The Sea Before Us

by Sarah Sundin

  The shards pierced Dorothy’s heart, and she spun to face him. “Papa . . .”

  He sat hunched over the table, his forehead in his hands, his head shaking. “God had taken everyone I loved. I—maybe if I ignored you, he wouldn’t see how much I loved you. Then I wouldn’t lose you too.”

  “Oh, Papa.” She dashed to the table and sat across from him.

  “Sounds preposterous.”

  “No.” She pressed her hand over her quivering mouth. No more preposterous than believing she could stay out of God’s reach.

  “And I . . . I . . .” His fingers curled in, his knuckles taut. “I was trying to protect myself. If I kept my distance, maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much if you died too.”

  A sob gurgled in her throat, and she stretched her hand across the table, but she couldn’t reach her father. Charlie whimpered and pawed at his master’s leg.

  “I was wrong.” Papa lowered his fists to the table and glared at them. “The past few weeks I thought I’d lost you forever. And it hurt. It hurt. I hadn’t protected myself at all. I’d only hurt you.”

  Her fingertips found his fist, and she wrapped her hand around it.

  He dragged his gaze up to her, slammed his eyes shut, then opened them—full of remorse. “You—you lost your mother and brothers. Then you lost me too.”

  She squeezed his fist. “I—I always had you.”

  His cheeks twitched. “Not as you needed me. You needed me to be warm—I was cold. You needed me to be strong—I was weak. You needed me to provide for you—I didn’t. You’ve been the one holding us together, holding me together, nagging me to eat and go to the office. I am . . . so ashamed.”

  “Oh, Papa, Papa, Papa.” Her heart broke for him, and she grabbed both of his fists, shaking them in her grip.

  “No more.” His fingers clawed open and enveloped her hands in his. “That has all changed. I’m eating as much as I can. I’ve gone to work every day. I will be strong again. For you.”

  That strength poured through his hands to hers, from his eyes to hers, from his heart to hers, and her cheek tickled from a tear she couldn’t wipe away.

  “What hurt most . . . you thought I couldn’t look at you because of your mother.” He squeezed so tight her knuckles rubbed together. “My sweet, sweet Dolly, you may look like her, you may have her high spirits, but you’re nothing like her inside.”

  She lowered her chin, wanting to reject his words, wanting even more to accept them.

  “That woman is selfish and disloyal. You—you, my girl, are generous and faithful. Look how you’ve cared for me all these years. You never abandoned me. You never ridiculed me.”

  Truth coursed warm throughout her. She might be like her mother in many ways, but she’d made better choices. And she would continue to do so.

  “Dolly. My Dolly. You are tender and kind and thoughtful. You are nothing—nothing like that woman.”

  She managed a nod and slid her hands free. “That’s what Wyatt said.”

  “He’s a good man.”

  Dorothy dashed for the larder. Biscuits. Biscuits. Where were the biscuits? There was so little food on the shelves. Papa really had been eating well. “He—he was quite the hero on D-day. His ship sank—but he—he survived.”

  “Thank goodness. Have you seen him?”

  Never again, and her chest convulsed. She grasped the shelf for support.

  A little loaf of war bread rested before her, wrapped in a napkin, and she clutched it to her chest. Memories ground up the kind words from the two men she loved and kneaded them into old, cruel truths. “I am like Mum. I am.”

  “Dorothy?”

  She stepped out of the larder and faced her father and her shortcomings. “I am like Mum in one horrible way. You—you’re a good man, and she threw you over for a rogue. I—Wyatt is a good man, but I ignored him and chased after Lawrence.”

  Papa’s face darkened. “Now there’s a rogue.”

  A whooshing sound rose from the teakettle, and Dorothy removed it from the stove. “You never liked him.”

  “He had no regard for others. I spent too much time apologizing for his shenanigans in Normandy. I spent too much money paying for the damage he caused on his sprees. He didn’t care that he put people at risk. He only cared about his own fun.”

  As she poured water into the teapot, Dorothy pulled back from the steam and from Papa’s words. Lawrence hadn’t changed one whit. “You’ll be happy to know I’ve thrown him over.”

  “As I said, you’re nothing like your mother. Wyatt is a far better man.”

  Dorothy stared down at the war bread, still in her hand. “It’s too late. I offered him crumbs when he deserves the whole loaf.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I love him, but it’s too late. I lost my chance forever.”

  A soft rumble sounded in Papa’s throat. “Don’t be so sure. A man like that—his feelings run deep and strong.”

  So many memories—Wyatt always there, taking her to church, going to the office, singing to her, telling her he loved her, kissing her with wild passion. Why had she waited so long . . . too long? If only she could see him one more time. She’d never told him she loved him.

  “Did he really go all the way up to Edinburgh with you?” Papa lifted Charlie to his lap.

  Dorothy hauled in a breath, set down the loaf, and pulled two teacups and saucers from the cupboard. “He was training in Greenock and met me there. He’s the one who solved the mystery.”

  “Then I owe him.”

  Dorothy set the china on the table. “What good does it do if you don’t prosecute?”

  “I don’t want to. Not only do I not want the scandal, but I don’t want vengeance. I don’t care to see them in prison.”

  He was far more merciful than they deserved, but she loved him for it. “All right. But even if you don’t want vengeance, don’t you want justice? The theft needs to stop.”

  Papa stroked Charlie’s fur. “It’s impossible to have justice without scandal. Impossible. Mac knows I can’t withstand it.”

  Gears turned in her mind. She fetched the teapot from the stove and the milk from the icebox, and she set them on the table. “You’re strong enough to withstand the scandal, I know it. If we lean on each other and we lean on the Lord, we can endure anything.”

  “You’re a good daughter.” His voice roughened, and his face fell. “But you have too much faith in me.”

  “What if . . .” Dorothy plopped into the chair and drummed her fingers on the table in tempo with her ideas. “Mr. MacLeod believes you can’t endure scandal. But what if he believed you could? What if you assured him you could endure it very well indeed?”

  Papa’s face scrunched up in confusion.

  Dorothy patted the table and smiled. “He’d lose his power. You could have justice without revenge, without scandal.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  “I do.” She sprang from her chair and flung up her arms in a dramatic pose. “All you need to do is a few minutes of playacting.”

  47

  London

  Thursday, June 15, 1944

  The lobby of Fairfax & Sons brought up a host of memories of Dorothy—going to church, looking at the accounts, seeing her pretty smile.

  Wyatt had told himself he was visiting Mr. Fairfax to say good-bye, but he had to admit the visit was a sneaky way to find out how Dorothy was doing. He just hoped the man was in the office.

  A soft-eyed brunette sat behind the desk outside Mr. Fairfax’s office, and Wyatt gave her a nod. “Good morning, ma’am. Is Mr. Fairfax here? I was wondering if I could see him.”

  “He is here.” Her accent sounded almost German. “May I ask your name, sir?”

  “Lt. Wyatt Paxton.”

  Her hand hovered over the phone, and she smiled. “Dorothy’s friend?”

  He searched the limited space for names in his memory bank. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I am called Johanna Katin. I’m—”
r />   “Dorothy’s friend.” He grinned at her. “She speaks highly of you.”

  “She speaks highly of you too.” A light flashed in her dark eyes as if she’d had an idea. Then she lowered her chin and frowned. “But she is sad.”

  His breath caught. “Sad? Why? What happened?”

  “She . . .” Johanna traced her finger over the phone receiver. “She is worried about you.”

  “Me?” Marino had told her he survived. “Does she think I was hurt?”

  “She does not know.”

  Wyatt eyed Mr. Fairfax’s door. “Good thing I came. Her dad can tell her I’m okay.”

  “Oh. She . . .” Johanna tilted her head, and her fingertip hopped between the holes in the phone dial. “She is sad because she . . . I saw her last weekend, and she was sad. Yes. She wished she could see you again.”

  “To say good-bye?” His chest constricted. They hadn’t had a proper good-bye in Edinburgh.

  “She is your friend and you want to see her, yes?”

  “Yes.” Then he shook his head. He did want to see her, but it wasn’t wise.

  “Oh! She will be happy. She’s at her headquarters. You know where, yes?” She rose from her chair.

  Wyatt’s mouth hung open. He hadn’t said he’d visit Dorothy, but now . . .

  Johanna opened the office door. “Excuse me, Mr. Fairfax? Mr. Lieutenant Paxton is here.”

  “Lieutenant . . .” Mr. Fairfax darted out of the office with a wide smile. “Wyatt, my boy. How good to see you.”

  “It’s good to see you too, sir.” He shook the man’s hand, amazed. Mr. Fairfax’s face had filled out and lost the sallow tone.

  “Well, come in. Come in. Thank you, Miss Katin.” He ushered Wyatt inside and shut the door. “What brings you here?”

  The man seemed almost as sprightly as his daughter. Wyatt lowered himself into a chair. “I had a meeting in London yesterday, stayed the night. I’m leaving England soon. I wanted to say good-bye, thank you for your hospitality and friendship.”

  “It was my honor.” Mr. Fairfax sat behind his desk, his expression serious again. “I’m glad you came. I need to thank you for discovering who was stealing from my company. Quite a rude shock to learn my former friend and my former wife had stooped so low.”

  Wyatt’s mouth flopped open. “She—Dorothy told you all that?”

  Mr. Fairfax waved one hand before him. “I already knew Margaret was alive. I’ve known all along.”

  “Oh.” If the man had known his wife faked her own death to leave him, that explained the depths of his grief.

  “But—” Mr. Fairfax raised half a smile—“thanks to your keen mind and my Dorothy’s cleverness, the embezzlement has been stopped.”

  “They’ve been arrested?”

  “No. I had no desire to see them imprisoned, and a trial would have created a scandal. I didn’t know if I could withstand it.”

  “I understand, sir.”

  Mr. Fairfax leaned his forearms on his desk. “Dorothy realized MacLeod’s plan hinged on my fear of scandal. What if we unscrewed the hinges?”

  As if he needed any reason to admire Dorothy more. “What did you do?”

  “First I rang Mr. Campbell at the Edinburgh office. I had him remove the invoices from Forthwright and the carbon copies of the checks and take them to my solicitor’s office for safekeeping. Then I gave my old chum a ring.” Mr. Fairfax laid his hand on his phone with a faint smile.

  Wyatt echoed that smile. “Surprised to hear from you?”

  “Quite. I told him I knew what he and Margaret had done. And I told him in no uncertain terms that I would gladly endure any scandal to see justice served. A tiny bit of playacting.”

  Dorothy’s idea, no doubt. “I reckon that surprised him even more.”

  Mr. Fairfax laughed, a sound Wyatt had never heard that he could remember. “I must admit, his shock did satisfy my thirst for vengeance.”

  Wyatt chuckled. He would have enjoyed it too.

  “Then I offered him a way out. If he offered his resignation straightaway, that would be the end of it. But if he refused, I’d ring Scotland Yard—and I had the evidence hidden away.”

  “He took the bait.”

  “He did. He resigned that moment.”

  “I’m glad it ended well.”

  “It did for me and for the company.” He ran his hand over his hair, and his expression turned pensive. “MacLeod will make do. He’ll find a new position. But Margaret won’t fare so well, now that he doesn’t need her anymore. She’ll be out of a home.”

  Wyatt puckered his lips. A middle-aged woman on her own without job skills, without proper papers?

  “I will provide for her.” He smoothed the blotting pad on his desk. “I’ve set up an account. My solicitor will provide her a modest allowance and a comfortable flat. Not the style she’s accustomed to, but that was her choice when she left me.”

  The hardness of the man’s voice couldn’t hide the softness of his heart. “That’s right kind of you, sir.”

  He raised one eyebrow at Wyatt. “Truth be told, it’s selfish of me. I don’t want her to return. I refuse to take her back. She’s legally dead, so I no longer have any obligation. However, in the eyes of God, she’s my wife, and I will take care of her.”

  What beautiful, merciful irony—this man providing a livelihood for the woman who’d tried to steal his away.

  “I loved her once.” He gazed over Wyatt’s head. “Very much. I will always be indebted to her for giving me three of the best children to grace this earth.”

  Wyatt swallowed hard. “That is something to be thankful for.”

  Mr. Fairfax’s gaze drifted to Wyatt, gentle yet strong. “I wish you could have known Art and Gil. You would have gotten on famously. Fine young men.”

  He’d never heard the sons’ names out of the father’s mouth before, and Wyatt could only nod.

  “And Dorothy . . .” Mr. Fairfax’s voice cracked, and redness swept over his face. Then he shook himself. “I don’t know what I would have done without her. She’s a great gift.”

  “I hope you tell her that.”

  “She knows now. She knows how very much I love her.” He mashed his lips together, his eyes hazy.

  Wyatt’s nose stuffed up. Somehow all this madness hadn’t destroyed the Fairfax family—somehow it had led to healing.

  Mr. Fairfax’s eyes cleared. “She also knows I am standing on my own again. I refuse to be a burden to her any longer. I have apologized for neglecting my duties as a man and as a father. I will no longer hold her back. She is free to go where she chooses.”

  “That—that’s good, sir.” Why did he feel those words were directed at him? “Knowing her, she’ll choose to be where you are.”

  He nodded, rolling a pen along the top of his desk. “You’re leaving England? When?”

  “Few weeks, sir.”

  More nodding, more rolling. “Since you’re leaving, I’m in no danger of embarrassing my daughter. I must admit, I once entertained the hope you’d become my son-in-law. And I could always use a good accountant.”

  A punch to his gut. Wyatt had entertained a similar hope. He raised a polite smile. “Thank you, sir, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

  Southwick House

  One long day of good-byes. Wyatt climbed the staircase at Southwick House that afternoon. Johanna had put him in a bind. What if she told Dorothy that Wyatt planned to visit her—and he didn’t?

  But mostly, curiosity drove him. Johanna had painted a portrait of Dorothy in blue, but Mr. Fairfax used tones of sunny daffodil yellow. Which was it?

  Besides, Johanna had a point. Dorothy was his friend, and he wanted to see her one last time. After all they’d been through, she deserved a better good-bye than she’d received in Edinburgh.

  He paused outside the door to the intelligence office. Lord, give me the right words. He had to make it clear he wasn’t pursuing her. What good would it do with him leaving soon?

  One mo
re prayer and he entered the office.

  Dorothy had her back to him, talking with her two friends and waving one hand as if telling a story. And she laughed, like cool water on his dry throat. She didn’t look sad at all. She looked mighty good.

  Her dark-haired friend—Myrtle?—she spotted Wyatt and tapped Dorothy on the shoulder.

  She spun around, eyes and mouth round. “Wy—Lieutenant Paxton. It—it’s good to see you.” She didn’t move.

  So Wyatt did. He strolled over to her with a smile, although his heart skittered around like a jackrabbit. “It’s good to see you too.”

  She looked impossibly pretty, her freckles peeking out from under a light coat of face powder. “Why are you here?”

  Why? Because he didn’t have to be back in Plymouth till Monday. Because he cared more about her than about saving face.

  “How silly of me.” She lowered her chin. “Of course. You have paperwork, meetings.”

  “Um, yeah.” But not at Southwick. “Thought I’d come say hi.”

  Dorothy glanced up with a little smile. “I’m glad you did. And I—I’m glad you survived. I’m so sorry about your ship.”

  “Thank you, but she did her job. Thanks to you.”

  “Me?” Long eyelashes fluttered. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “But you did. Remember that drawing with the black shack? I remembered it on D-day. There was a big old German gun inside. We blew it to kingdom come.”

  “Really?” Could those eyes get any bigger, any bluer, any more gorgeous?

  “Really. But I—” He winced. “I’m afraid I blew up your house too. I’m real sorry about that.”

  To his shock, she smiled. “I’m glad you did. It needed to be done.”

  This was no ordinary woman, and love for her strained inside his chest. “It did need to be done. Once we knocked out the house and the shack, our troops were able to advance.”

  “I’m glad.” Her gaze wandered around his face.

  He took the liberty of studying her face as well. She’d never looked better—peaceful, in good spirits, if a bit ruffled to see him.

  Seeing her soothed an ache and yet created a deeper ache. How he would miss her.

  He cleared his throat. “I also—I came to say good-bye. I got my orders. I’m leaving England soon.”