Sweet Sanctuary

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  “Tell him—” Nic cleared his throat, swallowing tears. “Tell him thank you for helpin’ me get my life back. Tell him I’ll hold on to God an’ keep standin’ on that higher place we talked about. I won’t ever forget.”

  Lydia nodded, Nic’s form blurring through the tears clouding her vision. “I’ll tell him.”

  Nic bent down to Nicky. “Son, I got to go now, so you stay here with your grammy. I got an errand to run. . . .” He paused and worried his lower lip between his teeth. Leaning toward Lydia, he confided in a raspy whisper, “Gotta go cancel a deal.” Lydia’s heart skipped a beat as she read the meaning behind his statement. Nic turned his attention back to Nicky. “I’ll come by this evenin’ so I can show you an’ your mama our new apartment.” He straightened, talking to Lydia again. “Ain’t goin’ back to that other place. No place to raise a kid.”

  “No place to raise a Nicky,” Nicky corrected.

  Nic laughed. “That’s right. Thanks for remindin’ me.” He swung his gaze across each of the adults. “I best be goin’ now.” He leaned down and kissed the top of Nicky’s head. “ ’Bye, son. See you later.”

  Lydia and Nicky followed Nic to the door and watched as he headed down the stairs. The moment his foot reached the lowest riser, Nicky called out, “ ’Bye, Daddy!”

  Nic froze in place for the length of three seconds. Slowly, he turned and sent Nicky a glimmering smile. He raised his hand in good-bye, then spun and trotted to his waiting pickup, his steps so light Lydia thought it appeared his feet hovered a couple inches above the ground.

  29

  Micah took a taxi to the Eldredge house and arrived midmorning. Buggy, in his cage, swung from a hook under the porch eaves. The canary’s cheerful song drifted through the cab’s open windows. Lydia and Lavinia knelt beside the flower plot, trowels in hand, and Nicky galloped in circles in the sunshine. Micah couldn’t stop a smile from growing at the pleasant picture they created.

  He tapped the cab driver on the shoulder. “I’ll only be a few minutes. Please wait for me.” The man nodded.

  The moment he climbed out of the cab, Nicky came running, arms outstretched. Micah captured him in a giant hug. “Hey, partner, I didn’t expect to see you here.” He swung the giggling boy to his shoulders and walked toward Lydia, who met him halfway across the yard.

  Dirt smudged her chin and decorated the knees of her trousers. Wisps of hair clung to her sweaty temples, and beads of perspiration dotted her nose. She was adorable. Micah gripped Nicky’s ankles to keep from capturing her face between his palms and kissing her breathless. He asked, “Hasn’t Pankin been here yet?”

  Lydia’s eyes shone with happiness. “He’s been and gone. He said Nicky needs time with us, too, so we’re going to work out the means to share in raising him. And he asked Mother to keep Nicky for him while he’s at work.”

  Micah raised his eyebrows. “Work?”

  Lydia rocked on her heels, her hands clasped tightly as if reining herself in. “Yes, work. Father gave him a job.”

  From his perch, Nicky added, “Poppy’s gonna watch him.”

  Lydia flicked a smile at the boy. “That’s right, Nicky.” Her gaze met Micah’s, and she spoke softly. “Father was apprehensive about trusting him, but I believe he’s going to do okay, Micah.”

  Micah gave a firm nod. “I believe it, too. ‘I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me’—he must have repeated the Scripture a dozen times last night. As long as he relies on the strength of Jesus, he’ll make it.”

  Nicky wiggled, so Micah swung him to the ground and the boy scampered off, waving his arms and blowing air through his lips to make engine noises.

  Lydia watched Nicky for a moment, a fond smile playing on her lips, and then she turned back to Micah. “Nic asked me to thank you for helping him get his life back and to tell you he wouldn’t forget the ‘higher place’ you talked about.”

  Micah shrugged, pushing his hands into his pockets. “He did the hard part. I just offered some support.”

  Lydia laughed—a sweet, melodious trickle of happiness. “Sometimes you’re too modest, Dr. Hatcher. Not many people would be willing to reach out to someone like Nic Pankin. What you did was work a miracle.”

  “Huh-uh. Not me.” Micah pointed skyward. “God performs the miracles. All we can do, as Christians, is be willing instruments of His service, ready to be used whenever He calls. I’m privileged to have been used. It’s pretty special, witnessing a miracle.”

  “And it is miraculous, the change in his heart.” Lydia’s eyes widened, the velvety irises shining. “I kept staring at him when he was here, hardly able to believe this was the same man who barged into my home, wild-eyed and snarling, and snatched my son out from under my nose.”

  Micah offered a lopsided smile. “The touch of God does amazing things.”

  Her face pinched, the joyful glimmer leaving her eyes. “I wish Eleanor had lived to see it. She loved Nic so much. This change would have made her so happy.”

  They fell silent, the sun hot on their heads, Nicky’s cheerful chatter competing with Buggy’s raucous song, while Micah relived the past days in his memory. Had he been here only two weeks? So much had happened—so much good had been achieved—it hardly seemed possible such a short amount of time had passed. He wished he could stay longer. To bask in the glory of Nic’s transformation, to take walks with Nicky, to sit across a table and admire Lydia in candlelight. But his clinic—and his brother’s mission—required him in New York.

  Releasing a regret-filled sigh, he gestured to the waiting cab. “I should go so I don’t miss my train.”

  Her forehead puckered. She dipped her head, silky strands of deepest brown slipping to frame her rose-splashed cheeks. “I wish you could stay longer.”

  Me too. “Oughta be another package arriving soon.”

  Lydia’s head lowered even more. “I understand.” Her shoulders lifted, then fell in a deep sigh, and she looked up, unspeaking, her attentive gaze unreadable. Micah’s heart began a clamor he felt certain Lavinia Eldredge could hear from fifteen feet away. He licked his lips, seeking a proper way to tell this woman farewell.

  But she spoke first, her businesslike tone a direct contrast to the silent pleading in her eyes. “Thank you for everything. It looks as if things are going to work out between Nic and Nicky.”

  “I’m glad.” Micah’s heart kawumped wildly as he turned toward the cab. “I’ll be praying for all of you.”

  Lydia moved along beside him, her stride perfectly matching his. “I’ll pray for you and Jeremiah, and for your ‘packages.’” Her chin quivered, and soon tears winked in her eyes. Softly—so softly he might have imagined it—she said, “I’ll miss you, Micah.”

  Oh, how he yearned to pull her against his chest and feel her arms wind around his neck. The longing to kiss her temples, her cheeks, her lips nearly turned him inside out. If only he could reach out and lose himself in the beauty of the woman she’d become. But if he embraced her now, he’d never let go.

  Hands firmly at his sides, he teased, “I’ll miss you, too, my bossy little nurse.”

  She laughed, a ragged laugh that fell short of real humor but managed to erase her tears. She waved Nicky over. “Micah is leaving. Come say good-bye.”

  Nicky loped across the lawn, swatting his own backside with one hand. He reined in his imaginary horse, intoning, “Whoa, Squirrel.” Micah swallowed a chuckle. Only Nicky would name a horse Squirrel. The little boy swung his leg as if dismounting, his face set in a serious scowl. He took two swaggering steps in Micah’s direction and finally broke free of his play to launch himself into Micah’s arms.

  “Bye, Micah-my-friend! Come again soon!”

  Micah hugged the sweaty little boy close, gratitude for the miracle of God’s hand of healing once again filling him. No more would Nicky live beneath a cloud of fear or entangled in a web of lies. And no more did Nicky require Micah’s presence. A knot of sorrow filled his throat, and his arms ti
ghtened around the boy’s body as he battled a wave of sadness. Delivering a quick kiss on Nicky’s tousled curls, he set him down.

  Micah swiped his hand beneath his nose, assuming his drawl to cover his melancholy. “Best mount up an’ get to ridin’, pardner.”

  “Giddyup, Squirrel!” Nicky swung his leg over his pretend horse, fisted invisible reins, and bounced away. He waved one hand over his head. “ ’Bye, Micah! I love you!”

  Micah swallowed hard and turned to Lydia. If only he could make the same declaration Nicky had just shouted so matter-of-factly. But to do so now would only create more heartache. He pushed the declaration of love deep inside and offered a simple farewell. “ ’Bye, Lydia. Take care.”

  She tipped her head, and tears once again flooded her eyes. “You, too, Micah. Good-bye.”

  He climbed into the cab and slammed the door. “Let’s go.” The cab pulled away from the curb, and Micah turned backward in the seat and memorized the scene shrinking behind him. Lydia at the curb, her wistful face aimed at the departing vehicle, Nicky prancing on the lawn behind her. He willed himself to remember every detail of it.

  The cab turned a corner, and Micah crunched his eyes closed, holding his breath, hoping. A relieved sigh heaved from his chest. Yes, the image of those two special people remained imprinted in his mind’s eye.

  Satisfied, he leaned forward and caught the driver’s attention. “Can you hurry? I gotta get home.”

  The cab driver chuckled, shooting Micah a quick smirk over his shoulder. “’Peared to me you had plenty back there to stick around for.” He waggled his eyebrows.

  Micah slouched in the seat without answering. Already his heart ached for Lydia, but what good would it do to dwell on his affection for her? With Nic’s situation settled, she didn’t need Micah anymore. He deliberately turned his thoughts to Jeremiah. I’m here for you now, brother—only you. No more distractions.

  Yet the entire way to the train station, and every mile of the long, rocking ride to New York, the distracting image of Lydia standing still and sorrowful on the curb replayed in his memory.

  Nic arrived at work fifteen minutes early on Monday morning and was first in line to punch his brand-new time card. In the past, he’d ambled in just as the shift-change buzzer blared, but his promise to Allan Eldredge—to make sure the man didn’t regret hiring him—meant developing a better habit.

  Habit. He toyed with the word as he watched the big clock tick by the minutes. Micah had told him habits weren’t healed. He’d have to work to overcome his habit of relying on morphine. “It’ll leave a hole that needs fillin’, Nic,” the doctor had advised, his Texas drawl making him sound relaxed even when talking about something serious. “So you gotta look for good things to plug that hole.” At Micah’s suggestion, Nic relied on Bible reading and prayer first, and relearning whittling second.

  When he was younger, before the auger stole his arm, he’d been real clever with a pocketknife. Birds, dogs, horses, even roses emerged from a scrap of wood. His father’d never seen much use in whittling, but it had pleased Nic to make something pretty out of something plain. By rigging a clamp on the edge of the table to serve as a hand, he’d spent hours of the past week peeling away the excess on a chunk of pine in search of the bird underneath. When he finished, he’d paint it yellow. Canary yellow. And he’d give it to Nicky.

  He hoped Nicky would like the little apartment he’d located. Nothing fancy, but in a cleaner part of town, away from the morphine alleys and beer halls. They’d have to share a bedroom, but one of the other tenants had already offered Nic the use of a little iron bed her son had outgrown. When he got his first paycheck, he’d buy sheets and a coverlet for it—blue ones, the color Nicky said was his favorite—as a surprise. He imagined his first night tucking Nicky between blue sheets, maybe kneeling beside the bed to say nighttime prayers with him, the way the boy said Lydia did. The idea settled comfortably on his shoulders.

  An unfamiliar but welcome warmth flooded his chest as he thought of his son. Guilt smote him as he recalled demanding Eleanor visit one of those backstreet doctors who emptied a woman’s womb before the babe could thrive. He fidgeted in place, the memory stinging. He’d been wrong, so wrong, to make such a command. He’d been wrong to want to sell Eleanor’s child. Mrs. Bachman had called him all sorts of names—liar, thief, swindler—and she was right on every count. In the end, she couldn’t press charges without admitting her intention to purchase a child, but she hadn’t let that stop her from flaying him with accusations.

  The sins of his past crept from the recesses of his soul and left him feeling stained and ugly and sore. A groan hovered in his throat. He needed comfort. He needed to forget. He needed—Second Corinthians 5:17, one of the verses Micah had insisted he memorize—“Hidin’ God’s Word in your heart’ll send bad thoughts runnin’ for cover,” Micah had declared—ran through Nic’s mind. “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new.” Just as Micah had indicated, the sin reminder scuttled into the shadows. Nic heaved a sigh and offered a silent prayer of gratitude as the shift buzzer blasted.

  The line of workers nudged him forward. Nic squared his shoulders and poked his time card into the slot. The solid per-clunk raised a wave of satisfaction. He was no longer the man he’d been. The old was gone. Nicolai Pankin, a new creation, was saved by God to live better now. He’d been given a second chance, and he wouldn’t waste it.

  He marched onto the factory floor, his head held high.

  30

  For the third night in a row, Micah waited by the dock at Dartmouth Harbor. A Red Cross ship was due in, and Jeremiah had indicated a package would be aboard. He needed to be ready. He yawned and tapped his thigh with the folded copy of the New York Times. The waiting became tiresome when the sun slipped too low to read. He had hoped to finish the article on the U.S. forces’ infiltration of Germany. According to the reporter, soldiers had forged across the Siegfried line on September thirteenth—only two days ago. The thought of American soldiers pressing into Germany caused blood to pound in Micah’s ears. If America conquered Germany, surely the war would end.

  Lord, let it be soon.

  When the war ended, Micah hoped Jeremiah would come home—or at least limit his work to the Russian church. No more dangerous escapades for Jeremiah. No more retrieving packages for Micah. No more reason to retrieve packages. That would be the best part—an end to worrying about children being hunted or hurt or killed. With this responsibility set aside, his life would be much simpler. Only the clinic to care for. And if he had only the one responsibility, then perhaps there would be time to develop personal relationships.

  An image of Lydia immediately appeared in his memory.

  She wrote daily, and receiving her letters had become the highlight of Micah’s day. Not as good as being with her, talking to her, but for now it had to suffice. She and Nic Pankin had come to an amicable agreement concerning Nicky’s upbringing. Nic kept Nicky during the week, with Lavinia watching him during Nic’s working hours. Every other weekend, Nicky stayed with Lydia. On Sundays, Nic brought Nicky to church, and Lydia had begun inviting Nic to dinner with her family. Micah’s heart leaped as he recalled the exciting news in her last letter—Lavinia had begun attending church with Lydia and Nicky. Allan Eldredge still held himself aloof from the idea of a relationship with God, but Lydia expressed confidence they would eventually win him over. She’d written, “I’m trusting, Micah.”

  Micah smiled, happy about how well things were going for Lydia, but a stab of jealousy melted the smile. Thoughts of Nic and Lydia spending so much time together rankled. He reminded himself once again he had no claim on Lydia. Hadn’t he been praying for her to find a Christian man to love, a man who would also love Nicky? Maybe Nic was that man. By Lydia’s account, Nic was growing daily in his Christian walk, and he certainly loved Nicky. Maybe one day soon he would declare his love to Lydia, as well, and they could beco
me a real family.

  Hard as Micah tried, he couldn’t conjure up so much as an ounce of satisfaction at the thought.

  He blew out a breath, smacking his thigh with the paper. It’d be good for Lydia and Nicky if they formed a family with Nic as the husband and father, but how would he handle it, if the day came? Weeks had passed since he’d seen Lydia, and she still haunted his dreams and sneaked into his thoughts during daylight hours. Despite his efforts to avoid it, his love for her had blossomed with the same tenacity as the dandelions growing in his childhood yard. Pa had done almost everything to rid the grass of those stubborn weeds, yet they cropped up year after year, proudly waving their yellow heads all summer long.

  The mournful tone of a foghorn sounded. Micah straightened, peering outward. A ship approached, its lights sending ribbons of white across the choppy ocean waves. He tossed his unfinished newspaper into the nearest wire bin and then trotted halfway down the pier, squinting across the water. When the ship was within a hundred yards of the dock, he recognized Jonesy standing on the deck, and relief washed over him. He could finally collect his package. “Maybe,” he muttered as hope rose in his chest, “this’ll be the last one necessary.”

  He waited until the ship pulled in and the stevedores secured the mooring lines to the bollards before he walked to the edge of the dock. One worker—Jonesy—leaned against the railing and raised his hand in a wave. “Hey, Micah!”

  They hadn’t lowered the gangplank yet, so Micah caught hold of a rope and pulled himself hand over hand onto the deck. “Hey, Jonesy. Welcome home.”

  Jonesy shook Micah’s hand, leaning close. “Two li’l ’uns this time. Girl an’ a boy. Little girl cried a lot, hardly ate. Boy did okay, though.”

  Micah glanced across the deck. “Where are they?”

  “Got ’em in my cabin.” The wiry sailor shrugged. “Easier to take care of ’em that way. Captain didn’t mind. Stay here—I’ll git ’em for ya.”