An Unexpected Love (31 page)

And what of Paul and the sacrifice he is making? Would you leave him alone to raise your child?

She picked at the embroidered stitching that edged the pillowcase. Even though Amanda and Fanny would surely help rear her child, to leave Paul with the responsibility wouldn’t be the proper thing. On the other hand, she hadn’t forced Paul into his decision; she hadn’t even contemplated such an idea. “Paul knows I don’t love him,” she whispered into the silent room.

But do you love me? You are my creation.

A tear escaped, and she yanked a corner of the bedsheet to her eye. How could she love God or anyone else? Her heart was as cold as stone—dead to the thought of love. She knew her own determination would allow her to make a good show at being content and perhaps even happy at times. But love would never again figure into the matter.

But I am love, Sophie.

She considered this for only a moment. One of the first Bible verses she had learned told her this. She couldn’t remember the entire verse from First John, but she knew the part that said
God is love.

If that was true and love really existed because of God, then why could it not exist for her?

Before she could further contemplate the thought-provoking question, her cousins burst into the room carrying trays that appeared to contain a feast for ten rather than for only three. Veda followed on their heels carrying a pitcher of lemonade and glasses. After moving the wicker table and chairs into a shady spot on the upper balcony, little time was needed to arrange their feast. Veda removed the covers from atop their plates and poured lemonade into the glasses before scurrying back inside.

Sophie had taken only a few bites of her fruit salad when she noticed Amanda watching her every move. “Are you going to eat or merely watch me?” she finally inquired.

“I want to know exactly what is going on with you. Fanny and I agree that you’ve not been yourself of late. Even before we came to the island, you were more interested in keeping to yourself than usual.”

“And sleeping,” Fanny added. “Now that Wesley has left with no explanation . . . well, we’re worried about you.”

Amanda swallowed a sip of lemonade. “Precisely! We’ve always confided in one another, yet Fanny tells me you’ve said nothing to her—and I know you’ve revealed nothing to me. Have you and Wesley had a spat of major proportions?”

“Wesley is no longer a part of my life. That’s an absolute certainty.”

“But why? Was it because of the family? I don’t know how any stranger can endure all the bickering that occurs when we’re together.” Amanda forked a piece of parsleyed potato and popped it into her mouth.

“No. He made no mention of the family.” She stared at her plate and wondered if the words would catch in her throat. “The fact is, I’m pregnant with Wesley’s child.”

Amanda’s fork clattered onto her plate. Her eyes wide with disbelief, she stared at Sophie as though she’d suddenly encountered a stranger. But Fanny immediately grasped her hand. “Whatever are you going to do, Sophie?”

“I plan to marry Paul.”

“What?
” Amanda and Fanny shouted the question in unison.

“You don’t even like Paul. What happened between you and Wesley?” Amanda asked, pushing her plate aside.

“When I told him I had conceived a child, he said he wanted no part of me, though I suspect it had more to do with money than the child.”

“Whatever are you talking about?” Fanny reached over and touched Sophie’s forehead. “Are you running a fever?”

“I’m perfectly well, but the two of you must promise you will not reveal any of this.”

Once she’d obtained her cousins’ agreement, Sophie related the contents of Wesley’s comments, his brief note, and hasty departure. “Not only did he not want the child, but he thought I was in line to receive a large inheritance. When I explained the provisions of Grandfather’s will, he decided I was a liar.” Sophie watched her cousins, gauging their reaction. “I never once gave him any reason to believe I would ever become an heiress.”

“I wonder if he made that assumption based on conversations he’d heard about Fanny’s inheritance. I recall conversations when mother and Lady Illiff were discussing Grandfather’s will and the family inheritance.” Amanda tapped her finger on her chin. “Wesley was present on at least one occasion. Do you suppose he simply assumed you would inherit?”

Sophie shrugged. “I’ll never know, but Paul knows about the baby and has asked me to marry him. I agreed, but we want everyone to believe the child is his. Promise you’ll
never
tell.”

Fanny frowned. “Do you truly believe this is the best way?”

“Given time, the three of us might be able to arrive at a better solution,” Amanda said.

“But I don’t have time. The baby is due in December. Paul is a good man, and even if I don’t love him, he loves me, and I know he’ll be a good father to the child.”

“I suppose that much is true.” Fanny didn’t sound convinced but agreed to keep Sophie’s secret. “Does your father know?”

“No. Paul went to Clayton to wire him that he needed to come to the island.” Sophie tapped Amanda’s hand. “You haven’t yet given me your word.”

Amanda nodded. “I do wish we had time to arrive at another solution, but given the circumstances, it appears marriage to Paul is your only choice. There will be some social stigma for a while, but you’re a Broadmoor, and Paul’s family is well received in New York City. Society will quickly forgive and forget.”

Later that night while Sophie pondered Amanda’s response, she realized it wasn’t society’s forgiveness she needed or desired. God alone had the power to forgive her.

“But why should you, God? I don’t deserve it. Everyone tried to warn me that I was being foolish. I knew it was wrong to fall into such temptation with Wesley, yet I allowed it to happen. Why should you care about me now—after my defiance? Why should you love me, when I cannot love anyone in return?” Tears trickled down Sophie’s face.

Suddenly another verse from First John floated through her mind.
He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is love
. That was the Scripture in its fullest part. No wonder she had put aside remembering the first portion. The realization was hard to accept.

“I don’t know you.”

The emptiness of that truth threatened to completely overcome her. She felt as if she were standing back on that cliff, ready to jump to her death. The isolation and separation she felt were more than she could bear.

She dropped to her knees and sobbed. “God, I cannot bear this alone. I have chosen the wrong way. I have gone against everything I’ve known to be good and true.” She buried her face in her hands. How could God forgive her and love her when she couldn’t forgive herself and no longer believed that human love was even possible?

From deep within her memory another portion of Scripture came to mind.
Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be a propitiation for our sins.

“What’s a pro . . . pish . . . pishiation?”
she had asked her father as a little girl.

She could still see his smile as he pulled her onto his lap.
“It means that when you give your life to Jesus, the slate is wiped clean. Jesus takes the blame, and God is appeased through His Son’s death on the cross.”

“But why does anyone have to die?”
Sophie had asked in her little-girl innocence.

“Because unless we die to sin, we cannot hope to live for God.”

The words pierced her heart as nothing else could. She had thought earlier that death was her only hope, and now, in a sense, she could see that she was right. Only this time it was death to herself and to sin. Death to a way of life that held no hope or meaning. Death to that which would forever separate her from God’s love—the only true love that would last for all eternity.

20

Thursday, June 9, 1898

Two days later, Mr. Atwell maneuvered the
DaisyBee
into a slip not far from the Clayton depot. Once he’d cut the motor, Paul stepped up out of the boat and onto the dock. The older man motioned to him, and Paul waited until Mr. Atwell made his way to the front of the boat.

“Just wanted to tell you I may not be back here by the time the train arrives,” Mr. Atwell started, “but I’ll do my best. The missus gave me a list for the grocer as well as the meat cutter, and I need to stop and see Mr. Hungerford at the plumbing shop.”

“No hurry. If you’re not back when Mr. Broadmoor arrives, we’ll go over to the Hub Café and have a cup of coffee.” Having time to speak with Quincy prior to arriving at the island might be best anyway, Paul decided.

Mr. Atwell tipped his cap. “Good enough. If you’re not at the dock, I’ll look for you at the café.”

Paul wandered to one of the benches outside the Clayton train depot and dropped onto the hard surface. Burying his face in his hands, he wrestled with his thoughts. A part of him wanted to go after Wesley Hedrick and . . . and . . . what? What would he say or do if he came face-to-face with the man? Paul had never been given to violence, and he certainly didn’t want to talk Wesley into going back to make things right with Sophie.

The train whistle howled in the distance, and Paul uttered a prayer that God would give him the exact words he should speak to Quincy. How could he hope to explain to his mentor and friend that he would rather risk his reputation and marry a pregnant woman who didn’t love him than live his life without Sophie? Quincy was a man of reason, but he might very well mean to see Sophie sent away to protect the family name. It seemed more likely that this would be the attitude of Jonas Broadmoor rather than Quincy, but one could never tell what the stress of such news might cause a person to do.

Five minutes later, the train chugged into the station. Excited vacationers bounded onto the platform, anxious to board the boats that would take them to their island retreats.

Pushing himself up from the bench, Paul strained to see above the crowd until he spotted Quincy. Yanking his hat from his head, he waved it high in the air. Quincy returned the wave and hoisted his bag overhead while he worked his way through a group of passengers who refused to budge. He sighed when he reached Paul’s side.

“The vacationers increase each year. I couldn’t even get a seat on yesterday’s train.” He eyed a young boy pinching his brother’s arm until the child howled in pain. Quincy pointed a thumb in their direction. “And none of these travelers seem to have time to look after their children. Can’t they see the children are seeking their attention?”

Paul recalled Sophie’s telling him that her father never had time for her. That he was too busy with the Home for the Friendless to know she existed. Had she been seeking Quincy’s attention with her misdeeds?

Quincy glanced toward the dock. “Where’s Mr. Atwell?”

Paul explained that the boatswain had a list of errands and suggested the two of them have a cup of coffee while they waited. After securing Quincy’s suitcase in the
DaisyBee,
the two men sauntered across the street to the Hub Café and ordered.

The minute the coffee was set in front of them, Quincy rubbed his hands together and leaned forward. “All right, my boy, you’ve kept me waiting long enough. I assume this has something to do with Wesley’s pledge. I had hoped you would be back home and we’d have the money deposited in the bank by now.” He stirred a dollop of cream into his coffee. “What’s the problem with the donation?”

Paul ran his thumb along the edge of his coffee cup. “This does have to do with Wesley, but the donation isn’t the issue I need to discuss.”

“That’s a relief. I told the bank I’d be bringing the money and we could sign contracts on the new addition as soon as I returned from the island.” Quincy took a gulp of coffee and settled the cup back on the saucer. “So what did you need me for?” He cocked his head to one side.

“First off, I don’t have the money. You see—”

“What do you mean you don’t have the money? Was Wesley offended I didn’t personally come to meet with him?”

“No. He never mentioned that.”

Quincy slapped his palm on the table. “Then what’s the problem? Why don’t you have the money? We’re committed to the new addition, and we can’t begin without that donation. I’m beginning to lose my patience with you, Paul.”

“If you’d quit interrupting and give me an opportunity to explain, I’ll be glad to set the record straight.” Paul calmed and shook his head. “I’m sorry. That was quite disrespectful of me, but I’m afraid circumstances have changed.”

Quincy leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “Well, go ahead. I’m listening.”

“There will be no donation from Wesley. The man has no money of his own—he apparently lives off the good nature of wealthy friends. At least as far as I can tell. He has left the island and walked out of Sophie’s life—for good.”

Quincy paled, but he didn’t interrupt. While the older man stared into the bottom of his coffee cup, Paul explained all that had occurred since Wesley’s arrival. When he’d finished, he reached inside his pocket and retrieved the scribbled note Wesley had written. “This is the manner in which he told Sophie of his decision.”

After reading the few lines, Quincy folded the paper and returned it to Paul. “That note should be burned. If anyone else should see it . . .”

Paul nodded. “There’s something else.”

“
More?
Isn’t this enough? My daughter is expecting a child, her fiancé has deserted her, and the addition for the Home is once again delayed.” He stared heavenward. “I suppose I have only myself to blame where Sophie is concerned. She made bad choices, but in my heart I know she was seeking my attention.”

The waiter returned with more coffee, and Quincy remained silent until the man stepped away from the table.

“Since her mother’s death, I’ve spent little time at home. With her brother and sisters gone, she’s had no one. After Marie died, I didn’t want to be in the house, and I’m afraid I offered Sophie little attention. How selfish I’ve been. Now look what my selfishness has done to my daughter.”