A Heart Revealed

by Julie Lessman

  She nodded and looked away, apparently reluctant to maintain his gaze.

  “Emma,” he said again, his voice as serious as it had ever been, and this time her eyes met and held his. “I hurt you deeply, I know, losing my temper at Kearney’s that day, and I want you to understand that it will never happen again.” He swallowed hard, emotion thickening the walls of his throat. “That degree of anger . . . well, it’s only happened twice in my life, and I regret one of those times was with you.” He paused, seconds ticking away like minutes. “Will you forgive me? Please?”

  “I’ve forgiven you,” she whispered, but it didn’t ease the wariness in her face.

  “No, I don’t think you have. We’re friends—good friends. But somehow I feel that friendship has been cut off—”

  “That’s not true . . . ,” she said too softly, a twinge of pain in her eyes.

  “Isn’t it? You’re not comfortable with me anymore, and you avoid me like the plague.”

  The timidity of her manner broke his heart as her gaze lowered once again. “You scared me, Sean,” she whispered. “I thought I knew you.”

  “You do know me, Emma. We’ve known each other through thick and thin, weathered crises together, partnered in Pinochle and dominoes and horseshoes in the summer. I’ve told you things I’ve never told my sisters, and we’ve given each other advice and support during rough times. Please don’t let one stupid mistake on my part take that all away.”

  Her fingers shook as she picked at her food, gaze fused to the beef on the foil. When she finally spoke, her words were frail and low. “Forgive me, Sean, please, but I’m afraid that when one has lived with a violent man, fear can become a constant companion.” A muscle jerked beneath the creamy skin of her throat as she continued, the waver in her voice piercing him as her eyes trailed into a cold stare. “The first time Rory lost his temper in a fit of rage, he broke my jaw. Until then, I never knew he was even capable of such anger because he was always so gentle and kind, so devoted while we courted, and even after.” The faintest of shivers skittered over her like a ripple on a mirror lake. “I remember feeling so safe with him because he was nothing like my father, nothing like the man who would rage and roar over the slightest little thing.” A sad smile curved on her lips. “I was so grateful . . . grateful for a man without a temper who could protect me from my father’s.”

  “Emma, I’m sorry . . . ,” he whispered, the pain in his heart bleeding into his voice.

  “I know you are, Sean, and I’m sorry too.” Her gaze rose to meet his. “But the truth is, once that happens to a human heart, ‘sorry’ is never quite enough again.”

  He swallowed the ache in his throat. “What can I do, Emma, to win back your trust?”

  The barest of smiles tempered some of the wariness in her eyes. “You can give me time and patience until this uneasiness fades. You can understand that although I value your friendship immensely, a part of me is not only struggling over trusting you again, but also a little angry that I even have to.”

  He leaned forward, eyes intense. “I will win your trust, Emma, you have my word.”

  “I know,” she said quietly. “But it will take time.”

  Exhaling deeply, he slowly rose and extended his hand across the desk. “Well, there’s no time like the present.” His manner was easy despite the vise crushing his chest. “Shall we start over?”

  She looked up, staring at him for several moments, as if torn between her fear and her willingness to give him another chance. He watched the muscles in her face slowly relax and felt the knot in his chest unravel like a clenched fist unfolding into an open palm. She gave him a gentle nod, and carefully shook his hand, releasing it almost immediately.

  “Thank you,” he whispered, his stomach beginning to rumble. He quickly reached for his fork and speared the beef, grinning like a little boy with a big crush on a little girl. “This looks incredible. When do you have time to cook like this?”

  Some of the stiffness left her body as she eased back in the chair. “On Sundays. It’s the only day I really get to rest and forget about the store. I enjoy fixing dinner for my eighteen-year-old neighbor, Casey, and my elderly landlady, Mrs. Peep. We have a lot of fun together—the three of us generations apart, yet giggling and playing dominoes like schoolgirls at a party. Casey’s mother, Susan, used to work here at Dennehy’s, but she returned to Kansas to care for her sick mother. She asked me to watch out for her daughter, so Casey and I have become very close.”

  “Let me see,” Sean said with an exaggerated drawl, “you single-handedly manage one of the most popular stores in Boston, you make time for my family, Alli, and Mrs. Tunny, you befriend my sister, which is a full-time job in itself, and now you also play nursemaid to a teenage girl and cook for your neighbors?” He took a bite of the corned beef and chewed, his eyes warm with approval. “You’re amazing.”

  A soft blush dotted her cheeks. “As far as managing the store, you forget I don’t do that alone anymore,” she said with a shy smile. She bit off a tiny corner of the beef. “You’ve only been here a week, and I honestly don’t know how we managed without you.” She hefted her chin in an uncustomary show of pluck. “It appears Mr. Kelly is not only a moron, but a fool.”

  He laughed, something he did a lot in her presence, and it felt good. He snatched some meat and took a bite while he leaned back in his chair, more relaxed than he’d felt in a long time. “I do believe that’s the harshest thing I’ve ever heard out of those soft-spoken lips, Mrs. Malloy,” he said, teasing her with his eyes. “Obviously my sister’s a bad influence.”

  A low laugh rippled from her lips. “Don’t be too sure about that. With Charity, at least one knows where they stand, which in some ways, is the height of honesty, being a woman so forthcoming. While I on the other hand, remain a mystery—even to myself.”

  “A mystery,” he whispered, the very word intriguing him—like the woman herself. He chewed slowly, his blood warming at the prospect of exploring the inner recesses of this woman who drew him. For the first time, he understood fully the true treasure she was in his life, and his heart began to thud at the prospect of slowly unwrapping the gift that was Emma Malloy. Drawing in a calming breath, he studied her through curious eyes before exhaling and lightening his tone. “So solve it for me, Mrs. Malloy. I’ve often wondered what puts that glow in your cheeks, that peace in your countenance. Why is it I have never heard an ill word or complaint from your mouth until tonight and yet . . .” His gaze sharpened. “Your life has been anything but easy.”

  The green-gray eyes blinked, their depths as clear and mesmerizing as pale green beryl. “I’m . . . happy with my life, Sean.”

  “That’s obvious, Emma, but I can’t help but be curious. Most of the women I know, including my sisters, have been bent on falling in love, getting married—”

  Color stained her cheeks. “I’m . . . already . . . married,” she whispered, eyes focused hard on the food in her hands as she picked at it with shaky fingers.

  Sean sat up, a sharp pain in his throat. “Emma—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up painful memories. I know you have a husband back in Ireland, but that’s my point. I’d expect you to be lonely or bitter or at least angry with men like so many women I know, but you’re not. You’re different—calm, serene, joyful in your singular life. In fact you’re the only woman I know who seems to be a lot like me—content to be alone.” He drew in a deep breath and released it again while he sank back in his chair with a boyish smile. “Blame it on the fact that I’ve always enjoyed a good mystery, Mrs. Malloy, but I can’t help but wonder why.”

  Her lips lifted in a gentle curve, and the tautness in his throat dissipated, easing his tight smile into a grin.

  “Of course, I realize you could fire me on the spot for being so nosy . . .”

  Her chuckle lilted in the air, and the sound expanded the warmth in his chest. “It would take a lot more than idle curiosity for me to fire you, Sean O’Connor,” she said w
ith a twinkle in her eye. “I would have to answer to Bert and Michelle if I did, and I don’t relish the thought.”

  “Good point.” He rested his head on the back of his chair and watched her through lidded eyes, his grin fading. “So do you? Ever get lonely?”

  She tilted her head and peered out the window, as if contemplating the question. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped breathing until she answered seconds later, and when she did, her voice held that peaceful assurance he’d come to expect. “Oh, here and there, I suppose, like most human beings, but mostly not. Your family, my friends, and the store have filled my life with a lot of joy and satisfaction. And then, of course, there’s Lancelot and Guinevere.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “My cats,” she said with a soft smile. She paused to poke at the cabbage with her fork while her eyes trailed into a dreamy stare. “But if I were to be completely honest, I would have to say my greatest joy and contentment come from . . .” The dark lashes lifted, revealing greenish-gray eyes as serene and shimmering as Silver Lake at dusk. “My faith in God.”

  His mouth went dry, and he shifted in the chair, not really sure what to say. He knew she was a spiritual person, but he’d never really thought of her as intensely religious, and certainly not as devout as his sister, Faith. “Oh,” he said, swallowing hard. “I . . . didn’t realize that.” His smile felt stiff. “Thus the mystery, I suppose.”

  She laughed, and the sound was bolder somehow, freer, as if she had lifted a veil for him to peek inside. The muscles relaxed in his face and he grinned freely. “What?”

  There was a beautiful mischief about her—a sparkle in her eyes, a twitch in her smile—that he’d never seen before, somehow intimate in these cozy confines where the scent of rain filled the air. Her body seemed to melt against the velour and cherrywood back, relaxed as if reclining on overstuffed cushions rather than a stiff, hardwood dining-room chair.

  She rested her head back and gave him a languid smile, hands limp on the arms. “You’re not comfortable talking about God, are you?”

  A flash of heat scalded his face and he cleared his throat. “Sure I am,” he lied, moisture beading the back of his neck. “I’m just a very private person when it comes to . . . things.”

  She grinned. “I’m sorry for putting you on the spot, but I have to admit it does surprise me a wee bit.” She scrunched her nose. “But come to think of it, Charity didn’t have much use for God when I met her either.”

  “I have use for God,” he said sharply, her words barbing more than he liked.

  She sat up, palm raised in apology. “Of course you do, and I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. But I can’t help but notice you seem to have the same aversion to the mention of God as—” she chewed on the edge of her lip, eyes sparkling while a touch of the imp teased in her tone—“you do to women.”

  He stared before his lips eased into a slow smile. All tension seeped away as he lounged back in his chair. “Well, I guess you could say both subjects scare the tar out of me.”

  She laughed. “I thought so. And I certainly understand your hesitation with women.” The twinkle in her eyes dimmed. “But why God?”

  Sean cocked his foot against an open drawer and scrutinized the nail beds of his fingers, not really sure how to answer. “I don’t know, Emma, I’m a man. Men fend for themselves.”

  “Not your father or Brady . . . or Mitch, Collin, or Luke for that matter. They all seem to be men who pray.”

  “I pray,” he defended, “at meals and at church. Besides, doesn’t the Bible say that God helps those who help themselves?”

  She nibbled a piece of meat as she studied him. “Actually . . . no. That’s a quote from Ben Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanac. The Bible says things like, God is strength to the needy in his distress and a refuge from the storm.”

  “Well, I can certainly attest to that. I don’t think I’ve ever been as low as I was the week I lost my job, and the only place I felt any peace at all was at church.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, the memory causing a dull ache before his lips tipped into a wry smile. “Trust me, in that one miserable week I made up for all the prayers I never said.”

  “Did they work?” She cocked her head, observing him beneath heavy lashes.

  Arms folded, he propped a fist to his chin, eyes narrowed in thought. “Yeah, I think so.”

  “Then why does it scare you?” Her gaze was clear and light, probing with an intensity that made him pause.

  He rubbed the length of his jaw, feeling the bristle of his late-day beard. “I don’t know. I guess it’s just habit, not asking for his help. I suppose it makes me feel weak.”

  “God told St. Paul in the Bible that ‘my strength is made perfect in weakness.’”

  His gaze thinned. “It says that? Really?”

  She nodded.

  “Huh,” he said absently, the notion somewhat unsettling that his own weakness could empower God. He peered up. “So was it for you? His strength made perfect in weakness?”

  Moments passed before she spoke, and when she did, something squeezed in his chest at the pain that flickered across her features. Her gaze trailed beyond him, out the window as if the rain were grace soaking into her very soul. “Yes.”

  His jaw tightened. “I have to be honest, Emma—I have trouble understanding that. I have never gone through what you have, to be sure, but to me, it almost seems as if it was God who turned his back on you, causing that pain.”

  A ghost of a smile shadowed her lips. “Not caused, Sean—allowed. As a loving Father, God allows us to suffer the consequences of our misguided actions . . .” She looked away, but not before he saw the depth of sorrow in her eyes. “Our wrong decisions, our sins . . .”

  Sean snatched up a fountain pen from his desk and roughly rubbed the rounded cap, his fingers suddenly as taut as the press of his lips. “I don’t know what sins you think you’ve committed in your past, Emma, but I do know the caliber of woman you are today. And at the risk of sounding blasphemous, I have to tell you—I have a problem with a ‘loving Father’ who would cause—or allow—a woman like you to experience the hurt that you have.”

  Leaning forward, Emma laid a small and tapered hand on his desk, her fingers slender and her nails bare of all polish. The intensity in her eyes captured him so completely that his heart thudded to a slow stop while he awaited her response. His breath stilled in his lungs at the faintest of smiles that curved on her full lips, another reminder that for him, neither scars nor pain would ever mar her beauty.

  “No one escapes being hurt in this life, Sean, because unfortunately, we live in a fallen world. But please believe me when I say . . .” Her voice gentled, soothing and peaceful as the patter of rain on the marble sill. “There’s a great gift in pain.”

  He stared, the air in his lungs slowly seeping out along with his frustration at God.

  With a gentle sigh, she settled back in her chair, her gaze calming him as much as the steady thrum on the roof overhead. “It was the pain of my own sin and Rory’s that allowed me to see a great truth that set my heart free. And that is that no matter how much joy or pain we have in this world—and I have experienced both—nothing satisfies the human heart like the love of God.”

  His thumb paused against the tip of the pen, strained in its grip. He drew in a halting breath and expelled it, then tossed the pen on the desk. “It would be nice to have that much faith, Emma, really, but I guess I’m just a little too practical.”

  She chuckled. “Peace is one of the most practical things one can have.” Smiling, she drew in a deep breath and released it again, a fragile exhale of air that imparted a tranquility he’d come to identify with the woman before him.

  In natural reflex, he felt his own rib cage expand and release as well, and suddenly he realized hers was a tranquility she never failed to pass on to him. A tranquility similar to the one he prided himself on presenting to the world. Only his was often a façade while Emma’s was real. He studied her
now, noting the peaceful smile that lighted on her lips.

  “Because you see, Sean, my pain taught me that no one—not those abundantly blessed or those who are not—can ever truly be happy apart from him.”

  “I was happy . . . before I lost my job.” He tried to temper the edge in his tone.

  The gray eyes softened, her gaze as gentle as a caress. “Were you?”

  The question caught him unaware, and his lips parted in surprise. Wasn’t I? He thought of the endless hours he’d devoted to Kelly’s to prove his worth, both to his employer and himself, and then the countless sports to which he committed all his energy and free time. Diversions all, diligently adhered to because they filled his mind and days with a tentative sense of peace, purpose, and contentment.

  But happy? He closed his eyes and in a catch of his breath it struck—that hollow, hopeless feeling that sometimes haunted in the still of the night between his head hitting the pillow and the weary slumber that followed. The same malaise that had disarmed him during the war when death and carnage had stolen his peace and his hope, leaving his heart vulnerable and exposed. Not only to the ravages of battle . . . but to a love more lethal than the German artillery shells that had assaulted their rat-infested trenches.

  Clare. His heart skidded to a stop. Until the incident at Kearney’s, he hadn’t thought of her in years, but suddenly he could see her as clearly as if she stood before him—long raven hair, eyes as warm and inviting as melted chocolate, and a smile so innocent, she had captured his heart. She had given him months of joy, hope, and passion like he’d never experienced before. His jaw tightened. And a wound that had scarred him more than the war.

  His first love. And his last.

  “Sean?”

  His head jolted up. “What?”

  “Forgive me, please. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  He blinked. A weighty sigh drifted from his mouth before he finally smiled, relieving the strain in his face. “No forgiveness necessary, Emma. And compared to my mother and sisters—Charity, in particular—you don’t know the meaning of ‘pry.’ Besides, it’s my fault for bringing the whole awkward subject up.” He gave her a wink. “Trying to solve the mystery, you know.”