Sweet Sanctuary (15 page)

He thumped up the stairs, then twisted the knob on the office door, entering without knocking. When the door opened, sound poured through, and N. Allan Eldredge whirled around in his desk chair. Nic allowed himself a moment to enjoy the shock on the older man's face before he slammed the door and then leaned against it, just in case the owner got some idea about hollering for help. Not likely he'd be heard, what with all the commotion down below, but he wanted Eldredge's attention all to himself.

Eldredge's face went white. He rose from his chair. Slowly, like his joints were rusty. “Pankin.” Even though fear pulsated from the man, his tone carried derision. “I thought I told you not to show your face at this plant ever again.”

Nic shrugged, his empty sleeve bobbing with the motion. “You got something I want.” Bosco'd seen a wooden airplane and blocks on the parlor floor as well as a child-sized matching cap and jacket tossed on a chair. “Comin' here's the only way I can get it.”

Eldredge's hand inched toward a desk drawer.

Nic shot forward and captured the older man's wrist. “Don't
be reachin' for the pistol you keep on the grounds.” Eldredge had waved that pistol around the last time they'd met, using it as leverage to chase Nic off the property. He'd scuttled away then, tail between his legs, but he'd fight to the bitter end this time. “Won't do you no good. Besides, I ain't here to hurt you. Just want what's mine.”

Eldredge wrenched his arm free and then rubbed his wrist. Nic's fingerprints left red lines on the man's pale flesh. “What do you want from me?”

Nic admired the man's bravado. Thirty years older, with a belly paunch and no muscle in his arms to speak of, but he stood upright and glared into Nic's face. Only his colorless pallor told of his fear. Nic set his feet wide and glowered from his greater height. He bounced his thumb against his chest and leaned in, glaring directly into Eldredge's face. “I want my son.”

18

L
ydia glanced at the mantel clock and gave a little jolt. Her mother and Nicky would be back any minute, and she didn't want Nicky to overhear the phone calls. Two more numbers left. So far she hadn't found Mrs. Fenwick. Her heart beat with nervous anticipation as she dialed another number. Despite the series of negative responses, she still felt a rush of hopeful adrenaline with each turn of the telephone dial. She listened to the rings. One, two, three, and then—“Yes, hello?” A woman's voice.

Lydia pressed the receiver to her ear and began her now-familiar spiel. “Hello. I am trying to reach a midwife named Mrs. Fenwick. Is this Mrs. Fenwick?”

“No, it's not,” the voice answered, and Lydia's heart fell. “I'm her sister, Norma Sweigart.”

Lydia sat bolt upright, her spirits soaring.

“Did you need to make arrangements for a birthing?”

Lydia struggled to not babble with excitement. “No, Mrs. Sweigart, but I need to talk to Mrs. Fenwick. My name is Lydia Eldredge. I live in Boston—”

“You're calling from Massachusetts?” The woman sounded pleased. “Ruby lived in Boston. Are you a friend of hers?”

“No, ma'am, actually—”

“Oh, then you must be one of the mamas she assisted.”

Lydia stifled the urge to reach through the line and put her hand over the other woman's mouth. She took a deep breath. “Mrs. Sweigart, may I please speak to Mrs. Fenwick?”

“She's not here right now. She went to deliver a baby. Left very early this morning. It's a first baby, so it might be a while before she's back. What did you say your name was?”

“Lydia—Lydia Eldredge.” Lydia spoke slowly and carefully. Her entire body trembled with impatience, and she clamped both hands around the telephone receiver to hold it steady. “Mrs. Sweigart, it is very important that I talk to Mrs. Fenwick. Could you please have her return my call?”

“All the way to Boston? I'm sorry, miss, but we can't afford a call like that. It's all we can do to pay the bills as it is.”

Lydia's mind raced. She couldn't just keep calling, waiting to connect.
Lord, help me.
An idea struck like a lightning bolt. “Mrs. Sweigart, would you be able to call a number in Queens?”

“Queens? Why, sure, I can do that.”

“Good. Do you have a pencil and paper?” Lydia spoke as if she were addressing a child, but they must get every detail correct. “Here's the telephone number.” She stated each number clearly, pausing in between, then had Mrs. Sweigart read it back to her. “Please, as soon as Mrs. Fenwick returns, have her call that number and ask to speak to Dr. Micah Hatcher. He will be able to give her my message. All right?”

“Certainly. I'll do it.” There was a slight pause. “Are you in some sort of trouble, miss?”

Lydia's pulse skipped into hiccupping beats, yet she spoke with surety. “Nothing that Mrs. Fenwick and I can't fix. Thank you, Mrs. Sweigart.” She hung up, waited a few seconds, then picked up the phone again to dial the clinic.

“Queens Clinic. Dr. Hatcher speaking.”

Just the sound of his voice made Lydia's heart flutter. She clung to the receiver in lieu of clinging to the man.

“Hello, is someone there?” Micah's voice held a hint of worry.

“Yes. Micah, it's me. L-Lydia.” She pressed one hand to her chest in an attempt to calm her erratic heartbeat. Goodness, the effect he had on her!

“Lydia!” She felt the warmth of his smile from two hundred miles away. “So good to hear your voice. I hope you're calling with good news. . . .”

“Oh, Micah, the best news! Your idea worked. I found Mrs. Fenwick's sister.” She quickly explained the woman's hesitance to make a long-distance telephone call and Lydia's instructions to call Micah's clinic instead. “Will you please let her know the situation when she calls?”

“Of course I will. That was good thinking.” Lydia imagined him leaning against the desk, his smock in place, one hand in his pocket as he spoke. “If she needs to speak to you directly, I'll let her use this phone. And I can help her arrange for travel, if you'd like.”

Grateful tears blurred Lydia's vision. “Micah, I appreciate you so much.”

There was a slight pause—and then Micah's deep voice. “That's what friends are for, right?”

Lydia smiled, her cheek pressing against the mouthpiece. How wonderful having Micah Hatcher for a friend. “Well, you are a friend who goes above and beyond the call of duty. Thank you.”

“Now stop that thankin' me nonsense.” The teasing twang crept through, causing Lydia's heart to sing. “An' let's free up this line so Mrs. Fenwick can reach me. Take care of yourself, and give Nicky a hug for me.”

“I will. Good-bye, Micah.”

“Good-bye, Lydia.”

“I love you.” The phone line went dead before she said the words. But they slipped out so effortlessly, Lydia knew they had to be true. She loved Micah. She loved him as more than a friend. Yet a friendship—a limited, miles-apart friendship—was all they could have.

She sighed, trying to press down the feelings that had swelled at the sound of his voice. When she'd regained control of her emotions, she picked up the telephone again. She had one more call to make—to tell her father she'd found Mrs. Fenwick. But she would be very careful not to say “I told you so.”

The office telephone at Eldredge Crating Company rang twice, then Father's voice answered. “Eldredge Crating.” He sounded strained.

“Father, this is Lydia,” she said, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “I have wonderful news. I located Mrs. Fenwick.”

“Is she on her way?”

No “that's wonderful” or “I'm happy”—just a brusque question. Lydia stifled a sigh of disappointment. “No, Father, she was away from her apartment, delivering a baby. Her sister will have her get in touch with Micah, then he'll direct her to us.” She waited, but no response came, and Lydia's impatience boiled over. “Say something! I found her! Within days she'll be on her way to Boston! Aren't you pleased?” She cringed in shame when she heard her tone, as harsh and unfeeling as her father's, yet she seemed powerless to change it. He so infuriated her with his stubborn pride.

“That's good, Lydia.” This time when Father spoke, the brusqueness was gone, and instead Lydia heard an element of brokenness. “Because I had a visitor a short while ago.”

A chill crept up Lydia's spine. “A . . . a visitor? Was it—”

“Yes.” The clipped word cut her off. “He knows we have
Nicky. He demanded the boy. Two workers came in while he was here and escorted him out, but he'll be back. I know he will. We're on borrowed time, Lydia.”

Lydia's knees went weak. She collapsed into Father's chair, feeling as though a great fog swirled around her. “Oh, Father . . .”

The front door swung open, little feet clattered through the foyer, and Nicky's cheerful voice called, “Mama! I'm home! Mama, where are you?”

Lydia cupped her hand around the mouthpiece and whispered, “Father, Nicky is here. I need to get off the telephone.”

“Whatever you do, keep him in the house. Don't answer the door if the bell rings. I'll be home as soon as I can.” Father's stern voice cut through the fog of fear.

“Yes, Father.” She replaced the receiver in its cradle, clasped her hands together briefly with a silent, simple prayer,
Oh, please, God . . .
Then she rose, pasted on a smile, and went to find her son.

For two days, Micah waited for Mrs. Fenwick's call. Each time the clinic telephone jangled, he snatched it up, ready to gain Mrs. Fenwick's assistance. And each time it was someone else on the other end, his shoulders sagged in disappointment. He felt as jumpy as the lone hen at a fox party, and he kicked himself a dozen times for not asking Lydia for Mrs. Fenwick's number so he could call her himself. What could be taking the woman so long?

Every time he thought of Mrs. Fenwick, he thought of Lydia. Her voice had sounded so melodious as it came through the telephone line, the sweet tone pulling at his heart. He thought of little Nicky, too, and prayed for his safety. How heartbreaking to think of that boy being hauled away by a man whose
only motivation was to use the child for his own selfish gains. The longer it took to locate Mrs. Fenwick, the more likely it became that Nicky would be removed from Lydia's care, and remembering how much Lydia loved Nicky increased his worry. Would the woman never call?

As he cleaned up late on Wednesday afternoon, planning where he would grab some quick supper on the way to church, the phone rang. Distracted, his mind on other things, he picked up the phone and answered, “Yes, Dr. Hatcher here.”

“This is Mrs. Ruby Fenwick. I have a message to contact you?”

Micah nearly dropped the telephone. He sat on the edge of the desk and his voice rose in eagerness. “Yes, Mrs. Fenwick, thank you so much for calling. I need to ask for your help. I know you left Boston because a man was bothering you—”

“He did more than bother me, young man! He harassed me. Scared me right out of my home and my livelihood!”

Micah cringed. Given Mrs. Fenwick's bitterness, he feared it would be difficult to convince her to go back. “Yes, Mrs. Fenwick, I'm very sorry you faced such a frightening situation. The man is a menace, and he needs to be stopped. That's part of why I asked you to call.” She hadn't hung up on him yet, so Micah bravely forged ahead. “Do you remember the mother of the child the man is looking for? Her name was Eleanor.”

“Oh yes, I remember.” Mrs. Fenwick's fiery tone turned melancholy. “The poor little thing was so upset. She stayed with me while awaiting the birth of her son—she was scared of that man, too. She had a difficult time. I was nearly inconsolable when she died. I gave the baby to a friend of hers.” Her tone changed, picking up a hint of anger again. “And all the better for him! The father showed up after the birth demanding that sweet baby, wanting to sell him. I tried to tell him the baby had died, but I'm not a convincing liar. He just kept coming back. . . .”

Micah hoped he'd be able to use her indignation in his favor. “I'm friends with the woman to whom you gave the baby. Her name is Lydia Eldredge, and now the father is bothering her.”

An odd
tick-tick-tick
came through the line—Mrs. Fenwick apparently clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I'm so sorry to hear that. I hope she's able to keep the baby with her. That awful man sure doesn't deserve his little boy.”

Micah took encouragement from the woman's sympathy. If she cared about Nicky's well-being, surely she'd be willing to help Lydia. “The boy's name is Nicky. He's a fine, sunny little fellow, very bright and personable—and he calls Lydia his mama. But you and I both know she isn't Nicky's real mother, and unfortunately so does the boy's father. Lydia wants to gain full custody of Nicky. Nicky's father is trying to get him back, and the courts will surely hand the boy over unless they can be convinced the birth mother wanted the baby to go with Lydia. Do you have records, or perhaps a letter, that would prove Eleanor's desire?”

“I do keep a journal of all the births. Have that little boy's birth date recorded in it—was August of 1940, as I recall—but a letter from the birth mother?” A long, thoughtful pause followed. Micah nearly held his breath. “No, that poor girl wasn't in any shape to be writing letters when she knew she was soon heading on to glory. But I surely remember how she begged me to give the baby to her friend. I could tell somebody so.”

Micah's heart soared. “Would you be willing to travel back to Boston and visit with a judge personally?”

“Back to Boston? Oh, I don't know. I'm not sure I'm up to that journey. Besides, I'm finally getting the chance to deliver babies here. That's why I couldn't get back to you right away. I've delivered three babies this week—two girls and a boy, all healthy and doing well.” Pride carried clearly through the line. “I'd hate to be away and lose business again.”