Sweet Sanctuary (28 page)

Lydia perched beside Mother on a hard bench outside the examination rooms. The sterile smell of the hospital made her nose itch, and she sneezed. At the sudden noise, Mother gasped, and Lydia took her hand in apology.

Mother leaned forward and peered down the hallway. “What could be taking so long?”

Lydia wished to scream in impatience, but she squelched the urge. Screaming wouldn't help the situation. “There's a lot going on here, Mother. Father and Nic aren't the only patients.” She frowned. “I hope Nicky is okay with the neighbor. He must be scared.”

“He's not the only one.” Mother's voice sounded tight with
controlled emotion. “If something happens, and your father doesn't make it, I—”

“Mother, don't talk that way! Of course Father will be fine!” Lydia injected as much confidence as she could muster into her tone. The image of Father and Nic lying white and still on the ground haunted her memory. She pushed the ugly image aside and focused on a different one. “You should have seen all the workers praying. They were storming Heaven. We must trust that Father and Nic will be all right.”

Mother leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Lydia leaned back, as well. How she longed for Micah's wise, unflappable presence. If he were caring for Father and Nic, she wouldn't feel half as anxious.

The door beside Lydia swung open and a nurse peeked out. “Mrs. Eldredge?”

Mother bolted to her feet. “Yes?”

“Your husband would like to see you.”

Lydia grabbed Mother's hand, joy rising in her heart. “He's awake?”

The nurse nodded. “A bit groggy, quite grouchy, but ready for company.”

Lydia followed Mother to the door, but the nurse pursed her lips into a sympathetic pout. “I'm sorry, miss. The doctor will only allow one visitor at a time.”

“Oh.” Lydia sank back onto the bench, tears of disappointment stinging her eyes. “All right.”

The nurse and Mother disappeared into the room. Lydia stared at the clock ticking on the wall across the hall. The minutes passed more slowly without her mother by her side, and she grew restless. She rose and crossed to the information desk. “Excuse me.” She waited until the white-uniformed woman behind the desk looked up. “Could you please give me an update
on Nicolai Pankin? He was brought in about an hour ago from the Eldredge Crating Company.”

“Your name, please?”

“Lydia Eldredge.”

“Are you a relative?”

“No, I'm—” Lydia hesitated. How should she identify herself? As Nic's friend? His child's surrogate mother? She finished lamely, “His boss.”

“Let me check with the doctor. Wait here.” The woman moved silently through the hallway and stepped into the room just beyond Father's. In a few minutes she returned, her face unreadable. She crossed directly to Lydia and spoke in an emotionless voice that frightened Lydia. “The doctor has asked me to locate Mr. Pankin's next of kin. Mr. Pankin is unable to offer any information. Who might I contact?”

Lydia searched her memory. “He was raised on a farm near Captain's Bluff, but I don't know if his parents are still living. I've always assumed he was an only child, since he's never mentioned siblings. He has a son, but the boy is only four years old.”

The woman's brows came together briefly. “I see.”

An unwelcome thought filled Lydia's mind. Clasping her icy hands together, she took a deep breath to calm herself before speaking. “Ma'am, I'm the closest thing to family Nic has. I've known him for several years, he married my best friend, and I've been his son's surrogate mother since his wife's death. We're all he has. If he's in there dying . . .” Her voice broke. She took several shuddering breaths, then straightened her shoulders, lifted her chin, and gave the woman her most determined look. “I don't want him to die alone.”

The woman's expression softened. “I'll tell the doctor.” She emerged from Nic's room only a few minutes later, beckoning Lydia with a crooked finger. “The doctor says you may come in.”

Relieved, Lydia hurried to the room. Nic lay on a railed bed, his arm in a cast and his head wrapped in a turban-like bandage. The doctor stood at his side, two fingers pressed to Nic's wrist, his eyes on his watch. Lydia waited quietly while he wrote something on the clipboard lying on the bed. The doctor flicked a brief look in her direction.

“How is he?”

The man scribbled something else on the clipboard, his gaze on the paper. “He's unconscious. He hasn't roused once since he arrived. His arm is fractured below the elbow—it looks as if he sustained a heavy blow that broke the bone all the way through. We've set it, and it should heal in time. He also has a sizable knot with significant swelling on the side of his head. There's the possibility it's putting pressure on his brain.”

The doctor's clinical tone grated on Lydia's raw nerves. Why couldn't he exhibit some compassion? Micah would employ a tone intended to offer a small measure of comfort. If only all doctors were like Micah Hatcher. She swallowed her resentment and asked another question. “If the brain receives pressure, what could happen?”

“If he lives, he could experience loss of speech, limited mobility, inability to reason, and more.” Finally he looked up from the clipboard and offered a poor imitation of a smile. “Let's not borrow trouble, Miss Eldredge. You may remain here as long as you are quiet. He needs to rest.”

He departed, leaving Lydia alone in the room without even a chair on which to sit. She moved to Nic's bedside and took his hand, stroking the row of calluses on his palm with her thumb. He lay as still as he had on the ground behind the truck. To her confusion, a wave of anger rose from her middle. How dare he simply lie there and give up when he had so many reasons to live?

Leaning close to his ear, she gave his cheek a light pat. “Come
on, Nic. Fight.” She goaded him with her terse commands. “Show Nicky his daddy isn't a quitter. Open your eyes and tell me how you got yourself into this mess.”

She stared into his face, waiting. No response. Not even a quiver of his eyelids. She huffed and stood upright, hands on her hips. “All right. Don't talk to me now. But don't think that means I'll leave you alone. I'm a fighter, too, and I won't let you slip away.”

She didn't trust the expressionless doctor. He seemed to care little about Nic. However, she knew a doctor who would care. Leaning down, she spoke directly into Nic's ear. “If you haven't opened your eyes by the end of the week, I'll call Micah. He'll know how to wake you.” The thought of speaking to Micah sped her pulse. She gave Nic's hand another pat and whispered, “Hang on, Nic. Help is on the way. Just hang on.”

34

S
omething pinched his nose. Micah jerked beneath his sheets. His eyes flew open, and he found himself face-to-face with Justina, whose short-cropped blond curls shone like a halo in the morning sun. He chuckled, stretching. “Good morning, sweetheart. You woke up before Papa today.”

Justina broke into a wide smile, and she grabbed his nose again. He didn't understand her fascination with his nose, but she loved to grab it. Their second morning together, she'd wakened him with a pinch on the nose, and she'd done it every morning since. Most mornings he awoke before she roused, but when he heard her small feet pattering into his room, he closed his eyes and pretended to sleep so she could surprise him. This morning, however, she'd given him a genuine surprise.

Still holding his nose in her small fingers, Justina spoke her favorite English word. “Sweet-heart.”

Micah laughed and held out his arms. She climbed onto the bed and sat on his chest. He chuckled again, bouncing her with the vibrations of his belly. She added her high-pitched giggles to his low-toned chuckles. The melody pleased Micah's ears. He could spend the entire day listening to this child's bubbling laughter.

The ring of the telephone interrupted. She turned her head, looking toward the sound. “Sweet-heart?”

“Nope, telephone.” He swooped her through the air and set her down, then trotted into the living area. He snatched up the receiver. “Hello.” His voice emerged a little croaky from sleep.

“Good morning. Did I wake you?”

The female voice at the other end brought Micah to attention. “Lydia?”

“That's right. You sound groggy. Should I call back later?”

Justina tugged at his pajama leg and pointed to the table. He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “Yes, sweetheart, breakfast in a minute.” Then he said to Lydia, “No, no, this is fine. Actually, I've been trying to reach you for almost a week, but you never answer your phone.” He laughed lightly so she'd know he wasn't scolding. “How are you?”

“Is someone with you?”

Micah glanced at Justina, who stood near the window, playing with the dust motes dancing on a sunbeam. “I'm in the company of a very special little lady.”

Silence fell on the other end. Micah pulled the phone from his ear for a moment. Had they been disconnected? He pressed it close again and said, “Lydia? Did you hear me?”

“Yes. Yes, I heard you. Perhaps I should let you go.”

“Don't be silly! I have something important to tell you. But you first. You must have called for a reason. What can I do for you?”

He heard her sigh, as if debating with herself, and worry prickled his scalp. Something was wrong or she'd be chattering away about Nicky. Finally she spoke again, but the warmth that he'd come to expect was missing.

“Actually, Micah, I need your advice as a doctor. A few days ago, Father and Nic were in an accident. A truck at the plant
was backing up, Father was in the pathway, and Nic tried to push him out of the way. They both were hit. Father suffered a slight concussion and some bumps and bruises, but Nic broke his arm and the bumper of the truck struck his head.”

Micah sank down on a chair. He pulled Justina into his lap. “How is Nic now?”

“He's still in the hospital. He's been unconscious since the accident. They're calling it a coma. The doctors here keep telling me to leave him alone, not to stimulate him for fear of agitating him. But, Micah, I trust your judgment. If you were here, what would you do?”

Justina toyed with the buttons on his pajama top while he answered. “If he's in a coma, my advice would be the opposite. Talk to him, bring Nicky in to talk to him, give him good reasons to wake up. His brain needs to be stimulated. Are they working his legs for him, doing any kind of physical therapy?”

“Nothing. After all, he's only a one-armed laborer with no family of which to speak. Why should they waste their time with him?” Lydia's frustration carried through the line. “ I . . . I could really use your assistance.”

Micah's first impulse was to volunteer to come to Boston and check on Nic himself. But the little one in his lap reminded him that he couldn't just pick up and go. Mrs. Flannigan had been a jewel, taking care of Justina while he worked at the clinic, but he couldn't expect the dear woman to keep the active little girl day and night for an indeterminate length of time.

Apparently he hesitated too long, because Lydia's voice cut into his thoughts with uncharacteristic harshness. “Never mind, Micah. I'll take your advice and deal with this situation myself.”

“It isn't that I don't want to come, it's just that—”

“Your ‘little lady' has precedence. I understand.”

No, she didn't understand. “Lydia, I—”

“I'm sorry I bothered you.” The phone went dead.

“Lydia!” Frustrated, he plunked the receiver into its cradle and ran a hand through his hair.

Justina blinked at him, her eyes wide and innocent. “Sweet-heart?”

“No, that was definitely
not
a sweetheart.” Micah absently stroked Justina's silky curls as he stared at the phone, trying to understand Lydia's rudeness. Her worry over Nic, combined with his hesitance, must have forced her into behaving differently than he had come to expect. He picked up the telephone and dialed her home number. The jangle blared several times but there was no answer. She apparently had called from the hospital, but which one? There were several in Boston, and he didn't have time to call all of them. Frustrated, he muttered, “Now what?”

Justina crawled down from his lap and pointed to the table.

Micah nodded, setting aside thoughts of Lydia and Nic for the moment. “Breakfast it is.” He lifted Justina into a kitchen chair and listened to her jabber to herself while he scrambled a couple of eggs and buttered slices of bread.

To his relief, after the first couple of days, Justina had stopped hiding food around the apartment. By the third night, she slept peacefully in her own bed. The little girl had settled into her new home as if she'd never lived anywhere else. Yet, despite Micah's and Mrs. Flannigan's best efforts to add to her vocabulary, she made use of only two English words—“Papa” for Micah, and “sweetheart” for everything else. Eventually, she would need to learn, and Micah hoped she wouldn't be school age before it happened. In the meantime, he enjoyed his new role as papa, and fully understood Lydia's love for a child who wasn't hers by birth. His love for little Justina went as deep as anything he could imagine.

His heart panged as he recalled Lydia's obvious distress. As
soon as he settled Justina with Mrs. Flannigan and reached the clinic, he'd try calling her again. And he'd keep calling until he caught her at home.

He placed a plate and fork in front of Justina and then took her small hands between his. As had become their custom, they bent their heads and Micah asked a blessing for the food. Today, however, his prayer was longer than usual.

“Lord, bless this food to nourish our bodies. Touch Nic's body and bring healing to him. And please help me reach Lydia so I can be of more help to her. And so I can tell her about Justina. Amen.”

Justina picked up her fork. “Sweet-heart!”

After Lydia offered the woman at the reception desk a nod of thanks for the use of the telephone, she hurried to the washroom. She managed to hold the tears at bay until she locked herself in the tiny cubicle. But the moment she had privacy, she allowed the tears to flow.

“A special little lady,”
Micah had said. The “little lady” was in his apartment first thing in the morning. Knowing Micah's character, there could be only one explanation. Micah was married. Sorrow stabbed like a knife through her chest. He'd gotten married without saying a word to her. Didn't their friendship mean anything to him?

Yesterday, when she and Mother had taken Father home, her father had made an absurd proposition as he'd settled himself gingerly on the sofa in the den. “Lydia, when Nic comes out of this, you should marry him.”

Lydia had stared in openmouthed surprise. Had the accident affected his ability to think clearly? “Marry—? Father, what on earth would make you suggest such a thing?”

“He's a good man. I've been watching him. He's changed. You could do far worse.”

“I'm sure that's true, but—”

Father continued as if she hadn't spoken. “You both love Nicky. You've already formed a family of sorts in raising the boy together. I know you care for Nic. So marry him.”

Lydia sat beside her father and spoke calmly, unwilling to upset him. “Father, Nic is in a coma. There are no guarantees he'll wake up again.”

“Oh, he'll wake up.” Father flopped an afghan across his lap while Mother fluffed a pillow and placed it behind his head. “That God of his seems to be working well for him.”

Lydia's hopes lifted. “You . . . you really believe God has been helping Nic?”

“
He
believes God has been helping him. He talks about it often enough.” Father huffed, rolling his eyes. “He's nearly driven me to distraction with his God talk. I'm not ready to take it on for myself, but I will concede it's put Nic's feet on the right track.” He shifted slightly, grimacing with the movement. He set his gaze on Lydia once more. “I tell you what—I'll give you the plant as a wedding gift. You will be the owner, and he will be the foreman—”

Lydia placed her hand on his arm. “Father, I can't marry Nic.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don't love him.”

Father waved his arm, shaking her hand loose. “Love can come later. It isn't as if anyone else is in the running for your hand.”

Lydia looked him in the eyes and admitted, “Father, I already love someone else. I love Micah.”

How wonderful it had felt to say the words aloud, to share the wondrous secret. But it hurt, too. She ached more fiercely than she had the day Nic took Nicky from the house, when
she'd been certain her heart would never beat again. Because if Micah had married, he was lost to her forever.

In the little hospital bathroom, Lydia sobbed into her hands, giving full vent to her sorrow. And anger. How could he not tell her? After all they'd been through, after the way he'd looked at her and held her and led her to believe he saw her as someone special?

“No more of this.” Lydia raised her face and spoke firmly to her tear-stained reflection in the mirror. “Crying won't change a thing. Micah never promised anything to me other than friendship, and he's been a good friend. Be thankful for his friendship and go on.”

She splashed cold water on her face, diminishing the swelling around her red-rimmed eyes. Powder and lipstick, liberally applied, revived her even more. Convinced she'd made herself presentable once again, she headed with a determined stride to Nic's room. Micah had advised her to give Nic a reason to wake up. An uneasy question formed in the back of her mind. Would the prospect of the three of them—Nic, herself, and Nicky—forming a family be a strong enough reason for him to rouse?