Hearts That Survive Read Online Free PDF Page A

that's what breakfast was for, even if John hadn't touched his.
    As if reading her mind, he laid his napkin on his lap, lifted his fork and took a bite of eggs. Oh, the aroma wafted right to her. If he didn't hurry and eat his wonderfully seasoned sausage, she would.
    He swallowed and shook his head. That loving look came into his eyes, bluer than the ocean, bluer than the sky. "I don't want you to think I'd marry you because I have to." He glanced toward the deck beyond the private one. "I'm well aware there's a man out there who wants you as his wife. He's made that clear to you, me, your father, and possibly anyone with whom he comes in contact."
    A terrible dread settled over her. "Are you saying—?"
    "Oh, my, no," he almost shouted. His eyes and voice held distress. "Maybe this will speak for me." He reached into his pocket and brought out the poem. "I need to read it myself because—"
    "Quit explaining and read it, John."
    She let her teeth toy with her lower lip to keep from smiling—maybe laughing. In showing his trains, he became an excited child and confident man. When showing his poetry, which was his heart, he became self-conscious. She loved that about him.
    He took a deep breath. "You remember the first lines?"
    She'd been so concerned about how to tell him she hadn't really absorbed the poem but thought it was something about her hair being like sunshine.
    "Of course you don't." Color rose to his face.
    "Read it all, John."
    He read:
     
    As sunflowers turn to contemplate the sun,
    I turned to view your golden loveliness
    And loved, desired to care for, not possess:
    To cherish 'til our earthly days are done.
     
    He glanced at her and she nodded for him to continue. "It isn't finished, but these are the new lines."
     
    But then desire for pleasure we should shun
    Crept in: Brief bliss brought shame with each caress.
    Though we have sinned, I love you none the less,
    But more, yet more, 'til life's last thread is spun.
     
    She could only whisper through her closed throat, "Again."
    With shaky breath he read it again.
    Finally she found her voice. "I've never heard anything so beautiful. I don't know of anything you could ever give me that would mean more."
    "Except . . ." He held up a finger, and his lips turned into a grin.
    She did not feel the guilt—she felt the joy. She nodded and placed her hand on her stomach. "Yes, except."

 
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    N ow I have two of you to love," John said, grateful they could focus less on the sin and more on the miracle of life. They could sit and eat breakfast together and have a conversation about the most important things in life. She took a forkful of baked apples and, while chewing, began buttering her second roll.
    He washed down his sausage with a gulp of coffee. "I'm glad you like the poem." Realizing he was pointing the fork at her, he lowered it and focused on the Bible. "But I certainly cannot hold a candle to King David. He's the greatest poet that ever put pen to paper."
    "Greater than Shakespeare?" She bit into the roll.
    "Shakespeare's pen was indeed mightier than the sword, as the saying goes, but not greater than the pen of David, whose writings have God at the center."
    Chewing, she gave him a tolerant glance and laid the roll on the bread plate. "John, I'm not completely ignorant of the scriptures. I believe in forgiveness and in God's love." She looked down, then up again. "But there are also consequences. David and Bathsheba's child— Oh, John. You know what happened to it."
    For a moment, John could not draw in a breath. The child had died because of their sin. Such a thought was horrifying. He and Lydia wished the events hadn't happened as they had. Now he thought she felt as he did. Both wanted this child of theirs.
    He took a swallow of coffee to dislodge what was stuck in his throat. "Yes, King David sinned. He was a human being who yielded to temptation."
    "And he paid the price."
    "But he was forgiven. And good came from it. He penned