I were lifelong friends. Our fathers worked together. Father is in crating—”

  Micah frowned in confusion, and Lydia laughed softly before offering a brief explanation. “His business is to make crates. The crates are used for shipping everything from oranges to machine gun parts. It’s been a very lucrative business and the war has only made it more so.”

  Micah nodded. Considering how many things were being shipped overseas these days, Eldredge had no doubt amassed a small fortune.

  “Eleanor’s father was the foreman of the plant, so our relationship was multifaceted. Our parents worked together, socialized together. . . . Since we were both only children, we became like surrogate sisters. Eleanor and I practically lived together.”