A Heart Revealed

by Julie Lessman

  He nodded, gently kneading Emma’s shoulder before retrieving her valises from the car. “Mrs. Peep is keeping her cats, and we packed all essentials and a week’s worth of clothes.” He hiked two hefty suitcases from the car and gave Charity a stiff smile. “I’ll bring the rest of her things over later, but I’ll warn you right now, she insists she’s only staying a few weeks.”

  “She’ll stay as long as it takes to guarantee her safety, and that will be that.” Mitch grabbed a suitcase, his eyes softening as they lighted on Emma. “Is that understood?”

  “Mitch, that isn’t necess—” Emma began.

  “Oh, yes, it is, Emma,” Charity gently circled her waist to lead her to the door, “and it’s best not to argue, given the mood he’s been in.” She peeked at her husband, her tone cautiously playful as she tilted her head against Emma’s. “He’s liable to give you the silent treatment.”

  Mitch inclined his arm, indicating for them to go ahead. “Don’t worry, Emma, I only reserve that for the most extreme cases.” He glanced back at Sean. “Who did this to her and where can we find him?” His harsh tone carried despite his obvious attempt at a whisper.

  Emma turned at the door, dislodging Charity’s arm with the motion. “My neighbor’s boyfriend, but I won’t tell you his name or where he works because I don’t want you involved.”

  Mitch’s jaw ground tight in a manner all too familiar. “We’re already involved, Emma. You mean the world to us, and neither Sean nor I are about to let this spineless vermin get away with this. Or do it again.”

  “Trust me, Mitch—I sent Casey back to her mother in Kansas last week, so I don’t expect him to come around anymore.”

  Sean moved to her side, eyes tender as he gently rubbed her arm. “That’s not what Mrs. Peep told me, Emma, and you know it.” His gaze flicked to Mitch’s and hardened, along with his tone. “The lowlife threatened to come back and finish her off.”

  A shiver trembled through Emma’s body while tears welled in her eyes. The suitcase plunked to the porch as Sean pulled her into his arms. He held her close, head tucked against hers. “Emma, I’m sorry to frighten you, but you need to understand how serious this is. I . . . we . . . love you, and we’ll do everything we can to make sure you are safe.”

  Releasing a frail sigh, Emma nodded against his chest, and Charity’s heart stilled when Sean kissed her hair. She held her breath while her brother palmed a gentle hand to her best friend’s cheek, the love in his eyes as thick as the air in Charity’s throat. “Now let’s go inside and get you settled in, okay? Then you need to get into bed—you look exhausted.” His mouth tipped up as he opened the front door. “Which is no great surprise with the hours you work.”

  Mitch followed them in, humor masking the threat of his tone. “Am I going to have to get tough with you like I do with Charity, Emma, and badger you into working less hours?”

  “Better do what he says,” Charity whispered loudly. “He’s the biggest bully I know.”

  Sidling past, Mitch took the other suitcase from Sean and hoisted both in his hands, shooting Charity a thin smile as he mounted the steps. “Only when warranted, little girl.”

  Charity’s heart skittered at the use of his nickname for her, praying it signaled that his anger was on the thaw. She turned back to Emma, unlooping her friend’s purse strap from her shoulder as she studied her weary eyes. “I think Sean’s right—you look tired. How about you go up and settle in to the guest room, and I’ll bring tea up shortly?”

  “That sounds nice.” A smile wavered on Emma’s lips as she fumbled with her coat.

  Sean whisked it from her shoulders and handed it to Charity before shifting Emma to face him, hands clasped to her arms. “Look, I have to get back to the store to finish up a few things, but I’ll drop by this evening, just to see how you’re feeling, okay?”

  “Sean, I’m fine, really, you don’t have to do that—”

  He silenced her with a splayed palm to the back of her head while his thumb grazed the curve of her jaw. “Yes, I do, Emma—I love you and want to make sure you’re all right.” He glanced at Charity. “She insisted on bringing budget reports along, but don’t let her have them because she needs to rest.” His mouth crooked up. “She comes across all sweetness and light, but trust me, she’s got a mulish streak that rivals yours, so you may have to crack the whip.”

  Emma’s lips trembled into a smile. “Stop that, Sean O’Connor, nobody’s that stubborn.”

  Charity folded her arms, relief whirling over Emma’s playful jibe. She singed her friend with a mock glare. “Emma Malloy—you’re supposed to be my friend!”

  The old Emma surfaced with a bit of the imp. “I am, Mrs. Dennehy, which is why I love you in spite of your pigheaded obstinance. Because when it comes to being bullheaded, everyone knows you’re the undisputed queen.”

  “I’ll second that,” Mitch said as he strode down the steps. “But don’t worry, Sean, between your pigheaded sister and me, we’ll make sure Mrs. Malloy toes the line.”

  “Good.” Sean turned back to Emma, his grin fading into a soft smile. Holding her gaze, he moved in close and pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek, eyes closed and fingers caressing her arm. “You’re precious to me, Emma, and I don’t want you ever to forget that.”

  She nodded while tears pooled in her eyes.

  Sean exhaled and moved toward the door, casting a final glance at Charity and Mitch. “Thanks for taking her in. She needs to be around people she loves, and she didn’t feel comfortable going home with me.” He hesitated. “You didn’t have plans tonight, I hope—”

  “Absolutely not,” Charity said. “In fact, since you’re coming by later anyway, why don’t you just plan on dinner here, say around six?”

  His eyes flicked to Emma and back. “I would love that, but you’re sure you don’t mind?”

  Charity stood on tiptoe to buss his cheek. “Not if you help with the dishes.”

  He tugged on her hair. “Deal—you wash, I’ll dry. See you at six.” With a wink at Emma, he turned to go.

  “Sean!” Emma’s panicked cry echoed in the foyer as she shot into his arms, and he scooped her up in an instant, clutching her close as moisture glazed his eyes. And then in a blink of Charity’s wide-eyed stare, Emma pulled quickly away, her motion almost abrupt. “Thank you, Sean—for everything. Please know—your friendship means the world to me.”

  His throat shifted and he nodded. “I know,” he whispered, and without another word, he opened the door and left, closing it quietly behind him.

  Emma’s shoulders rose and fell before she turned around, her gaze almost skittish. “I . . . am tired, so I think I’ll head up now.” She squeezed Charity’s hand. “If you don’t mind, I’ll pass on that tea right now, but promise you’ll wake me in time to help with dinner and we can talk then, all right?” She started past Charity, and then in a catch of her breath, she whirled to embrace her with the same ferocity with which she’d just hugged Sean, clutching her so tightly that moisture stung Charity’s eyes. Emma’s voice faltered, frayed with emotion. “I love you, Charity, and I would be lost without you. You have been a gift from God, my friend, and there isn’t a day passes that I don’t get on my knees and thank him for you in my life.”

  With a wobbly smile, she embraced Mitch too, her eyes tired but tender. “Thank you for the refuge of your home, Mitch. I feel safe here. You have that effect, you know. From the first moment we met, your kindness and strength has always felt like the hand of God.”

  His voice was gruff. “Our home is your home, Emma, you know that. As long as you need it.”

  She patted his arm and moved toward the stairs, stopping only to tease Charity with an unexpected jag of her brow. “Well, the only way I’ll stay for even a while is if I can carry my weight, so you best wake me to help you with dinner . . . or else.”

  Charity saluted. “Yes, ma’am. I hate peeling potatoes, so that suits me just fine.” Her smile dimmed as she watched Emma climb the stai
rs, and then Mitch broke her reverie when he edged past on his return to the den. Heart in her throat, she halted him with a stay of his arm, her stomach twitching faster than the nerve in his jaw. “Thank you . . . for allowing Emma to stay.”

  He paused, his manner aloof. “I love her too, you know.”

  She nodded, feeling her palms begin to sweat. Chewing her lip, she clasped her hands together. “I know. Can I . . . fix you some tea, coffee, or maybe something cool to drink?” A muscle shifted in her throat as she implored with her eyes. “I thought maybe . . . well, you know . . . maybe we could talk?”

  Her pulse stalled as he studied her, his shuttered gaze unable to hide the cool anger in his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything, Charity, Emma being here. I’ll keep up appearances for her sake and the children’s, but for now, I have nothing to say.”

  She flinched as if he had struck her, followed by a swell of anger so fierce, she thought she would faint. Inhaling deeply, she fought it off, determined to offer the love and forgiveness she so craved herself. He turned away, and she clutched his arm once again, her voice a painful plea. “Mitch, talk to me, please—I can’t bear this silence.”

  Blue eyes that had once devoured her in a single glance now lanced her heart with a cold stare. “You should have thought of that before you made a fool of yourself—and me—at the Herald, little girl.” His hand removed hers as casually as if flicking away unwanted lint. Strong, capable hands that had once held her, stroked her, made her feel so safe and so loved. She caught her breath as those same hands now slammed the door in her face.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed.

  Charity suffereth long, and is kind . . . beareth all things . . . hopeth all things . . . endureth all things.

  Sucking in a harsh breath, her body shuddered as she relinquished her anger in one halting expulsion of air. With a lift of her chin, she drew in another deep breath and opened eyes wet with pain, shaking off her hurt with a square of her shoulders. Charity suffereth long. The taut press of her mouth crooked up. “As long as it takes, Mitch Dennehy,” she vowed, ignoring the ache of once gentle hands that now pushed her away.

  Just like the hand of God, Emma had said. “Hardly,” Charity muttered with a swipe of her eyes, sweeping into her kitchen with all the command of a woman bent on getting her own way. “But I believe ‘the hand of God’ is about to change all that.” She tugged a clean apron from her drawer and moved to the window, eyes scanning the heavens with a holy resolve. Exhaling softly, she released Mitch’s rejection to the God who loved her more than her husband ever could, allowing his peace to ready her soul. “All it takes is a little faith, my love . . . ,” she whispered. Her lips curved as she tied the apron with a flourish. “In a God more bullheaded than you.”

  God, forgive me.

  Emma lay on the bed, gaze fused to the ceiling in a glazed stare, her throat as raw as her eyes from weeping for more than an hour. Weeping . . . praying . . . repenting. She blinked and a stray tear trickled her cheek, slithering cold and damp against her neck—like the guilt in her soul—chilling her skin. As if she wasn’t tarnished enough, now she had lured Sean into her ugly web of sin. Dear, sweet, kind Sean—in love with a woman bound to another through sins only an oath could forgive. A scarred and worthless woman who didn’t deserve God’s forgiveness, much less the love of a man like him.

  God, forgive me, please . . . I never meant for it to happen.

  And yet it had, and Emma knew deep in the mired recesses of her soul that she was to blame. She’d allowed them to get too close despite the seeds of attraction burgeoning beneath the soil of a friendship so deep, she would give her life for the man. Another tear trailed, causing her to shiver. And now God had given her the chance—to sacrifice her life for his. He deserved so much more than to love a woman like her, someone who could now add adultery to her long list of sins. Grief heaved in her chest. More than a human being whose soul was as marred as her face, undeserving of all marital love except that of a forgiving God.

  The Bride of Christ—perfect and spotless in God’s eyes.

  Imperfect and ugly in her own.

  If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.

  Yes, she had believed that, and through the kindness of the O’Connors, God had given her a measure of freedom she never dreamed possible. A life devoted to him, where peace and forgiveness and joy flowed instead of tears from her eyes. Where love and acceptance as a woman was not tied to a gold band but to a God who loved her despite all of her sins. And God knows they were many. A silent groan stabbed in her throat. And now there are more.

  She flinched, her palm burning hot against the cool sheets of paper beneath her hand, tear-blotched and scattered across Charity’s quilt like the thoughts in her head. Letters she had read over and over, only to dismiss them each and every time she packed them away . . . out of sight and out of heart . . . like she’d done with her life as Mrs. Rory Malloy.

  A knock at the door jolted her, and before she could answer, Charity peeked in. “Emma, the potatoes are call—” She stopped. Her gaze traveled from Emma’s tearstained face to the scattering of papers strewn across her bed. Shadows darkened her face, and without another word, she stepped in and closed the door while Emma fumbled letters into the nightstand drawer.

  Jumping up, Emma adjusted her skirt and sweater, avoiding Charity’s eyes as her friend approached. “Goodness, I hope you didn’t let me sleep too long.”

  “It doesn’t appear much sleeping was involved,” Charity said quietly, her face etched with worry as she squeezed Emma’s hand. She paused, her eyes a naked plea. “Talk to me, Emma.”

  Emma attempted a smile. “We can talk while we make dinner, all right? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to incur the wrath of Mitch Dennehy’s stomach.”

  Charity sat down on the bed and tugged Emma alongside, her tone light but her countenance heavy. “A few loud and growling hunger pangs might do the man good. At least that way, he’ll be talking to me . . . even if it’s only with his stomach.”

  Emma’s heart lurched. “He’s not still mad about the incident at the Herald, is he?” She studied her friend’s face and for the first time, noticed faint shadows beneath her eyes, as telling as the redness rimming her lids. “But I don’t understand—he seemed fine when we arrived.”

  “Yes, well, apparently that’s one of the man’s many hidden talents—putting on a show when his pride is at stake. And, yes, you might say he’s still angry about what I did at the Herald.” She sighed. “He’s slept in the study the last two nights.”

  Emma folded Charity in a tight hug. “I am so sorry, but he’ll come around.”

  “I hope so,” Charity said with a trace of humor. “At least while I’m young enough to enjoy it.” She pulled away, hands locked on Emma’s arms. “But it’s not Mitch I’m worried about right now, Emma, it’s you.” Her smile diminished. “Something’s desperately wrong, and I have a gut feeling there’s more to it than Casey’s no-good boyfriend.”

  Emma glanced away, focusing on mauve curtains looped over a double window where sheers fluttered from a radiator below. She swallowed to clear the emotion in her throat while her gaze wandered to pictures of pastoral scenes gracing pale green walls. “Please,” she whispered, striving for assurance she didn’t feel, “it’s nothing to concern yourself with. I’m fine, really.”

  Charity cradled the side of Emma’s face. “Nothing to concern myself with?” she whispered sadly. “Even when the friend of my heart has fallen in love?”

  Emma froze. “What . . . do you mean?” she said, her words as slow and thick as the bile rising in her throat.

  Compassion glimmered in Charity’s eyes. Her voice was gentle, like the touch of her hand. “Emma . . . this is me, the friend who loves you like a sister, and the sister who knows you better than you know yourself.” She exhaled softly, gaze tender. “You’re in love with my brother . . . and he’s in love with you.”

  Emma j
erked away as heat scalded her cheeks. “No, don’t say that—ever! It’s not . . .” The weight of a near lie forced hot tears from her eyes.

  “Not . . . true?” Charity finished, her tone barely audible.

  Every fiber of Emma’s being wanted to deny it, but she was loath to add to her sins. She lowered her head, gaze glued to her hands now limp in her lap. “No . . . it’s not . . . right.” Her voice shuddered as she closed her eyes, reluctant to witness her best friend’s shock. “It’s against my vow to both Rory and God, Charity,” she whispered, “and a grievous sin before God.”

  Charity clasped Emma’s hands, her voice intense. “Only if it’s acted upon in the flesh, Emma, which is something I know you would never do.”

  Emma shot to her feet, the weight of her guilt suffocating her. “God, forgive me . . . I’m nothing more than an infidel, a harlot who bewitched your brother.” She gasped for air, a hand to her throat. “Rory was right—a worthless whore.”

  Charity bolted up from the bed, shaking Emma hard. “Stop it, Emma—now! Rory was never right a day in his life, and you know it. I thought after all this time, you finally understood that—that everything he ever said to you was a lie.”

  Emma collapsed into a sob, and Charity folded her in her arms, stroking her hair.

  “I love you, Emma, and you are the dearest human being I have ever met. If my brother is in love with you, and he would be a fool not to be, then it’s because of who you are—a woman gentle and kind and so full of God’s love that you helped to save my very soul.” She pulled away to study Emma through tortured eyes. “You haven’t . . . acted on it, have you? You and Sean?”

  Emma shook her head, lips quivering with every word she spoke. “No, not that w-way. And h-he’s only kissed me once, I swear.” She looked up, eyes haunted by the secrets of her soul. “But God help me, Charity, the m-moment his lips touched mine, I craved to b-belong to him in every possible way . . .”