Courting the Doctor's Daughter (20 page)

“You do?” Philip said.

A deep certainty filled Mary. Luke would never hurt these children. If only she knew his parents wouldn’t claim Ben. “Yes, I do. I’m positive.” She took a deep breath. “I want you boys to know there’ll be scary times in life. God is with us during those times, even when nothing is truly
scary except our thoughts. Talk to me when you’re frightened. And talk to God. He’ll help you.”

Michael touched her hand. “Will God stop bad things from happening?”

“The Bible says we’ll all have troubles in this life. But we don’t go through those problems alone. God loves us. He’s merciful. He will give us strength and a way out.”

Though she doubted they fully comprehended what she’d said, they nodded. Their expressions were solemn, tranquil. She gathered them closer, holding them tight, hoping they’d found a way to handle their worries.

Soon her sons chattered about school, leaving Mary to her thoughts. She prayed the floodgates had opened and she and her sons could talk openly and honestly. No hiding. From the calm way they accepted the truth, she sensed God had given them His peace. When the time felt right, she’d share her own adoption. She’d dropped the curtain. What lay underneath hadn’t been as hard on her sons as she’d feared.

Tonight was a new beginning. She didn’t know where the road ahead would lead. Or who would walk with them on that path. But it was enough to know God did.

A sudden downpour was Luke’s only companion as he walked the streets, debating the wisdom of returning to New York. He thrust the collar up, trying to slow the rain coursing down his neck, and replayed his parents’ insistence that he take custody of Ben, that the responsibility to rear his son was his, not some stranger’s. As if Ben, Mary and her boys weren’t knitted together like a well-made afghan.

In his mind, he saw the hurt in the boys’ eyes. What had transpired after he’d left Mary’s? Had the steam treatments eased Ben’s asthma? Had Mary given Philip a dose of his medicine? How had she dealt with Michael’s anger?

He knew only one way to find out.

With an occasional streetlamp and flashes of lightning to guide him, Luke marched toward Mary’s. A huge gust of wind slammed into him, lifting the hair plastered to his head. He pushed on, fighting for each step, fighting his parents’ words warring inside him.

Though he had huge qualms about his ability to be a father, intellectually he agreed the responsibility for Ben rested with him. To do his duty by Ben meant taking his son out of Mary’s home.

If he took Ben to New York like his parents wanted, he’d destroy Mary and her sons. Ben, too.

If he left town, leaving his son behind, he’d hurt Ben. And himself.

If he stayed in town to be close to Ben, his presence would be a roadblock to Mary’s chance at happiness with Sloan.

Lord, give me wisdom. I don’t know what to do.

Without the energy to prepare for bed, Mary sat in her living room, her Bible in her lap. After a story and prayer, her sons had nestled under the covers without complaint. All three boys slept peacefully. Outside, rain beat against the windows and the wind howled, matching the storm raging within her. Tired or not, Mary doubted she’d get a moment’s rest with the image of Ben, torn between his allegiance to her and his desire for a father, for Luke, stuck in her mind.

Soon, Luke would walk out of their lives. Tears found their familiar path down her cheeks. Her poor boys. First losing Sam, now Luke.

Well, they’d cope. For her sons’ sakes, so would she.

She’d done it before. But this time would be harder. Because foolishly, this time, without realizing it, she’d clung to the hope until the bitter end.

Lord, You know our every need. Give us Your peace and comfort.

God would see them through. Hadn’t He already? After everything they’d heard and seen that night, Ben’s breathing had eased. Philip hadn’t needed another dose of medicine for his stomach. Perhaps he’d put his trust in God, as she had.

In the pages of her Bible, she found verse after verse commanding her to forgive. She’d accused Luke of lying, but hadn’t her entire life been a lie? Luke had kept silent to protect Ben as she’d done for Sam. She lifted her face heavenward.
Lord, I’ve accused Luke of lying when I’ve done the same. Help me to find the words to ask his forgiveness.

She had forgiven his omission, but she didn’t believe Luke was a man who could settle down. Who could ever put her and the boys ahead of the thing he did best—running.

Luke needed to change, to get over his fear of being a father.

Perhaps if he did—

A knock brought her to her feet. Who could that be at this time of night?

She swiped at her eyes with both hands, then fighting the wind, opened the door.

Luke stood on the other side, his jacket drenched, his face carved with remorse. Seeing him filled her with weak-kneed yearning yet profound wariness. Her conflicting feelings about Luke churned in her stomach. She took a step back. Why had he come?

“Mary,” he said, her name half whisper, half groan.

She resisted the urge to take him in her arms. Instead she reached for his coat. He shrugged out of it, then brushed past her, awakening every cell in her body. She wanted his touch, wanted his arms around her. Wanted him.

The knowledge sliced through her. No, she wouldn’t love Luke Jacobs, a man she might be able to forgive, but a man she could never trust. Still she knew what he’d endured as a child and couldn’t turn her back on him.

“Are the boys all right?”

Mary nodded. “They’re asleep.” She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you earlier. For judging you. That was wrong.”

“Can you forgive me for what I’ve done?”

She gave him a weak smile. “I’m working on it.”

His gaze roamed her face. “I’ve been worried about you,” he said softly. “I took a walk and saw your light.”

A walk in this weather? “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Mary didn’t want to admit her weariness, but a sudden need to sit down sent her toward the sofa. With gentle hands, Luke turned her around to face him. He had solidness she yearned to lean on, strength she needed, but she held herself erect. “Why are you here?”

He ran a palm along her jaw. “I won’t let you push me away like there’s nothing between us.”

She took a step back. “What exactly is between us, Luke?” she said, her voice quaking. “Except a little boy we both love and a tower of distrust.”

His eyes, the gaunt paleness of his face, revealed his anguish. “You think that doesn’t haunt me?”

Mary crossed to the living room window, seeing her contorted features in the rain-streaked glass, a weeping face, or so it appeared. But she’d wept bucketsful and had no more tears.

“Don’t shut me out.”

“I can’t risk caring for another whirlwind of a man whose charm knocks me off my feet, only to discover he’s running from his past. No, you’re not hiding inside a bottle,
like Sam, but hiding nevertheless—in a lab, behind a quest, whatever excuse you use, the result is the same.”

He laid a hand on her arm. “I care about you. You must believe that.”

She shook her head, feeling those stubborn tears brimming to the surface, refusing to shed them. Refusing to let him know how much he affected her. Refusing to admit when he left, she’d lose part of herself. “If you’re truly leaving Ben here with me, you can go now. Back to New York.” She wheeled on him. “Unencumbered.”

As if her words were a slap, his face flashed three shades of red. “Can you tell me that isn’t what you want too?” He took a step forward, closing the gap between them, invading the air she breathed. “Isn’t it easier this way, for both of us?”

When it came to men, she had held herself apart, tried to stay detached. Since Sam. To get involved meant taking a risk. Leaping into uncharted waters. Mary had experienced the sharp rocks looming beneath that water. She couldn’t let down her guard. Especially not with this man. Better to step away.

Sudden insight pressed on her lungs. She and Luke were very much alike—two hurting people unable to give their hearts. Luke had grown up in a cold, pitiless family. She’d lived with a man who’d disappointed her time and again, until she couldn’t be hurt anymore. Or so she’d thought until Luke had arrived in town, peddling his remedy and his charm.

He took her hand. “You’re afraid, exactly as I am.”

Had he read her thoughts? “And why shouldn’t I be? My marriage wasn’t happy. Sam couldn’t put his family before…” Her voice faltered. “…a bottle. I put up a wall.” She gave a weak smile. “Much like yours.”

He tried to pull her into his arms, but she pulled away, took a step back. “You need to hear this.” She sighed. “You think I’m a saint. Well, I’m not.”

He raised a hand, as if to draw her near. She shook her head. “The truth is, it wasn’t just Sam’s fault,” she said, the words escaping one at a time. “He had a horrific childhood. A frightful father. He drank to forget. And when he needed me most, I…I failed him.”

“How can you say that? Sam failed you, failed his family.”

Mary turned back to the window, watching the river of rain chase a path down the panes. “In the beginning, I tried to stop Sam’s drinking. Countless times I begged him. I fought with him. I tried everything. And I prayed. I prayed for God to give Sam wisdom, to give me strength. For some kind of answer that would banish his insatiable thirst for alcohol. Yet nothing changed.” She traced the path of the rain, her finger smudging the glass, her heart heavy. The admissions kept inside too long now slipped out one at a time. Like stones dropping into a quarry, they echoed through her. “After a while, I stopped.”

“Stopped?”

Behind her, Luke’s voice softened. His touch warmed her shoulders. But she couldn’t face him. “I stopped trying to get him to wake up and see what a gift he had in his sons—” Her voice caught on a sob. “Don’t you see? I wearied of carrying him. And so I stood by and did nothing. And he—” the words now a rushing river, tumbling over themselves to escape “—kept going to the saloon, kept drinking, kept leaving us. Until the night he left us forever.” She whipped around to face him. “I failed my husband by letting go, by distancing my heart from him.”

Luke tugged her close. “You can’t blame yourself for Sam’s bad choices. I of all people know a man’s accountable for his decisions.”

She shook her head, refusing Luke’s reasoning, refusing his embrace. “I let Sam go, and it’s the biggest regret of my
life. If I’d talked to him one more time, just one more time, then he might’ve stayed home. Put down that bottle and—”

“Most likely he wouldn’t have.”

“Don’t you see, I’ll never know.” She couldn’t go through this with another wounded man.

She took a fortifying breath, determined to say it all. “The worst of it is, after the shock of learning about Sam’s death, do you know what I felt?”

He didn’t answer, merely looked deep into her eyes, his own gentle, sad and guarded, like he dreaded her next words.

“I felt
relieved
. Relieved my husband, the father of my sons, was dead. Relieved I’d never again have to hide the truth of his drinking. Never again have to make excuses for his whereabouts. Never again hide my disappointment that the charming, witty man I married had become a stumbling drunk.” She sobbed and shoved against him. “So, don’t tell me I didn’t fail my husband.”

“Mary, do you think I wasn’t relieved when Joseph drew his last ragged breath? To watch someone you love die, either imminently or by the inch, hurts. It’s natural to want to feel free of the burden…and natural to feel guilt about that too.”

His words settled over her, soothing her spirit, a balm to the wound that had never healed. Yet his comfort didn’t change the truth. “Maybe so, but the fact is, I let my husband down when he needed me most. I’ll never get over failing Sam.”

Sorrow skidded across Luke’s face. “We all have regrets.”

“You will too, if you go to New York. You need to change, to behave like a father.”

Pain stark on his face, he shook his head. “I let that boy down before he was even born,” he said softly. “I don’t know how.”

“Don’t know or don’t want the inconvenience?”

“I love Ben.”

“If you love him, then you’ll put his well-being before your own. See he feels wanted, loved. Do all the countless things a parent does—help with homework, supervise baths, see that he eats right, teach him to tie his shoes, give him chores, nurse him through sickness. Play games with him, teach him God’s Word, the right way to live in this world. Most of all pray for him. Daily. Even when he’s grown, never stop praying, never stop caring. The job never ends.”

No matter how much she wanted Ben with her, she owed it to the child to give him a father. She must step away and offer Luke his son. She dreaded his answer, but she had to do what was best for a four-year-old boy who wanted a dad. “Ben is your son. He’s your responsibility. You must stay and be his father. He needs you.”

Luke’s troubled eyes met hers. “Do you believe I can rewrite history, Mary? Be a better father than my own?”

“That you want to try says a great deal.”

“Ben deserves a dad.”

“And you deserve a son,” Mary said.

With one fleeting indecipherable look, Luke grabbed his coat and stepped into the growing storm. The rain formed a wall between them, cutting off the sight of him before the door finished closing.

L
uke dashed around the block. By the time he reached the carriage house, he was soaked to the skin. For some reason, he passed by, heading to Doc’s office. He entered through the back door, wiping his feet as best he could, and then meandered through the waiting room. His gaze lingered on Mary’s desk, the vase of flowers—a reminder of Mary’s capacity to brighten a room and a life.

Inside the surgery, he stumbled to the window, staring at the flashing sky, his composure as jagged as the streaks of lightning brightening the night, lighting up the guilt inside him. The anguish in Mary’s eyes when she’d offered him her son twisted in his stomach, knotted in his throat. This remarkable woman had insisted, all but demanded, he take responsibility for Ben.

Luke wanted that too. Badly. He’d try to give Ben everything he’d needed his parents to give him. Without a doubt Mary and Henry would help him if he got in over his head. He hoped no one, not Mary, not her boys would be hurt in the transition.

He turned from the window, letting his gaze roam the room. Why had he come here to this office? Had he hoped
Henry would be up and they could talk? But no sound came from Doc’s quarters. Luke wouldn’t waken him.

Turning to go, his gaze swept the enormous breakfront filled with medicine. Something stopped him, made him open the glass door. Finding what he sought, Luke clutched his remedy and then walked to the table, dropped into a chair and set the bottle in front of him. Doc had said the contents of this bottle mattered. Had been part of God’s plan.

Joseph’s suffering had led him to find this medicine, to dedicate his life to healing. God had used this remedy to bring Mary, Doc and the boys into his life. The liquid caught the light from above, glistened with a shimmer of gold. An unbroken bottle, unblemished and shining like a new start. Or so he saw it now.

He turned the bottle around and around and in the blurred glass he saw his image, then a glimpse of Joseph near death, his face at peace, his eyes glowing as if a light had filled him, as if he’d seen God himself. His brother’s eyes closed, his last breath slipped from his lips, and his pain ended.

With a certainty he couldn’t explain, Luke knew His Heavenly Father had spared Joseph more suffering by taking him home. God had not only been there with Joseph but God was here now. With Luke.

And Luke knew without a doubt that God loved him.

Lord, help me to follow Your plan for my life.

God and family mattered most. Nothing else would ever usurp their rightful place in his life. Not his dream of finding a cure for epilepsy. Not his desire to build a safe haven for its sufferers. Those might come, but they wouldn’t be his priorities.

“Forgive me, Lord, for using my goals as an excuse to avoid loving others,” he whispered to the room that no longer felt empty. No matter how many times Luke had
disappointed God, God had never stopped loving him, never left him, never told him goodbye.

If God hadn’t given up on someone like him, then Luke wouldn’t give up on him and Mary. Like Mr. Kelly had said that day, God had planted Luke’s feet in this town. This was where he belonged. A deep-seated discernment grew. He’d tried to ignore it, bury it with excuses, to pretend other things mattered more, but he could no longer deny its reality.

He was in love with Mary Graves—totally, irrevocably, with every particle of his being.

If she’d have him, he’d make a family with her and the boys. With God’s help he’d be a good father. A good husband.

He couldn’t wait to tell her, but the middle of the night was no time to announce his love. The best course was to take his time courting Mary…at least a day. He chuckled, hope filling every part of his being.

But before he talked to Mary, he had another fence to mend.

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, reflecting Luke’s optimism. He had strolled to the Whitehall Café, his heart full, planning some activities he’d do with his son. He’d just returned to the carriage house from breakfast when he heard a rap on the door.

His parents stood on the other side, elegantly dressed, as if ready for church. Under her hat, his mother’s auburn hair streaked with gray, faint lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes. Thomas removed his hat. His hair had thinned, his neck had thickened. His parents had aged yet remained a handsome couple. Luke detected uncertainty in their eyes, perhaps of their welcome. He stepped back to let them in.

“Your twenty-four hours are up,” Thomas said. “We want to see Ben.”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, but nothing about the way I was raised gives me a desire to have you know my son.”

Thomas flinched. “I suppose we deserve that. But what about you? You’ve taken your time admitting you’re Ben’s father.”

“I’m not proud of that. I’m not proud of anything surrounding Ben’s beginnings, but I’m not the same man I was then.”

His father’s gaze sought the floor. “I suppose neither of us is,” he said softly. “We—”

Luke’s mother laid a hand on his father’s arm. “Thomas.”

“Edna, I should say it. Don’t you think it’s time? Time we both stopped pretending?”

His mother’s face crumbled, her high society facade dropping away like a cloak falling to the floor. “Maybe it is.”

Thomas took a step closer. “I came here intending to bring Ben home to New York, to hire a lawyer, if necessary, to obtain legal custody of our grandson.” He gave a wry smile. “I’m used to getting what I want.”

“Or getting rid of what you don’t,” Luke said softly, almost on a whisper.

A flash of pain passed over his father’s face. “Exactly. While we’ve cooled our heels at the hotel, your mother and I’ve had time to think, to face and admit mistakes we’ve made.” Tears filled his father’s eyes. “You’re not the only one who isn’t proud of the way he’s treated his son,” he said, his words ending in a sob.

The words triggered a parade of memories, none of them happy. But how could Luke hold a grudge when he’d done much the same?

Tears streaming down his face, his father stuck out his hand. “What do you say, Luke? Let’s leave the past where it belongs.”

Could he? Could he move on and put all that had
happened between him and his parents behind him? It struck Luke then that if he truly intended to please God, he had no choice in the matter.

He took his father’s hand and shook it. “Ben’s a wonderful boy, thanks to Mary. Don’t hurt him…”

“…like we hurt you,” his mother said softly. “You and Joseph.”

Thomas sighed. “We can’t live it over. But we can give our grandson what we failed to give our sons—a home he knows with the people he loves.”

Thinking of Ben thrust into an orphanage, carried by train to live with strangers, Luke swallowed past the lump wedged in his throat. “You’re not the only ones who’ve run from responsibility. I’ve made a mess of things.”

“You’re not the villain you make yourself out to be.”

Thomas’s words filtered through him, soothing the anguish swirling inside him. That his father had cared enough to do that tore at his composure. “God’s forgiven me for every mistake and has given me a second chance.” His voice broke. “I can’t do less.” Then Luke put his arms around his father.

Thomas hugged him back. “I’m sorry, son.”

His mother joined the circle of forgiveness. Luke couldn’t remember the last time they’d even touched each other. Tears—healing tears—streaked down their faces. Perhaps in time, his parents would find God and receive the ultimate healing for their pasts.

Mopping his eyes with a handkerchief, Thomas cleared his throat. “What are you going to do about Ben? Have you made plans?”

Luke walked to the window, looking past Doc’s quarters to the town beyond, then turned back. “I’ve decided to move here permanently. Ben loves his mother and brothers. He needs to be near his family.”

His father’s brow furrowed. “You mention a mother and brothers—what of a father?”

“Mary’s a widow.”

A smile stole over Thomas’s face. “So marry the woman and make a family for Ben.”

“It’s not that simple. I love Mary, but I…I’ve lost her trust.” He sank onto a chair, dropping his head in his hands.

A knock at the door jerked Luke to his feet.

On the staircase landing, Doc held Ben’s hand. His son smiled up at him, his sweet face tugging at the last remnant of Luke’s composure. His parents huddled behind him, eager to get a first glimpse of their grandson.

Henry slapped a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “Mary came into the office this morning with the boys. She told Ben you’re staying. He wanted to see you.”

“Hi, son.”

Ben’s eyes grew as wide as his grin. “Hi, Dad.”

Luke itched to scoop his son into his arms and hold him close, but too much enthusiasm might alarm him. “Come in.”

“Another time,” Doc said, then mumbled an excuse why Mary hadn’t brought Ben herself. Luke introduced his parents, then Doc patted Ben’s shoulder. “Have fun with your dad.” Henry pivoted, heading down the stairs.

Ben held up paper and pencils. “Can we make pictures?”

Luke tousled his son’s hair. “Sure.”

His parents stepped closer, their gazes feasting on their grandson, swallowing him up. His mother’s eyes brimmed with tears. “What a handsome boy.”

“Hello, Ben,” Thomas said, his voice cracking with emotion.

His parents’ reaction to his son welled up inside of Luke, banging against his heart, crumbling the last trace of his doubt about the change in his parents.

Ben stepped to Luke’s side, leaning against his legs. “Ben, these are my parents, your grandfather and grandmother Jacobs.” Luke laid a protective hand on his shoulder. “This is my son, Ben.”

“Hi,” Ben said in a shy tone Luke barely recognized.

Smiling, his mother bent at the waist and cupped Ben’s chin, tilting his face to hers. “You look like your father did at your age.” Edna glanced at Luke, then back at Ben. “Time goes by too fast. If only…” She bit her lip then forced a tremulous smile. “Look at those beautiful big brown eyes. Don’t they melt your heart?”

Yearning filled Thomas’s gaze. “Sure do.”

His father shook Ben’s hand, and the boy grinned, proud to be part of this adult greeting.

A beam of sunlight lit the table as they gathered around it, drawing houses and people, a dog or two. Laughing at what the adults obviously considered pathetic efforts while Ben praised each drawing, finding the good in it, as he always had in Luke.

Tired of the confines of a chair, Ben scrambled down, leaving his stick figure family behind. “I have three grandpas and two grandmas.
And
two brothers
and
three cousins.” He whirled in circles, joy bubbling out of him like an underground stream. “And the most bestest mom and dad in the world!”

Luke’s eyes misted, awed at Ben’s delight with his growing family and his inclusion of him as his dad. Well, he felt the same about Ben, the bestest son in the universe.

Thomas ruffled Ben’s hair. “Who are these people, Ben?”

“You and Grandpa Lawrence and Grandpa and Grandma Willowby are all mine,” Ben crowed.

Luke hugged Ben close as he explained that poor health compelled the Willowbys to give up their custody of Ben,
that his son had been living with Mary, Michael and Philip for months.

Ben tugged on Thomas’s arm. “I didn’t have nobody. Now I have…” He held up his hands, dancing his pinkies and thumbs, trying to count his family, then frowned. “I need more fingers.”

Everyone chuckled. Ben looked puzzled, then his face lit with a huge grin, obviously happy to be the center of attention.

His parents took a seat on the couch and tucked their grandson between them. “How old are you, Ben?”

Ben folded his thumb into his palm. “Four.”

His mother tapped each finger, and Ben counted along. Had she played this game with him as a very small boy? From the natural way she interacted with Ben, Luke suspected she had. His throat clogged.

“Besides drawing, what do you like to do, Ben?”

Luke blinked. When had his father cared what a child did?

“I like to fish. I like storybooks. I like to play ball.” He pointed to Luke. “My dad bought me a big ball with stars.”

“I’d like to read some of those books to you, Ben,” his mother said.

Thomas smiled. “I’ve fished from boats but never from the bank. Maybe you could show me a good spot to throw out a line.”

Ben bounced on the seat. “I know where! Can I show him, Luke, I mean, Dad?”

“I doubt my parents will be in town long enough to fish.”

“Yes, we will. We want to spend time with our grandson. If he’s staying, we are too.”

Luke’s jaw dropped. Nothing could have surprised him more. “Don’t you have a business to run? Functions you can’t miss?”

His father draped an arm across the back of the sofa. “I have an excellent staff. The business runs like a well-oiled machine whether I’m there or not.”

His mother tugged Ben close. “What event could possibly be as important as getting to know our grandson?”

Memories rose in his mind, each one a rebuttal against their claim. “I can think of lots of things that kept you occupied when I was a child. Let’s see, the theater, your club, dinner parties, teas, strolls in Central Park, balls—”

“You like balls!” Ben clapped his hands. “We can’t throw them inside. Mom says we have to play in the backyard.” His face brightened. “You can play with me and my brothers!”

“That’s exactly what we’ll do, Ben,” his father said.

Luke tried to wrap his mind around the change in his parents. Was all this for real?

If this miracle had come about, dare he hope for a miracle in his own life too?

With Mary?

Mary sat at her desk, trying to go over her father’s books. Michael and Philip stood across from her, their faces glum. “Why can’t we visit Luke?” Philip said, his sad eyes tearing at Mary’s heart.

“We need to give Luke and Ben some time alone…to get acquainted. Maybe next visit you all can go.” Hoping to change the subject, she said, “I brought some cookies. They’re in Grandpa’s kitchen.”