Sweet Sanctuary (33 page)

Micah stood beside her, waiting. Had she finished her musings? He counted off a few seconds to be certain she had nothing left to say, then he took her chin in his hand and tipped her face toward his. “Do you have everything arranged to your satisfaction, Miss Eldredge?”

She pursed her lips, her brow crinkling. Finally she gave a brief nod.

He gave her skin a gentle caress before lowering his hand. “Good. Now may I share my thoughts with you?”

40

L
ydia's skin tingled where Micah's fingers had just rested. The tenderness of his touch and the intensity of his gaze stole her ability to speak. He'd asked a question, and she wanted to hear his thoughts—wanted to listen to his sweet Texas drawl. But her tongue refused to function. So she offered a slow, single bob of her head in reply.

His lips quirked into the lopsided Micah-grin she so loved, and then he slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow and set off in a lazy, easy pace that matched his relaxed tone. “Lydia, you know I've been called to serve our country's immigrants, and I love it. Which means, of course, in all likelihood, I'll never be wealthy. Not in a monetary sense.”

They reached her home, and he guided her to the porch steps. “Shall we sit?” She nodded, and he waited until they were situated before he continued speaking. “You've been raised in a much different environment than what I perceive for my future. Would you . . . would you be happy in a simpler dwelling, with fewer luxuries?”

Lydia's stomach clenched. Was he asking out of idle curiosity, or did a deeper meaning hide beneath his casual query? She
angled herself on the riser and allowed her gaze to rove from the cinder-block foundation, up the brown brick façade, and on to the gabled cedar-shake roof. Her inspection complete, she looked directly into Micah's deep blue eyes—eyes the same color as the pounding surf of Oahu—and answered honestly. “A house is a shell for the home inside. And home is the people.”

Something—approval and something more—flashed in his eyes. He lifted her hand, brushed a sweet kiss across her knuckles, and then lowered their clasped hands to his knee. “When I've come to visit you, I've needed to find someone to fill in for me at the clinic. The last replacement—a Dr. Springfield—was particularly good. He speaks fluent Italian and German. How often I've wished I had those talents!” He shrugged. “But somehow I've always managed to communicate, in spite of the language gaps.”

Lydia couldn't hold back a spurt of laughter. “Oh yes, I've seen how you taught Justina to communicate . . .
sweetheart!
”

He laughed, too, his eyes crinkling in merriment. He shook his head and squeezed her hand. “Oh, I think my little sweetheart enjoys keepin' me on my toes. If I'd stop responding to it, she'd quit doing it, but I haven't found the wherewithal to be that firm with her yet. However, the time is coming. She's going to have to make some changes.” His fingers tightened on her hand. “And so am I.”

Awareness tiptoed across Lydia's scalp. “Changes?”

Micah shifted to look her full in the face. All humor left his expression. “I've been praying about it a lot lately. Ever since I was here last, and we worked with Nic. On my way to the train station, I passed the areas where Boston's immigrant population lives, and my heart went out to those people. I made some inquiries, and I discovered there's only one small medical clinic servicing all of your city's immigrants. It's not nearly enough.”

Lydia gasped as understanding dawned. “Are . . . are you considering moving to Boston?”

He twisted his face into a comical, apologetic pout. “Will that mess up all the plans you were makin' while we walked?”

She yanked her hand free and playfully shoved his leg. “You're not funny! Answer me—is that what you're thinking?”

He slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her snug to his side. “It wouldn't be right away. Dr. Springfield is interested in taking over the clinic, but I need to ease him into the position. Many of the immigrants have come to depend on me, and I can't just abandon them.”

Lydia's mind raced ahead, imagining the joy of Micah living here in Boston. What bliss to see him on a regular basis, to enjoy leisurely strolls in the evening or go to concerts and attend worship services together every Sunday. Caught up in her plans, she gave a little jolt when he began speaking again.

“Of course, lots must happen here before I can make the move. I need to find financial support and a building to use as a clinic, not to mention a place to live. I'd really like to find a facility that can be both clinic and home. Then I'd always be available to those who need me.”

She patted his knee. “Micah, Father can assist you. He has connections everywhere in the city. Let's go talk to him now!” She bounced up, but Micah caught her hands and pulled her back beside him.

“Later. I just want time with you for now, okay?”

She wouldn't argue about spending Lydia-and-Micah time. She sat beside him, relishing the strong feel of his fingers linked with hers.

“I also need to stay in New York until Jeremiah returns. His last letter indicated he will be on the next Red Cross ship, but that could be the end of May.” Micah shook his head, frowning.
“He had a rough winter, and he's not able to work any longer. The church in Russia is sending him back. He's terribly disappointed and feels as if he failed to finish his task.”

Lydia squeezed his hand. “You and Jeremiah both need to think about the children you brought to safety. God would be telling him, ‘Well done.'”

Micah smiled, tipping forward to plant a light kiss on her forehead. “I'll tell him you said so.” He slipped his arm around her waist, resting his chin against her temple. “Ah, Lydia, I wish I could make definite promises to you right now, but this war . . . So many things are uncertain.”

But her feelings for him were far from uncertain. His nearness sent her heart into flutters of pleasure. Her senses drank in the scent and sight and strength of this man. No matter how long it took, she would wait for him. He was meant for her. And she for him.

Pressing more snugly against his chest, she released a contented sigh. “I understand, Micah. Our time might not be now, but it will come . . . in God's timing.”

He captured her jaw between his palms and tilted her face to him. The sun had slipped below the rooftops, draping them in long shadows, but his lips found hers, the kiss soft and lingering and flavored by the cherry pie they'd eaten for dessert. When he opened his eyes, she glimpsed the reflection of stars in his irises. He sighed, his breath drifting across her cheek. “I love you, Lydia Eldredge.”

The dearest words ever spoken. For a moment she held her breath, savoring their meaning. Then she brought up her hands to clasp his wrists. “And I love you.”

His thumbs traced the line of her jaw. “I want to marry you. As soon as I'm settled here. Will you be my wife?”

Lydia melted into his arms. “Being your wife would bring me more pleasure than I deserve.”

“Ah, Lydia . . .” His husky tone told her everything she needed to hear. One hand at her waist, the other weaving itself into the hair at the nape of her neck, he drew her upward. She closed her eyes, anticipating another kiss.

The porch light snapped on and the door flew open. “There you are!” Nicky—excited as always.

Micah released her by increments, his fingertips sliding the length of her arm and along her rib cage as he gazed into her eyes with that secretive smile playing on his lips.

“Mama! Micah! Listen to this!” Nicky clomped down the stairs, pulling Justina by the hand. He guided her past Lydia and Micah and stopped at the base of the stairs. His face crunching in concentration, he caught Justina's shoulders and positioned her just so. He raised his fine brows and clenched his fists, resembling a pint-sized football coach. “Okay, Justina. Tell the names.” He put a finger against her tummy. “Who are you?”

“Justina.”

Micah and Lydia clapped. Nicky poked his own belly. “Who am I?”

Justina smiled. “Nicky!” She clapped, too, this time.

Nicky pointed to Micah. “Who is that?”

Justina tipped her head and rocked back and forth. “Papa.” Her tone was knowing. Micah tweaked her nose and she giggled.

Nicky took a deep breath and sent Lydia a worried look. “This is the hard one, 'cause you weren't here. But we're gonna try it.” Nicky touched Justina's hand and then pointed at Lydia. “Who . . . is . . . that?” He sucked in his lips and hunched his shoulders.

Justina looked skyward, brought her gaze back to Lydia, and offered a shy smile. “Mama?”

Nicky let out a whoop, jumped in the air, then hugged Justina with such exuberance he nearly knocked her off her feet. “She did it!” He beamed at the little girl. “Good job! You know your family!”

Lydia found herself watching the children through a mist of happy tears. “Family . . .” She whispered the beautiful word.

Micah squeezed her hand and then held out his arms. Nicky plowed against him, settling himself on Micah's knee. Justina slid into the slice of space between Micah and Lydia. She placed her little hand on Lydia's knee, and Lydia covered it with her own. They sat beneath a canopy of twinkling stars while a night bird sang its evening song and a delicate breeze tossed Justina's soft curls.

Lydia swallowed the lump that filled her throat, Nicky's joyous proclamation ringing through her heart.
“You know your family!”
It was true. They were family, just as God intended them to be.

Micah stretched his arm behind the two youngsters to caress Lydia's shoulder. She tipped her head and smiled at him, a smile intended to communicate the joy flooding her soul. He offered a gentle nod in response, and in his eyes she read the same message repeating itself with every beat of her heart.

God's higher purpose is fulfilled.

D
ear Reader,

During the Second World War, a number of people worked tirelessly to rescue Jews from Hitler's systematic annihilation. Among them were ministers, farmers, housewives, and business owners. (You can read more at
www.ushmm.org
.
) Being caught assisting Jews meant a death sentence, so these people literally risked their lives for the sake of another. Although Micah and Jeremiah Hatcher are fictional characters, they are inspired by the many selfless individuals who sacrificed all in reaching out to a persecuted people with compassion.

To my knowledge, no Red Cross ships were used to transport Jewish children from war-torn Europe to the safety of the United States. However, the Red Cross did work to bring food and other supplies to our own soldiers held in captivity by enemy forces, as well as to others affected by the war. And who knows? Maybe unbeknownst to the history-recorders, a child or two might have been whisked to safety by sympathetic sailors. Truth is often stranger than fiction.

As a mom and grandma, I frequently petition my Heavenly Father to keep my children safe. Just as Lydia told Nicky, regardless of what transpires in this fallen world, we can always find a refuge in the arms of Jesus. I pray you've discovered that place of security, as well.

May God bless you muchly as you journey with Him,

Kim

I am deeply grateful to those who enrich my life and my writing ministry:

Mom and Daddy,
who taught me to seek Jesus and modeled relying on His strength. I am so thankful you are mine.

Don,
who shares this journey with me.

Kristian, Kaitlyn, and Kamryn,
who bless me and challenge me and who reside deeply in my heart.

Connor, Ethan, Rylin, Jacob, Cole, Adrianna, Alana, Logan, and Kaisyn,
who give Gramma so many reasons to smile.

Connie, Margie, Eileen, Darlene, and Donna,
who not only critique my work but have befriended me and lift me in prayer. We're more than critique partners—we are sisters.

Sabra, Kathy, Bev and Jim, and Bonnie and Lanny,
who encourage me and also keep me grounded. Your friendship is precious to me.

Charlene, David, Steve, Debra, Noelle, Carra, and the rest of the amazing team at Bethany House,
who partner with me in sharing the truth of God's love through story. God's blessings to each of you.

Finally and most importantly,
God,
who lifted me from the miry clay, set my feet on a firm foundation, and gave me an opportunity to serve Him. There are no words to express what You mean to me. May any praise or glory be reflected directly back to You.