Love Unexpected (26 page)

Patrick met her gaze above Sophie's head, and the sincerity Emma saw in his eyes surprised her. He couldn't really mean she was a wonderful mamma, not after her failures over the past month, and not after today with her falling asleep and letting Josiah wander off.

Sophie pulled back from Patrick. She wiped her cheeks and straightened her shoulders.

Nay, Patrick would be better off finding a more qualified woman to be Josiah's mamma.

“We better get going, Soph,” said one of the pirates waiting at the oars of the rowboat.

Sophie forced a smile. “The crew's decided to get out of the area. They're sailing the horseshoe to Lake Michigan, maybe to Chicago. And I'm going with.”

Patrick held out a hand to her, but she stepped back toward the waiting boat. “Please stay, Sophie.”

“The men are kind to me,” she assured him.

“I'll take care of you.”

“I'm not your baby anymore,” she said with a sad tone to her voice. “I don't need you to watch over me.”

“Please, Sophie . . .”

But she turned her back on him, bunched her skirt, and hopped down into the boat.

Patrick's shoulders slumped, and weariness settled over his face.

“Good-bye, Patrick,” Sophie called before settling on the bench and arranging her hat back on her head.

“I'll always be here for you,” Patrick said.

“I know.” Sophie smiled as she tied the hat ribbon under her chin.

Watching the boat row away, Patrick didn't say anything more. Emma could tell from his silence and the expression on his face that he'd already said everything a hundred times in the past and that he had nothing new to say that would convince Sophie to stay.

Sophie was determined to leave and to live her life the way she wanted. Perhaps she felt she was too sinful, too far beyond the reach of God's love to ever come back.

Whatever the case, Sophie was breaking Patrick's heart, perhaps broke it every time he saw her. That would explain why he'd been so weary and sad those days when he returned after visiting her.

As he stood on the dock and watched the boat move farther out into the lake, Emma started up the path to the house. She wanted to comfort him, but she knew he didn't want her comfort tonight, not after all that had happened.

Patrick stood on the gallery of the tower and let the darkness and the canopy of stars overhead soothe his hurting soul.

Though he'd only been gone one night, it felt like forever. He was grateful to be back and to have his job still, for at least one more night. Mr. Yates hadn't seemed too concerned about allowing him to return to the light. In fact, he'd almost looked relieved. Patrick knew it wasn't easy to find men who were willing to travel to the remote lights and live in isolation and sometimes deprivation—especially given the low wages the board paid keepers.

“Beautiful night,” Holy Bill said, leaning on the rail next to him and staring out over the lake.

“It is,” Patrick agreed.

“And you have a beautiful wife down there.” Holy Bill dragged a hand down his shaggy beard. “I think she's waiting to talk to you.”

Patrick sighed.

“I can stay up here for a while,” Holy Bill said. “Keep an eye on things while you . . . well, you know.”

If Patrick had ever thought he was making progress courting Emma and getting her to fall in love with him, he'd been sorely mistaken. He hadn't made her fall in love; he'd driven her away.

“She's only staying until Ryan's healed enough to travel,” he admitted to Holy Bill. “After learning everything about me, she doesn't want to have me. Not that I can blame her.”

“Emma doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who lets the past stand in the way of the future.”

Patrick thought again about Emma's reaction to Sophie, first shock and then sorrow dancing across her face. Now she knew everything. He'd laid out all the filth of his family and his sins before her. “Why would she stay? I haven't given her much reason to stay before. She has even less now.”

“You've been a good husband to her. And if you've made mistakes, you can ask her to forgive you.”

“I don't deserve it.”

Holy Bill didn't say anything for several minutes. The July night was thick with the buzzing of insects, the humming of the lantern, and the crashing of the waves below. Finally, Holy Bill clapped him on the back. “You're a good man, Patrick, and you love God, but there's one thing you're missing.”

Patrick shifted so that he was looking the reverend in the eyes.

Holy Bill smiled. “You're following the Lord wholeheartedly, yet you're missing out on the forgiveness part. God's not just in the business of saving us from our sins. He's also in the business of forgiving those sins and putting them as far as the east is from the west.”

Holy Bill made a point of looking first toward the lake in the east and then toward the expanse of forest in the west. Neither ever came together. They were as far apart as anything could ever get.

“God's already let go of your past, Patrick. He doesn't remember it. He doesn't count it against you. Now it's time for you to let go too.”

Holy Bill squeezed his shoulder.

Patrick's throat tightened and he couldn't speak.

“Forgiveness in marriage works about the same way,” said Holy Bill gently. “You're willing to forgive Emma for not trusting you, aren't you?”

He nodded. He'd already forgiven her. He didn't know when, but at some point he'd let go of the hurt she'd caused him when she told Bertie their private matters. It didn't seem so important anymore. And in hindsight he blamed himself. If he hadn't been so afraid of sharing the truth with Emma about himself and his family, then she wouldn't have been tempted to listen to Bertie's gossip.

“Then give her the chance to forgive
you
for
your
mistakes,” Holy Bill said.

“Do you really think she will?”

“All you can do is ask her.”

After a few more minutes, Holy Bill left Patrick by himself.

He didn't mind. He had a long night of praying ahead of him, and he might as well get started by asking God to help him accept His forgiveness for his past.

E
mma clamped two wooden clothespins between her lips and draped Patrick's damp shirt over the line. The linen was ripped in several places where he'd formed bandages for his battered knuckles. But at least she'd been able to scrub out the bloodstains. She'd find a way to salvage the rest of the shirt somehow.

She took a pin out of her mouth and secured the shirt on one side before doing the same to the other. Then she bent to retrieve another damp shirt—this one Josiah's—along with two more clothespins.

A quick glance to the sky told her it wouldn't be long before Patrick started the lantern. The clothes likely wouldn't dry much during the night. While she'd washed them earlier in the day, she hadn't had time to hang them, not until after Josiah was tucked in bed for the night.

She couldn't blame Josiah's busyness for distracting her from her tasks. Her own excitement had been the culprit. When Patrick had taken Holy Bill into town in the morning, he'd brought Ryan out to the house to recuperate.

She hadn't asked Patrick to do it, but somehow he'd known how much it would mean to her to have her brother close at hand and to be able to care for him. So she'd spent the major part of the day tending to Ryan and doctoring his wounds.

In fact, she hadn't even had the chance to thank Patrick. Shortly after he'd returned with Ryan, Mr. Yates had arrived, and Patrick had spent the rest of the day with the superintendent. They'd closeted themselves in the sitting room and talked for hours.

Mr. Yates had stayed for dinner. She'd attempted fried fish cakes, and they'd been slightly overcooked and dry. But thankfully her biscuits had baked to perfection. Mr. Yates had been gracious enough to compliment her on the meal, unlike Ryan who'd teased her when she took him a plate later.

The day had been nearly perfect. In some ways she felt as if she'd never left the lighthouse, that everything was the way it should be and this was still her home.

Emma stuck more clothespins in her mouth and draped Josiah's shirt over the line. A cool breeze swept off the lake and whipped the shirt, moving it high enough that she caught sight of Patrick standing in the tall grass by the tower, staring at her.

His expression was intense and serious and filled with something that made her insides flutter.

He pushed away from the stone wall and started toward her with long purposeful strides. She focused her attention on pinning Josiah's shirt, until soon Patrick was standing on the opposite side of the line from her. She couldn't concentrate on anything but his thick arms and torso.

“Emma.” His tone begged her to look at him.

She lifted her eyes and caught her breath at the nearness of his face above the line.

His brows formed a line above his troubled eyes, and yet his tanned face with its dark whiskers had never looked more handsome.

“I've been waiting for the chance to talk with you alone all day,” he said.

Her pulse sped up. “You have?”

“Until now I haven't had the chance to tell you. I'm sorry . . .”

“It's all right. I'm the one who should be apologizing to you—”

His fingers touched her lips, and the gentle pressure cut off her words, her breath, even her thoughts. She found herself staring into his green eyes, helplessly lost.

“Let me finish,” he said.

She nodded. When he dropped his hand away from her mouth, she wanted to grab it and put it back.

“I should have been honest with you from the start about my past—about Sophie, about Josiah, about everything. But I was ashamed and wanted to hide it all from you, and from everyone else around here.”

“None of that matters—”

He lifted his hand and silenced her again. She didn't protest.

“I prayed last night, and I realized that when God saved me, He also forgave me. I don't have to live with the burden of my sins anymore.”

She let her lips linger against his fingers, savoring the softness of his touch.

“He's forgiven me. And now I want to ask you—will you forgive me too?”

She nodded as something warm flooded her heart. “Does this mean you don't hate me for my mistakes?”

“Ah, lass.” His voice dipped low, and he brushed his thumb across her cheek. “I could never hate you.”

“Then you'll forgive me for saying things to Bertie I shouldn't have said?”

“Done.”

She smiled. His one word was everything she'd been waiting to hear, everything she'd needed. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He didn't smile in return. Instead, his brow wrinkled again with worry. “There's one more thing about my past you should know.” He dropped his hand from her face.

“It doesn't matter,” she said. “I don't need to know any more.”

“But I want you to know.” He glanced at the tower. “I want you to know the truth about Delia.”

“You already said you didn't hurt her. That's enough for me.”

“I want you to know everything. I don't want any more secrets between us.” He took a deep breath. “Delia married me because that's what her father wanted. She didn't love me. I didn't tell her much about my past, but she knew I'd been a criminal. And she was embarrassed by it. I thought if I was a good enough husband, that she'd learn to love me. But each time I came to her—touched her—I repulsed her more.”

Emma's face flushed at his insinuation. He looked away, clearly embarrassed too.

“When Sophie brought me Josiah, Delia didn't want me to take him in. She didn't want the baby of a prostitute. She fought against it. But she gave in when her father told her to be a good mother.”

Emma reached for Patrick's hand and wound her fingers through his. All she could think about was how difficult his life had been, how little happiness he'd had. And it made her want to cry.

At her touch, Patrick responded by grasping her hand tightly. “When we moved here to Presque Isle, when Delia learned that
Sophie was in Rogers City, she begged me to return Josiah.” He paused for a brief moment. “I couldn't do it, Emma. I loved him too much already. I couldn't throw him back into that life. I wanted more for him than either Sophie or I ever got from our parents.”

“I understand,” she whispered.

“The night Delia fell down the stairs,” he continued, “we'd been fighting again. She said I had to give Josiah back or she'd return to her father.”

He swallowed hard.

She squeezed his hand.

“I told her Josiah was here to stay. She yelled at me and then ran down the steps. I called after her, telling her to slow down. To stop. To come back so we could talk more. But . . .” Patrick stared blankly at the tower door. “She fell.”

Emma's heart cracked open and filled with his pain. Without thinking, she slipped her arms around his waist and pulled him into a hug.

To her surprise, he didn't resist. Instead, his strong arms surrounded her, and he clung to her, pressing his face into her hair and breathing heavily as if trying to steady himself.

“I was afraid if I told you the truth about Josiah and Sophie, that you'd be like Delia, that you wouldn't love Josiah anymore. I didn't want you to reject him.”

“I wouldn't have.” She breathed in Patrick's scent, mingled with the wind and lake. “It's not Josiah's fault that Sophie chose to live an immoral life. In fact, he needs love and stability even more.”

“Maybe I should have found another family to take Josiah.”

“Nay,” she said against his chest. “You did the right thing. You're his daddy. He needs you more than he needs anyone.”

For a long moment, they just held each other, the wind blowing the damp shirts on the line against them, a distant sea gull echoing the cries of their hearts.

Finally, Patrick pulled back so that he could see her face. “He needs you too.” She started to shake her head, but he pressed on. “Josiah needs both of us. Together.” He brought a hand up and gently touched her cheek.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back. She needed him, wanting more from him than a hug.

But instead of kissing her or running his fingers through her hair, he let go, took a step back, and retrieved something he'd dropped in the grass. He held it out to her. “I carved this for you.”

She accepted the gift. It was a roughhewn carving of dark wood in the shape of a lighthouse tower, the Presque Isle Light, with a cross at its center.

“It's not much,” he said, “but I thought maybe you could find a place to hang it in the house . . . our house.”

Joy swelled deep within her as she traced the little cross with her finger, a smaller version of the driftwood cross he'd given her. “Oh, Patrick, I love it.”

“Please don't leave, lass.”

She smiled and hugged the lighthouse gift. “I'm sure I can find a nice place for it. In our house.”

His eyes lit up, and he looked as though he was going to pull her into his arms and give her that kiss she wanted. Instead, he held himself back and smiled in return, a smile that turned the green of his eyes into a lush forest, a forest where she wouldn't mind losing herself.

As if hearing her thoughts, his grin quirked higher on one side. “It's about time for me to light the lantern.”

“Aye. It's that time.” She glanced at the pink streaks in the
sky and tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She wasn't ready for their time together to be over, not when it had only just begun.

He ducked under the clothesline, and her heart followed after him. He retreated several steps before stopping and peering at her over his shoulder. “Would you come visit me in the tower later?” The invitation in his eyes was filled with hope.

All she could manage was a nod.

Emma leaned back and studied the wall above the dresser. The dark wood of the carved lighthouse glimmered in the light of the bedside table lantern.

“What do you think?” She tossed the question over her shoulder at Ryan, who was reclining in the bed.

“I think it spells L-O-V-E,” he teased. “Patrick is madly in love with you.”

She couldn't contain the smile that she'd worn ever since she finished hanging the laundry. “I don't know about love, but at least he's willing to give me and our marriage a second chance.”

Ryan sat at the head of the bed enthroned in all the pillows they had in the house. The color had begun to return to his face, and his grin was as mischievous as always. She was relieved he was getting better.

“So I suppose this means you're not leaving with me after all?” he asked.

Emma dug through what was left in her sack. She'd already unpacked most of it into her drawer. Her fingers found what she was looking for. She pulled it out and handed it to Ryan. “I want you to have this.”

“What is it?” He took the wooden cross and turned it over in his hands.

She lowered herself onto the end of the bed. “It's a beautiful story. One I'm now passing on to you.”

She read him the letter and told him the tale that went with the cross. When she finished, she knew somehow she'd finally been able to give up her own hopes and plans and had trusted in the Giver of Hope himself. She'd made a wreck of things, but thankfully God could take the wreckage and turn it into something beautiful.

“I've always dreamed of having the kind of home we used to have,” she said. “I kept waiting for that. I didn't think I'd ever be happy until I had a home like that again. But now, after all that's happened, I realize I can't put all my hopes and dreams in a home or a husband. I have to put my hope in Him above everything else.”

Ryan smiled.

She handed him the folded letter that had once belonged to Isabelle Thornton. “Hang on to it. Maybe God will teach you something about hope too. And when He does, then you'll be ready to pass along the cross to someone else.”

“I have all the hope I need.”

“I have a feeling you'll need more someday,” she said. “Besides, I figure without me around, you'll need some way to remember me.”

“I won't forget you, Em.”

“And I'll always be here for you, if you ever need someone.”

“Don't worry about me. I'll get along just fine.”

She turned away from him to hide the sudden ache that came at the thought of their parting ways. It was only a matter of days before he'd be back on his feet and well enough to travel.

“What are you still doing here?” Ryan's voice was thick with emotion. “Go on now. Your man is waiting for you.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks. She shouldn't have told Ryan that Patrick had invited her up to the tower. She should have known he'd tease her mercilessly about it.

“You need to put on your prettiest nightgown,” he continued, “take up some blankets, and spend the night with him. I'll stay here with Josiah.”

“Ryan!” She squeaked his name, mortified at what he was implying, but at the same time surprised with herself for even briefly considering the possibility.