Anchor in the Storm

by Sarah Sundin

  Her cheeks puffed up with air. Did she really want him to hold her again?

  “Come on.” Arch took her hand, led her to the dance floor, and gathered her in his arms while the band played “So Rare.”

  When she found her voice, she used it. “I don’t remember saying yes.”

  Arch stood in the dance position and tipped his head to the side, waiting.

  “All right, but I fail to see how this will show them.” This position was worse than the full embrace because she could see his face. So close. She feigned fascination with the band.

  “Follow me. Side to side. Step, touch. Step, touch. Nothing difficult.”

  “Not for you.” She frowned at her clumsy feet, but at least she didn’t have to look at Arch. “Now explain.”

  “Simple. Bitsy wants to marry me. In fact, any of those three would marry me for the Vandenberg fortune.”

  “They’re gems. You should snatch one of them up.”

  He chuckled. “But I don’t want to, and they know it. They see me gazing adoringly at you, yet you won’t even look at me.”

  Her breath hitched, she met his gaze, and she tripped. His arm on her waist set her feet in motion again—but not her lungs.

  That expression. The same one he’d given her when she came down to dinner, but closer and more intense.

  She jerked her gaze away.

  “See?” he said. “I snub them for you, and you snub me for . . . no one. You win.”

  “Great.” She forced out a light laugh. “I won. Thank you for your help. Now you can stop pretending to gaze at me adoringly.”

  His sigh ruffled her hair. “My darling Lillian. Whatever makes you think I’m pretending?”

  Every muscle went taut, then squirmed. “Don’t talk like that. Please don’t. I trusted you.”

  “Come on. Let’s go for a walk outside.”

  “I don’t want to. I want—”

  “You want to speak your mind. Not here. You just won. If you make a scene, you’ll lose. Let’s go outside, and you can say every word as loudly as you’d like.”

  Maybe Jim could rescue her. Where was he?

  “Lillian, come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

  “Fine.” She gritted her teeth and let him lead her out of the ballroom, down a back staircase, and across a patio to the grounds that sloped down to the sea.

  Lillian flung away his hand and marched along the pathway under a half moon. “I trusted you, Archer Vandenberg. You said we were friends, only friends. That was the deal.”

  “I never promised I wouldn’t fall in love with you.”

  Love? Lillian whirled around. He stood silhouetted against the muted light from the ballroom windows, soft music floating past him. “I—I thought you were better than that.”

  “Better? What are you talking about?” He stepped closer, dark and unreadable.

  She strode down the path, her chest straining from the pain. “What kind of man falls in love with a cripple? Normal men don’t. Normal men reject me.”

  His footsteps followed. “I didn’t fall in love with a cripple. I fell in love with a beautiful, vibrant, clever—”

  “Stop it.” She waved her arm behind her, swatting away his words. “No man wants a cripple unless he’s crippled inside, twisted, sick—”

  “Lillian, sweetheart. What did he do to you?”

  She spun around, breath racing.

  Arch stopped several feet away. “I deserve to know. You’re judging me by what he did, and I don’t even know what I’m up against. I—I’m fighting blind, below decks.”

  Lillian pressed her hand to her forehead, dizzy, knees wobbling. “I need to sit down.”

  “There’s a bench under that tree.”

  She sank onto the bench with her back to the ocean, the cold of the stone seeping through layers of chiffon. How could she tell him? The story was shameful. She’d never told a soul.

  Arch stood at the end of the bench, facing the sea. Silent.

  Music drifted to her through the trees, the tune indiscernible. “Why should I trust you?”

  “Don’t you know me by now?”

  “I—I thought I did, but then you said you . . . you—”

  “I said I love you. Why would love make me less trustworthy?”

  She folded her arms and leaned over them. “He said he loved me too.”

  Arch didn’t move, didn’t speak, always the gentleman. If she told him about Gordon, he’d think less of her. Wouldn’t that drive him away? Wasn’t that what she wanted?

  Lillian steeled herself, her forehead inches from her knees. “I met Gordon my first year at Ohio State. He said it was love at first sight. I was overjoyed—I’d never dated before. And he reminded me of that constantly. He said I should be grateful he paid me any attention. No one else would. I should . . . I should . . .”

  “Go on.”

  Her shoulders hunched up. “We’d been going steady for a month. One night he took me on a picnic by the river. The ground was sandy, and sand is bad for my prosthesis. He told me to take it off. He’d carry me. I didn’t want to, but he claimed I didn’t love him, didn’t trust him. Since I—I didn’t want to lose him, I let him put my prosthesis in the trunk of his car.”

  A breeze sent curls across her cheek. “It was October, and it was chilly, and the usual college crowd wasn’t around. Gordon got fresh. And he—he wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t get away. I screamed, but I couldn’t see anyone.”

  “He had his way with you.” Arch’s voice came out hard and tight.

  “He would have. There were three boys farther down, drinking. They heard me, and they stopped him.”

  “See. Some good men in this world.”

  Lillian snorted. “You know what they said? They said Gordon was disturbed for wanting a freak like me. They humiliated him into taking me home. I was so furious, I broke up with him on the ride back. Well, that was a mistake, because when he dropped me off at the dorm, he refused to open the trunk. He left me there, dirty, dress torn, hopping on one leg.”

  “Oh, Lillian.”

  She wrenched her head to the side, away from his pity. “The housemother called me a—a—she questioned my virtue. And I had to use my crutches to get around campus. People stared even more than ever. Gordon said if I apologized, he’d take me back and return my prosthesis, but I refused. I lasted a week. I needed my prosthesis. I couldn’t afford a new one on my own, and I couldn’t tell my parents.”

  “They would have—”

  “Don’t you see? How could I tell them? So I called Gordon. After he brought back my prosthesis, I broke up with him again. I let myself be weak with him, and he . . . and he . . .”

  Arch sat on the arm of the bench and held out a handkerchief.

  “I don’t cry. I never cry.” She sat up and pushed back her hair to show him.

  “My darling girl.” He stroked her cheek, handkerchief still in hand. “I would never take advantage of your weakness. It—it’s a gift you’ve given me. Something to treasure.”

  The compassion in his eyes undid her. Not pitying compassion, but admiring compassion, mixed with gratitude, mixed with love, mixed with his own weakness. “You . . .” Her voice choked, and she swallowed hard. “You’re taking a chance on me too.”

  His gaze roamed her face, one finger tracing her jawline. “In a way. Every woman I’ve dated has only wanted me for my money. But you’re different. If you ever fell in love with me, you’d be looking past these superficial trappings and seeing me, the real me, who I am inside.”

  She ached for him. He deserved to be loved like that. He already was. And shouldn’t he know it?

  In the distance, waves shushed to the shore, stretching and retreating. If the Lord was her sure anchor, couldn’t she take the chance to accept love, to give Arch the love he longed for?

  He sighed and lowered his hand. “I’m willing to wait. I won’t push you.”

  “I already do.” The words tumbled out.

  “Hmm?” One eye
brow raised.

  Oh, why did her mouth have to be as clumsy as her feet? “I—I already love you. Like that. Who you are.”

  His chin and his eyelids sank. Silent.

  She gripped a handful of chiffon. “I didn’t say that right, did I?”

  His eyes opened, gleaming in the moonlight. “You said it perfectly. I just didn’t expect to hear it so soon. If ever.”

  “Oh.” She tucked in her lips. Now what? He’d kiss her, wouldn’t he? Was she ready?

  From his perch on the arm of the bench, he draped one arm along the stone behind her and set his other hand on her cheek, back into her hair, and he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her—her forehead?

  “I love you so much,” he murmured against her skin. “We’ll be weak together, strong together, you and I.”

  A puff of breeze swirled between them, too much space between them. Now that she’d made up her mind, now that she’d confessed her love, she didn’t want to hold back even a little.

  She worked her hand up and over his shoulder and tugged him down to the bench beside her.

  He let out a surprised grunt and looked her in the eye, only inches away.

  “I told you I love you.” Her gaze fell to his mouth. “When I decide to do something, I do it.”

  He pulled in his lips, and then they parted, moist and inviting.

  Lillian drifted closer, and he met her halfway, his lips on hers, warm and gently insistent, his arms wrapping around her, nothing weak about his embrace at all. And she kissed him back, opening every cavern of her heart for him to explore, to own, to love.

  “My darling.” He kissed her cheek, her nose, her other cheek. “My brave, brave girl.”

  “Brave?” Her smile melted all over her heated face. “We’re not facing drug rings or U-boats right now.”

  He gave her a playful smirk. “Isn’t love the greatest danger of all?”

  Two hearts, open and weak and vulnerable before each other. Oh yes, it was dangerous.

  “And the greatest joy.” Lillian threw herself headlong into another kiss.

  27

  Stonington, Connecticut

  Saturday, April 25, 1942

  “Ready for sailing, I see.” Arch admired Lillian as she entered the sitting room, fresh and appealing in a blue-and-white striped dress, a red sweater, and her hair tied back in a red ribbon. “Now I can say good morning.”

  Lillian set her bag and hat on a sofa and took Arch’s hands, her face glowing. “You said good morning when I came down for breakfast.”

  “Not properly.” He tugged her hands to draw her nearer and kissed her well.

  “Mm.” She leaned against his chest and beamed up at him. “I wouldn’t mind that every morning.” Then her cheeks colored. “I didn’t mean—I meant—”

  “I know what you meant.” He kissed her again. “I wouldn’t mind either.”

  Everything about her was refreshing. He loved the way she’d mixed up her words and yanked him down to the bench to kiss him. Not coy and artful like the other women he’d dated.

  With a contented sigh, she wrapped her arms around his middle and rested her cheek on his shoulder, and Arch nuzzled kisses onto her forehead. He’d seen no regrets on her face today, only pure, open love, and his chest felt full.

  “An entire day with you,” she said.

  “And Jim and Mary.” He pulled away at the sound of their voices in the hall, but he kept hold of Lillian’s hand, so small and light in his.

  “I’m ready.” Mary grinned, swinging her bag. “I can’t wait to go sailing again.”

  Jim glanced at Arch and Lillian’s entwined hands with the same tight-lipped smile he’d displayed when the new couple had finally returned to the ballroom last night, Lillian wearing the high color and bright eyes of a woman who’d been kissed long and often.

  At least Jim smiled and didn’t glower. It was a start.

  “Shall we go?” Arch gestured to the door.

  Jim and Mary led the way across the patio and down the path to the pier, but Arch lagged behind with Lillian.

  “It’s a lovely day.” Lillian smiled up to the clear blue sky. “I know you don’t like this place, but it’s beautiful.”

  “I do like this place. Too much.”

  She strolled along, her shoulder brushing Arch’s. “You always say you hate this way of life, but you seem happy here, and your parents are wonderful, not snobby at all.”

  Arch glanced to his left, across the tennis court to the stables, and his shoulders tightened. “They’re good people. They’re untouched by all this.”

  “So why—”

  “I was touched.” His voice came out sharper than intended.

  “I thought you were a snob when we first met.” She gave him a sly sidelong glance. “But you aren’t. You’re just refined.”

  He had to distract her from this topic, and he knew how to do so. “How’s this for refined?” He swept her into his arms and kissed her long and luxuriously.

  “Oh.” She pulled back, eyelids low. “That might not be refined, but it was fine.”

  He grinned, hooked his arm around her tiny waist, and continued on the way. Now to find another topic.

  “So if this didn’t make you a snob, why does it bother you?”

  Arch’s jaw hardened. Why couldn’t she understand?

  Then remorse swept through him. She couldn’t understand for the same reason he hadn’t understood her aversion to romance. Because the story hadn’t been told. But his story—how could he tell it?

  Maybe a simple declaration would do the job. “It’s more than the temptation to be a snob. It’s the temptation to use the power of wealth for selfish purposes.”

  “I can’t see you doing that.”

  “I did. That’s all you need to know.”

  “Is that so?” She stopped and eased away from him, crossing her arms.

  He sank his hands, his stupid trembling hands, into the pockets of his khaki trousers, and he looked across the grounds, anywhere but into her accusing eyes.

  “So you have a story, and you think it’d make me stop loving you.”

  He shrugged. “No one knows. Not a soul. I don’t like to think about it. Understood?”

  “Yes. I do understand.” Her tone was pointed.

  Under the maple tree sat the stone bench where Lillian had splayed open her soul before him.

  His head sagged back. Why, Lord? Why do I have to tell her?

  “Arch?” She looped her arm through his. “I love you. I’d only think less of you if you didn’t regret your actions. But you obviously do.”

  Those hazel eyes locked onto him. How could he prod her to open up to him and then shut her out?

  “Come on.” He tilted his head toward the sea and coaxed her into walking. “Mrs. Lafferty was the best of women.”

  Lillian hugged his arm. “Who was she?”

  “Our housekeeper. More than that. She was like another grandmother. She doted on me but never indulged me, never let me get away with anything. I loved her for it.”

  “She sounds like a good woman.”

  The muscles in his neck tensed. “When I was twelve, I chafed at her restrictions. The boys in my crowd liked to sneak out at night, but Mrs. Lafferty always caught me. The boys mocked me. Who was in charge? Who was the servant? My best friend said that with my wealth, I should have anything I wanted. And what did I want? I wanted to sneak out with my friends. I wanted freedom. And Mrs. Lafferty stood in my way.”

  Lillian murmured and stroked his arm.

  Arch’s hands balled up in his pockets. “I seethed for a while. I fought it. But I couldn’t resist. I was the sole Vandenberg heir, and this servant had no right to stop me. So I . . .” His throat clogged up.

  “Go on, sweetheart.”

  He glanced down at those eyes full of hard-earned trust, and he swallowed the thick sludge of shame. “It was the worst thing I’ve ever done. I planted my mother’s jewelry in Mrs. Lafferty’s room. When Mothe
r noticed it was missing, I said I’d seen Mrs. Lafferty lurking around. And I—I also said I’d overheard her telling another servant she finally had the funds to retire. Lies and betrayal.”

  “Oh, Arch.” She hugged his arm tighter.

  “I didn’t think through the consequences. I thought I’d just teach her a lesson and get my way, but of course not. Thank goodness my parents didn’t press charges, but they did fire her. After forty years of service to the family, she was fired. The look on her face.” Arch squeezed his eyes shut, but the image remained burned on his eyelids. It always would.

  “What’s worse . . .” His voice ground on his throat. “I was too much of a coward to come clean. Poor Mrs. Lafferty went to live with her sister, but she died a year later. I never apologized to her, never had the chance to beg her forgiveness, and I never—never told anyone what I’d done.”

  “But you changed.”

  “I had to. I was appalled at who I was. The stock market crashed right after that. Those boys I worked so hard to impress—they turned on each other. They shunned the boys whose families lost their wealth. Fickle and shallow. I didn’t want any part of it.”

  Lillian faced him and stroked his cheek. “My darling Arch. I think Mrs. Lafferty would be very proud of the man you’ve become.”

  He couldn’t stand it. He smashed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to Lillian’s. “I don’t know. I know God’s forgiven me, but—”

  “Then you’re forgiven. Please forgive yourself.” She kissed his cheek. “It takes a good and strong man to admit he was wrong and to change. I love that about you.”

  Arch pulled his hands from his pockets and folded Lillian in his arms. He didn’t care if she could feel the trembling through the fabric of her dress. He needed to hold her.

  For months, he’d longed for her love, to be loved for who he was, but he wasn’t prepared for how a love like that could reach the darkest corners of his soul, unsettling him, renewing him.

  “Arch! Lillian!” Jim’s voice rose from the stairs down to the pier. “Are you ever—oh, for crying out loud.”

  Arch opened his eyes, but Lillian didn’t push him away, so he didn’t release her.

  Jim stood on the path, one hand on his hip, his upper lip curled. “I don’t want to see this.”