A Heart Revealed (38 page)

“Katie?”

She spun around, no longer concerned about the tears coating her cheeks. Her lips quivered while a sob broke from her throat. “Oh, Luke . . .”

In three urgent strides he had her in his arms, stroking her face with the pads of his thumbs. A fierce protectiveness girded his tone. “Katie, what’s wrong?”

She collapsed against his chest, body convulsing in tears. “Oh, Luke . . . I’m so scared.”

“Of what?” He bundled her close, kissing her hair, kneading her neck.

A raspy heave wrenched from her lips. “Of b-being a m-mother. I’m s-so s-scared.”

———

Luke stilled, hand paralyzed against her back. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Jerking away, he grasped her at arm’s length. “What are you talking about, Katie?”

She continued to weep, swollen eyes meeting his as she splayed a quivering hand to her stomach, and in that instant, everything—his heart, his blood, his air—slowed to a crawl. His mind raced, reflecting on all the headaches lately, irritable moods, being weepy at the drop of a hat and snapping at him.

He swallowed hard, his voice no more than a croak. “Are you . . . late?”

A dribble of tears spilled when she nodded, and he worked hard to hide the joy that pumped in his chest. Without another word, he picked her up and carried her to the parlor, dodging blocks and Tinkertoys on his way to the sofa. Tucking her head against his, he sat and snuggled her in his lap. He kissed the top of her head and buffed the side of her arm, his voice cautious and low.

“How late?” he asked, every muscle taut as he awaited her answer.

She sniffed, and he fished his handkerchief from his pocket. With the utmost tenderness, he wiped the tears from her face and then pressed it to her nose. “Blow.”

She did, rather loudly, and his lips tipped into a smile.

“Almost two months,” she whispered, and her wavering sigh vibrated against his chest.

“It could be a false alarm,” he said carefully, caressing her hair with gentle, calming strokes. “Have you ever been late before?”

She shook her head, and the motion caused her hair to tickle his jaw. She sniffed. “Always twenty-eight days, just like clockwork.”

He drew in a deep breath of hope and strove for calm. “Law school has been pretty stressful, Katie,” he said in a tone meant to ease her fears. “And I’ve heard that stress or any number of things can throw a woman’s cycle off.”

She sat up and blew her nose. “Maybe . . . but what if I am pregnant? What if I have to give up law school and stay home and be a mother?” Tears welled as she searched his face. “I don’t know anything about having a baby, Luke, or being a mother, for that matter. Faith and Lizzie were born to it, just like Mother, but Charity and I . . .” Two giant tears trickled her cheeks before her voice trailed off into a pitiful wail. “We don’t seem to have the mother gene.”

His heart swelled with love. “Katie,” he whispered, “you’ll be an incredible mother to my children. You’re smart, funny, and a disciplinarian like nobody I’ve seen. I’ve watched Lizzie spoil and pet Kit until she was rotten, and then when I married you, you whipped her into shape and fawned over her at the same time in that wonderful, quirky way that I love. Studying with her in your lap while you feed her ice cream or teaching her to Charleston when she couldn’t even walk.” He held her face in his hands, more grateful for Katie O’Connor than he’d ever been in his life. “Mothers come in all shapes and sizes, Katie, and every one with their own personal weaknesses and strengths, but don’t underestimate the wisdom of God in matching a child with a mother. By God’s decision alone, you become the perfect fit for any child God chooses to send. Trust me, Katie—you
are
an amazing woman who will make an amazing mother.”

Her chin wobbled. “But how can you be sure?”

The grin finally broke free. “I just am.” He grazed the tip of her jaw with his finger, his grin softening into a smile. “As sure as I am that I want to spend the rest of my life loving you, Mrs. McGee.” He kissed her softly on the lips, in awe of the God who’d blessed him with this woman. “I love you, Katie, and if we do have a baby right now, I give you my solemn vow—I will see to it you go to law school when the time is right, I promise.”

His words were meant to soothe, but they only prompted more tears in her eyes. With a feeble sob, she laid her head to his chest and wept. And in the frail tremble of her body, his euphoria over a child leaked away along with the tears that now dampened his shirt. Closing his eyes, he shared her grief over law school, holding and stroking her until her weeping finally ebbed. The scent of rosewater filled his senses as he gave her a kiss, her skin wet and cool against his lips. “Tomorrow’s Saturday, Sass,” he whispered, “and we can finish the dishes then. I’ll pick up toys and you get ready for bed. Then I want to hold you till you fall asleep, okay?”

She nodded and he gently scooted her off his lap, squeezing her hand before she made her way down the hall, shoulders slumped and handkerchief to her eyes.

“God, help her, please,” he whispered. An uneasy mix of gratitude and sadness bled the joy from his heart as she disappeared into Kit’s room. It certainly appeared as if he were on his way to the family he’d always longed for. A child of his own—his blood, his genes, and possibly a son to carry on his name. And yet the moment was bittersweet because the woman he loved had to sacrifice her dream for his.

Releasing a weary sigh, Luke lumbered up from the sofa and proceeded to pick up the toys in the room, his mind wandering to the prospect of another mouth to feed. It would be tight, but they could do it. And the depression couldn’t last forever.

Could it?

He tossed Tinkertoys into the wooden toy chest that Sean had made for Kit, and his heart suddenly leapt at a thought.
A son. A daughter. A child of my own.
His pulse began to race. Which meant once this baby primed the pump, that family of four he and Katie agreed upon could be here before they knew it. And who knows? Katie might like being a mother so much, he could talk her into six kids or eight. He grinned. Or maybe his own basketball team . . .

He thought of Katie’s passion for law school, and his grin flattened into a frown. He exhaled loudly and glanced around the room to make sure it was picked up, then turned out the lights and trudged down the hall. Flipping the bathroom light, he closed the door and stripped off his clothes, hurling them into the hamper. He reached for his toothbrush, then sagged against the sink to stare at the man in the mirror. The one who had just obliterated all of his wife’s hopes. He huffed a sigh and brushed his teeth with a vengeance, determined to get Katie through this.

The room was dark when he finally entered, but he could hear her muffled weeping from the door, inflicting a sharp stab of regret. He padded to their bed and climbed in, silently tugging her into his arms. With a hoarse heave, she clutched tightly, and he eased back on the pillow, caressing her head as she wept against his skin.

“I love you, Katie,” he whispered. “You and Kit are my life, and more important than anything in this world . . . including having a baby.”

Her weeping slowed and she sniffed, moments passing before she finally spoke. “Luke,” she whispered, her voice nasal and thick, “do you . . . think I’ll ever be a lawyer?”

He closed his eyes, swallowing hard at the fragility of such a question. He drew in a deep breath and released it again, feeling the weight of his wife’s fears heavy against his chest. “I don’t know, Katie, but I do know we serve a God who delights in giving us the desires of our hearts, especially when those desires are one with his.”

A frail whimper rose as she slowly sat up. She swiped at her eyes with a handkerchief now as sodden as the skin on his chest. With a final sniff, she averted her gaze, head bowed in apparent concession. “Will you . . .” The muscles shifted in her neck as she stared, a dark profile stark against a moonlit window. “Will you pray I can accept his will?”

His heart squeezed at the familiar lift of her chin, the glint of silver trailing translucent cheeks, and his throat tightened. He swallowed hard, loving Katie O’Connor more with every breath he took. With a slow nod, he drew her back, aching to seal her in the warmth and protection of his embrace. He felt the rise and fall of her chest, the steady beat of her pulse in rhythm with his as she lay silent and still in his arms, and in one fragile breath of air, he knew they were one. Not just in God’s eyes or in their lovemaking or even in the family he one day hoped to have. No, they were one flesh, just as God’s Word proclaimed—if her heart broke, he ached, if her dreams died, he mourned. Expelling a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and gripped her close, willing the hope in his heart to seep into hers. He knew a thing or two about dreams and the God who instilled them, especially for those with one knee bent at the throne. A quiet peace settled as his body slowly relaxed against hers, and faith girded his prayer until it was steady and strong.

Because he knew, as surely as his love for this gift of God in his arms, that when it came to heart’s desires and the wishes of a loving Father . . . more often than not, they were one and the same.

12

W
hat’s this?” Emma stooped to pick up a rose petal from the floor, marveling at its softness as she grazed it against her cheek. “Roses? In October? Where did this come from?”

With a wry slant of her lips, Bert swiped a clean sheet of paper off her desk and shoved it into her typewriter. She nodded toward the far corner of Alli’s desk and then shot Emma a sideways glance as thin as her patience. “A secret admirer,” she said with a snort of disdain. “As if we aren’t busy enough without this inane distraction.”

“Come on, Bert, you’re just jealous.” Sean strolled from his office with a boyish grin. “A secret admirer would probably leave roses for you too, if you didn’t scare him half to death.”

Her hazel eyes narrowed to slits. “‘Death’ being the operative word, because if any joker pulled that stunt on me, he’d be spitting roses for a week—thorns and all.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Emma said with a smile at Alli, whose face was as pink as the roses on the edge of her desk. “Who do you think it is, Alli?” she asked, lifting the vase to take a sniff.

“Fly Boy,” Bert said with a scowl, spinning her paper into the platen with a noisy grind. “He’s up here all the time, delivering shipping statements now instead of Horace, thank God.”

More color whooshed into Alli’s complexion, making the roses pale by comparison.

“James?” Emma put the vase back, thinking of Horace’s assistant who’d lost a leg in the war as a bomber pilot. He was a hard worker who was always courteous and kind, attributes Emma valued in an employee. Although James was attractive in a quiet, unpretentious way, she’d just assumed that at almost thirty-eight, he was a confirmed bachelor devoted to the care of his elderly mother. Folding her arms, Emma positioned a hand to her cheek, absently chewing on the nail of her pinky. Thirty-eight to Alli’s twenty? “Goodness, isn’t he a little old?”

“Hey, watch it, Mrs. Malloy,” Sean said. “You’re trampling on feelings here, you know.”

Emma chuckled. “I meant for Alli,
Grandpa
.” She tilted her head and studied the mortified girl who was now fanning her face.

“S-stop it, you th-three,” Alli said, a blush bleeding into her bangs, “I’m dying h-here!”

Rounding Alli’s desk, Emma looped her arm around the petite girl’s shoulders to give her a motherly squeeze. “Come on, Alli, somebody here thinks you’re special enough to leave you flowers. And this
is
kind of fun, isn’t it? Speculating who it might be?”

“No,” Bert said with a grunt.

Alli peeked up beneath thick lashes while she picked at her nails. “It’s probably just Mr. Wilkins in the shoe department, trying to be nice. He says I remind him of his granddaughter.”

“I don’t think so,” Sean said with a squint, as if pondering the question at hand. “Take it from another guy—men only give flowers when they’re trying to win a girl’s heart.”

Emma shot him a mischievous smile. “Uh . . . experienced at this, are we?”

He grinned. “Nope, just smart.”

She shook her head and returned her attention to Alli, head cocked in thought. “Well, it could be Eddie, you know. Our mail delivery has never been this good . . . or this frequent.”

“You got that right.” Sean parked himself on the corner of Bert’s desk. “We better be careful or the postal service will steal him away.”

“Wish they’d steal Horace,” Bert mumbled.

“Bert, hush!” Emma peeked out the door, expecting sweet, gentle Horace to be standing right outside, wounded by Bert’s constant rejection. “Horace is a dear man who’s just lonely since he lost his wife years ago. You can’t blame him for harboring a little crush, you know.”

“Yeah, Miss Adriani,” Sean said with a grin, “a doll like you? After all, the man’s only human.”

“
Mrs.
Adriani,” Bert said with the hint of a smile, obviously disarmed by Sean’s lavish praise. Her lips twisted into a mock scowl, emblazoned with a deep shade of red that complemented lustrous black hair tipped with silver. “Believe me, I
earned
that title the hard way after living with a bum like Alphonso Adriani.” She made the sign of the cross. “God rest his soul.”