Sweet Sanctuary

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  She glanced at Nic, who was using his napkin to wipe the remainder of gravy from Nicky’s chin. A smile grew on her face without effort. She turned to Father again. “Do you remember how we tried to keep Nicky away from Nic? God’s plan was different. Whose was better? I don’t want to consider what might have happened the day of your accident if Nic hadn’t been there.”

  Father’s face twisted into a brief, embarrassed grimace.

  Lydia continued softly. “I’m pleased you care enough about me to want to keep me near and to worry about my well-being, and I’m so proud you’ve entrusted the plant to me.” She drew a sharp breath. What would Father do if she refused to take over the business? He had no other children. As quickly as the worry rose, it departed. She would trust God to meet her father’s needs. She finished in a whisper-soft voice, “But God might have something else in store for me, and if He does, I’ll follow His leading. Even if it means someday moving away.”

  “Mama, you’re not movin’ away from me, are you?”

  Nicky’s worried query captured her attention. She reached past Nic to tap the end of Nicky’s nose. “Remember what Mama told you? I love you forever. My love will never move away from you.”

  Nicky nodded, satisfied.

  She turned back to her father and squeezed his shoulder. “That goes for you, too.”

  He grimaced again. “All right, all right. Now sit down and eat. A cold supper gives me indigestion.”

  Lydia laughed. She returned to her seat and picked up her fork. Conversation moved to other topics, but she only half listened. Her mind was miles away. In New York. In a little apartment where a dark-haired man and a blond-haired little girl made plans to travel across the distance.

  You’ll soon know.

  Lydia let her eyes slide closed. Whatever the Lord willed for her, she was ready.

  38

  Lydia held tight to Nicky’s hand. Twice he’d tried to run out onto the boarding ramps, fascinated by the trains. A thorough scolding left him pouting, but at least he wasn’t trying to get away from her anymore. She understood his eagerness. More than a month had slipped by since Micah’s telephone call, and now that the hour of his arrival was upon her, she could barely contain her excitement.

  So much had happened in the past weeks sometimes Lydia had a hard time absorbing it all. Nic’s date with Myrna hadn’t gone well, but Myrna had introduced him to her sister, Eliza. Nic and Eliza announced their engagement only four weeks later. Eliza was a sweet young woman who loved the Lord, adored Nic, and accepted without resentment that Nicky would still call Lydia “Mama.”

  Things across the ocean were exploding. Only this morning the newspaper headline had shouted of an encirclement of German troops by the Americans in the Ruhr. Every time the Germans suffered another setback, Lydia’s heart raced in anticipation of the day Hitler’s madness would come to an end. Standing behind a fence, waiting for the train that carried Micah and Justina to Boston, Lydia offered another prayer for a speedy end to the war. First the Germans, then the Japanese, Lord. Please bring it to a close.

  “Mama! There’s another one!” Nicky pointed with his free hand, dancing in excitement beside her. “Will Micah-my-friend be on that one?”

  “We’ll have to wait and see, Nicky. The time is right.” She wanted to dance, too. Tingles of anticipation climbed up and down her spine like dozens of ambitious spiders, and a tightness unrelated to the powerful engine chugging the train into the station built in her chest.

  The ground trembled, the vibration tickling the soles of her feet. Nicky strained toward the ramp, pulling at Lydia’s hand, but her quivering knees refused to carry her forward. Oh, Micah, it’s been so long. . . .

  The train heaved to a stop, and a suited porter leaped from the closest landing. He dropped a small stepstool into place, then held out his hand to descending passengers. Lydia scanned the faces as people emerged, her heart pounding.

  “Micah-my-friend! It’s Micah!” Nicky bolted toward the train, nearly jerking Lydia’s arm from its socket. She released his hand, allowing him to wriggle between the legs of others while she followed as quickly as she could, peering over shoulders and around bobbing heads, trying to keep Micah in sight. She had yet to spot little Justina—the crowd in front of her blocked her view.

  “Micah! Micah!” Nicky’s shout carried over everything else, and Lydia fought tears as Micah went down on one knee, arms outstretched, to capture Nicky in a hug. Fortunately, people began spreading out along the boardwalk, greetings and laughter ringing from all areas, and Lydia was able to break through. She picked up her pace, running the last few feet as Micah released Nicky and rose to meet her. He, too, stepped forward at the last minute, his arms opening wide, and without compunction she threw herself against him as exuberantly as Nicky had.

  He laughingly swept her off her feet with the hug, and she clung to his neck, her cheek pressed to his, feeling as if her smile would never fade. The heart-lifting, joyful feel of being held in Micah’s arms! Would she ever tire of it?

  He set her on the ground, and she leaned back slightly, her arms still looped around his neck, his arms secure around her waist. Her gaze locked on his, and the busy spiders climbing her spine began a footrace. His head tipped slightly, his face moved closer, and she closed her eyes, lifting her chin in anticipation of the moment when his lips would finally touch hers in a kiss.

  “Hey!”

  Nicky’s exclamation startled Lydia’s eyelids open. She discovered Micah’s wide blue eyes mere inches away. Still locked in the embrace, they swung their heads in the direction of the cry. Nicky stood with one hand on his hip, the other hand flipped palm outward in the direction of a darling little girl with curly blond hair, clear blue eyes, and a cherubic expression.

  “She keeps calling me sweetheart.” Nicky’s voice held disgust. “Micah, would you tell her I’m Nicky?”

  Micah threw back his head and laughed. Lydia’s hands slipped to his chest, where she felt the vibration of his merriment through the fabric of his shirt.

  “We’ll discuss that sweetheart business later, partner.” His gaze returned to Lydia, and although the laughter faded away, a sparkle remained in his dear eyes of blue. “Right now, I have to kiss your mama.”

  And Lydia discovered the engine of the mighty Union Pacific locomotive was less powerful than the effect of Micah Hatcher’s lips when they met hers for the first time. It was a short kiss out of respect for their watching audience, but length didn’t seem to matter where emotion was concerned. Lydia’s feet felt no longer grounded. Surely she was floating as high as the steam above the engine’s huffing stack.

  Slowly, Micah’s hand drifted from her back to her waist. “Lydia, I’d like you to meet someone very important in my life.” He placed his other hand on Justina’s cap of light hair. “This is my little sweetheart, Justina.”

  Lydia crouched before the child and held out her hand. Justina put her small fingers flat against Lydia’s palm and offered a shy smile.

  “Micah, she’s adorable!”

  “Adorable, and a real responsibility.” The little girl raised her arms to Micah, and he picked her up, settling her on his hip. Lydia reached for Nicky’s hand, and they fell into step together, moving to retrieve Micah’s luggage from the baggage car. His eyes searched hers. “Would you be opposed to raising a child of Jewish origin?”

  Lydia’s heart hiccuped into thrilled double beats. Was he insinuating he would ask her to share in the upbringing of this child or simply seeking her opinion on such a venture? She allowed her heart to answer. “It would be an honor to raise a child of Jewish origin—a child of God’s chosen race.”

  The tenderness in his smile warmed Lydia all the way to her toes.

  Nicky, skipping along beside Lydia, smiled up at Micah and entered the conversation. “She’s neat, Micah. Where did you get her?”

  Micah chuckled. “From a big ship, Nicky.” His gaze returned to Lydia. “But there won’t be any more.”
/>   Lydia felt her brows lower as trepidation tickled her middle. “No more packages?”

  Micah shook his head. She hoped he might elaborate, but instead he put Justina down and selected his brown case from the jumble of luggage waiting on the boardwalk. Lydia held out her hand to Justina and the child took it without hesitation. With Nicky holding her other hand, she led Micah toward her waiting Hudson. She longed for private moments with Micah, to discuss what he’d meant by his last comment, to perhaps experience the joy of another kiss. But the small pair of feet skipping along beside her reminded her they wouldn’t be alone on this visit.

  Micah almost pinched himself. Surely this was a dream. Sitting beside Lydia as she drove expertly through Boston’s streets with Nicky and Justina together in the backseat, a feeling of family settled comfortably around his shoulders. He wanted to memorize every detail—the delicate turn of Lydia’s jaw, the unruly curl in Nicky’s hair, the steam on the window from their combined breaths, the clang of trolley bells drifting to their ears.

  Justina seemed entranced by the trolleys. She bounced on her bottom, pointing out the window. At every clang of a bell, she yelled, “Sweetheart! Sweetheart!”

  Nicky leaned over the seat and tapped Micah’s shoulder. “This girl has a problem. She thinks everything’s a sweetheart. Why doesn’t she know anything?”

  Micah laughed and turned sideways so he could face Nicky. “Justina knows a great deal. But she was born in another country. Her language is Polish. Listen. I’ll ask her name.” He stretched his arm across the back of the seat. “Co jest wasze imię?”

  Justina spun from the window. “Justina.”

  Nicky’s eyes widened into perfect circles. He tipped close to her. “What’s your name?”

  “Sweetheart.”

  The little boy sighed. “Maybe you better teach me that Pole-ush language so I can talk to her.”

  “I wish I could, but I don’t know very much of it myself.”

  Nicky tossed a sour look at Micah. “Then we have a problem.”

  Micah laughed again, sharing a grin with Lydia, who peeked at him and shrugged. “Tell you what, partner, maybe you can help Justina. The only English word I’ve been able to teach her is sweetheart, probably because I call her that so much.”

  Nicky nodded solemnly. “Mama calls me sweetheart, too.”

  “I’m not surprised. But maybe, since you’re closer to Justina’s size, she’d be more willing to learn English words from you. Do you think you could try?”

  Nicky’s eyes blazed with interest. “What do you want me to teach her? I know lots of words, like Buggy, and flower, and trolley car, and cake . . .”

  Lydia released a snort of humor. “Oh, Micah, you’ve opened a can of worms now.”

  Micah chuckled. “Don’t be so helpful.” She smirked. He turned his attention to Nicky. “Well, when children are learning to talk, most parents teach them the names of their family members, the parts of their body like nose and eyes, and words that will help them communicate.”

  Nicky shifted his gaze and examined Justina.

  “Sweetheart!” Justina cried, pointing at the passing buildings.

  Nicky’s face puckered. “How long do I have?”

  Micah grazed Lydia’s shoulder with his fingertips. “Three days.”

  She nodded.

  From the backseat, Justina squealed, “Sweetheart!”

  Nicky shook his head. “I hope that’s enough.”

  Micah sighed, his gaze returning to Lydia’s profile. He hoped so, too.

  39

  Supper that evening turned into a raucous affair, with Nicky and Justina sitting side by side and decorating each other with smashed peas. Although Lydia usually required better manners from Nicky, she didn’t have the heart to scold. Watching him make friends with Justina gave her heart a lift.

  When they’d finished eating, Mother took the children upstairs for a bath, and Father joined Micah and Lydia in the front room. Lydia preferred to have Micah to herself, but how could she tactfully tell her father to vacate his own front room? She needed to find her own home. In the past when she’d mentioned moving out, her mother had insisted Lydia needed help with Nicky, and Father had insisted she’d be stymied by Boston’s housing shortages. So she’d stayed put. But it was time to make the change.

  Father stretched his arm across the arched back of the sofa and pinned Micah with his dark eyes. “Dr. Hatcher, I’m interested in your future plans.”

  Micah cleared his throat. He glanced in Lydia’s direction—she offered a discreet wink—and then he gave his full attention to Father. “Well, Mr. Eldredge, I’ve been hesitant to look too far ahead. I think most people feel as though they need to put plans in limbo until the war is over. But”—he scratched his head—“I know my future will involve providing medical care to low-income families, and specifically to immigrant families.”

  “I see.”

  Micah’s face reflected the passion Lydia had come to expect when he spoke of his work. She longed for the day the same fire ignited in her heart, and her pulse sped as she remembered God’s message.

  “When immigrants arrive here,” Micah told Father, “they look different and act different than most. Because of those differences, some people are hesitant to spend time with them, so the immigrants feel isolated. Except, of course, with others who are like them. I enjoy showing them they don’t have to feel alone—that an American really cares about them.”

  He leaned forward slightly, his voice gaining strength as Father tipped his head, listening intently. “They usually have limited funds—traveling to America is costly—but health care is so important. They hesitate to go to the hospitals because doctors charge fees they can’t afford. And they don’t understand the terminology used there. Unfortunately some doctors treat the immigrants as if they’re stupid just because they don’t understand the language. By providing medical care for them at the clinic, I can ensure they receive care at a price they can afford. Plus I take the time to ascertain they understand what kind of treatment is needed.” He leaned into the sofa’s cushions, smiling. “I love my work. I can’t imagine ever leaving it.”

  Lydia’s heart thrilled to his words. She so admired his willingness to answer the calling God placed on his heart.

  “And you chose New York because . . . ?”

  Micah finished Father’s lead-in. “Because a soldier who was injured in the Pearl Harbor attack mentioned the people of New York to me. The idea wouldn’t go away, and I came to believe God planted the seed in my heart to go there. After I finished my duty at Schofield, I made some inquiries, and I learned that a doctor who had opened a clinic in Queens was looking for someone to replace him. We talked, and he offered me the clinic the same day. Once I was settled, I knew I was where God wanted me to be. Other things”—he sent Lydia a secretive smile—“happened that convinced me I was in the center of God’s plan for my life.”

  “Mm-hmm.” Father crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on his knee. “Well, it seems as if you’ve decided to make New York your home.”

  Micah gave Lydia a lingering look. “Yes. For now.”

  Her heart leaped, but before she could question Micah’s cryptic statement, Father’s fingers stilled, and he said sharply, “For now?”

  Micah shifted his attention to Father, lifting his shoulder in a brief shrug. “Well, sir, plans can change. God may need to plant me elsewhere. If that happens, I’ll be willing to go where He leads.” He smiled, and his Texas twang crept in, a sign that he was completely at ease with what he shared. “One thing I’ve learned, sir—if I aim my feet where God wants me to go, I stay on higher ground, out of the miry clay where the travel is hard and unhappy. Doesn’t necessarily mean things always go perfectly, ’cause life isn’t a perfect proposition, but it does mean my feet are secure. Can’t imagine a better place to be.”

  Father’s face pursed into a thoughtful frown. “Nic and Lydia have spoken of this ‘higher ground.’” He sighed,
shaking his head. “To be honest, I’ve always seen God as a baby carriage for those too weak to function without help. But lately . . .” His eyes took on a sheen. He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned toward Micah. “Dr. Hatcher, will you tell me how to find that higher ground for myself? I’d like to place my feet there, too.”

  Lydia froze. N. Allan Eldredge had just asked Micah to tell him about God! Her soul sang as she listened to Micah present the salvation message in simple, clear terms. And when her proud, self-important father bent on one knee next to the sofa, bowed his head, and folded his large hands in prayer for the first time, she wept tears of pure joy. When he rose, the light of Christ shone in his eyes.

  Lydia flew across the room and enveloped him in a hug as tears continued to roll down her cheeks, the words from Romans 8:28 playing through her mind. Micah, Nicky, Nic—all had played a role in helping Father find his Savior. Her happiness knew no bounds.

  She turned to Micah to thank him, and the light in his eyes immediately opened her heart to the answer she’d been seeking. She knew her purpose. God’s plan was revealed so clearly she envisioned an ornate gate swinging wide for her entrance. Her heart winged in awe and glory of the moment, her soul praising, Thank You, God. Thank You for leading me to Your higher ground!

  Micah stepped silently aside, allowing Lydia and her Father to celebrate. Their hug was long, tight, and laden with happy tears. When they finally pulled apart, the smile on Lydia’s face sent a shaft of joy through his soul.

  While Lydia dried her eyes, he placed his hand on Allan’s shoulder. “Mr. Eldredge, I’m proud of the decision you just made. I know Lydia, Nic, and your wife will be pleased, because they’ve been praying for you. Go tell your wife what you’ve done. You’ve been reborn. Give her the chance to celebrate with you.”

  Allan blew his nose into his handkerchief, then gave a brisk nod. “I will. Thank you.” He shook Micah’s hand firmly, and although he held his head high, the aura of arrogance had melted.