Beyond All Dreams by Elizabeth Camden Page A

mapmakers. I know it sounds foolish, because no one ever thinks about the people who draw maps.”
    A streetcar headed toward them. She glanced at him. “Do you need to catch that streetcar?”
    He shook his head. “I’ll wait for the next. I’d rather hear about your book.”
    She gathered her thoughts while the streetcar stopped and passengers boarded. She didn’t like talking about her sad childhood as an orphan. It inevitably brought looks of pity, and she didn’t want that from him. But it was impossible to discussher dreams unless he understood about her father. When the streetcar departed, she drew a breath and outlined her plan.
    â€œMy father was a mapmaker,” she said proudly. “His ship went down at sea when I was twelve, but I would love to include a chapter about him in the book. He was one of the first cartographers to start mapping the bottom of the ocean. He sank test tubes and measures down to the ocean floor, trying to figure out the mysteries of what no one could see. It was amazing work, and he deserves to be remembered.”
    She stared into the distance, trying to find the words to express why this was so important to her. “Maybe someday, a hundred years from now, someone will pull my dusty old book off a library shelf and read about my father and be amazed by all the things he did. I dream about that possibility all the time. I just don’t want him to be forgotten.”
    â€œIs that why you became a map librarian? To be closer to your father?”
    â€œYes,” she admitted quietly. “I used to stare at maps and trace his voyages, daydream about the places he’d seen. I know it sounds foolish, but when I study maps I hear my father’s voice in my head, helping me interpret what I see. The love of maps is something we can share, even now. It’s a way for me to be close to him.”
    She held her breath, praying he wouldn’t laugh at her. It was risky to expose such deeply rooted longings and hard to guess how he would respond.
    â€œI envy you.”
    She looked up to see if he was mocking her, but there was no meanness in his countenance, only a gentle sort of wistfulness. “It’s clear you admired your father, but I feared mine.” She blanched at the appalling statement, but he then explained, “Oh, I loved him too. It was complicated. Your admirationseems pure, and I envy that more than you can imagine. My father was a decent man at heart—loving and passionate, and his laughter could shake the rafters. But when he was under the influence of liquor, he was like Janus, the Roman god of two faces. War and peace. Hope and destruction. Even my mother was afraid of him. I think he would have respected her more if she stood up to him, but she always battened down the hatches and prayed for the storm to pass. The rest of us were left to fend for ourselves.”
    In that instant, Anna knew that she and Luke Callahan were more alike than she could have thought possible. On the surface he was outgoing and confident, while she was quiet and reserved, yet they both knew what it was like to feel abandoned in a world of uncertainty. How fascinating to feel this unexpected surge of communion with a person so different from herself. Thrilling, even.
    â€œI need a wife who isn’t afraid to stand up to me,” he continued, “someone who can challenge and inspire me. I want a woman who can weep at the beauty of a splendid poem, but can also spot blarney when she sees it. I want an honest, God-fearing wife, but also a woman who can set my blood on fire and wouldn’t be afraid to dash stark naked into the ocean with me.”
    â€œMr. Callahan!”
    â€œDon’t turn into a schoolmarm on me,” he teased. “You’ve read Madame Bovary , you know what I’m getting at. I’m not interested in a marriage without passion. I want a wife of good sense and sound values, but also a