Charity jumped up and relieved Katie of the stack of tumblers tucked under her arm and started passing them out. “You’re a genius, Katie. I’m hot just watching the sweat roll off Mother and Lizzie.” She sat back down and plunked the last glass on the table with a look of longing at the children as they darted and squealed through the sprinkler. She absently ran a hand along the damp neckline of her polka-dot sundress, then measured the air with index finger and thumb. “I swear I’m this close to making a fool of myself with a romp through the sprinkler.”
Katie’s lips skewed into a lopsided smile. “But you’re so good at it, sis, so why stop now?” She gave Charity’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze as she poured her lemonade.
A soft giggle floated from Emma’s lips, lifting a faint mottled scar on one side of her mouth. “It does seem to be a talent of hers,” she said softly. She butted her shoulder against Charity’s in an affectionate tease, her gentle grin making her disfigured face seem almost beautiful.
Charity gave Emma a sideways glance, lips pursed in a playful scowl. “I don’t need degradation from you, Emma, I have sisters for that.” Her eyes narrowed. “And a son.”
Katie chuckled and plopped down on the bench, pouring the last of the lemonade into her own glass. “Sorry, sis, but as Emma says, you’re just so talented at making a fool of yourself, for which I’m forever grateful. In the past, it always helped keep Father’s focus off of me.”
Almond-shaped eyes narrowed over the rim of her glass as Charity took another drink. She swiped her mouth with her hand and lifted a perfectly manicured brow. “Well, I mustn’t be too good at it anymore because you and Steven seem to be the only ones incurring his wrath these days. Speaking of which,” she said in a suspicious drawl. “How’s the ‘punishment’ going?” She rested arms on the table and gave Katie a devilish grin. “Is Cluny McGee still making your life miserable, I hope?”
The summer heat chose that moment to converge in Katie’s cheeks, and a silent groan lodged in her throat.
Lizzie’s eyes lit up as she leaned in, as close to the table as she could get with a neat, little mound beneath her lavender sleeveless shift. “Ooooh, yes, we want the full scoop on that good-looking boy. Brady sees him at the gym but never breathes a word about Luke’s life. So … are you warming up to him now?”
Faith chuckled and took a swig of lemonade, a definite twinkle in her green eyes. “Mmm . . . I’d say so, judging from that glaring shade of red on her face.” She lounged back on the bench and gave her sister a mischievous smile. “Come on, Katie Rose, spill. Is something other than the summer heat putting that warmth in your cheeks?”
“Faith McGuire!” Katie choked on her lemonade. “You’re as bad as Charity.”
“Hey,” Charity said in a hurt tone. “She’s not the saint you think she is, right, Mother?”
Marcy smiled and fanned her face with a sewing pattern. “Mercy me, I don’t think any of us are ready for canonization just yet.” Her smile shifted to the right in a rare display of sarcasm. “Especially your father.” She took a drink of lemonade and shot Katie a sympathetic smile. “I still think he was too harsh on you, with volunteer work and confinement for the summer.” With a roll of her eyes, she gave a soft grunt. “And he says I’m the one going through the change.”
Faith rubbed her mother’s back with the ball of her hand, causing Marcy to close her eyes and moan. “He is a man, Mother. You know how stubborn they can be.”
“No, tell me, please – I have no idea,” Charity said with a matching roll of eyes. “Mitch is king. He was supposed to take Henry fishing today, but instead he’s at work.” She peered at Marcy. “With your husband, I might add. Father’s the editor, for pity’s sake, Mother – the boss. Explain to me why he and his assistant editor have to work the weekend?”
Marcy rotated her neck as Faith massaged her back. “Your father claims Mr. Hennessey called a mandatory meeting.” She moaned softly. “Oh, lower, Faith – yes, right there . . .”
Charity sat up sharply, her gaze riveted to the backyard. “Henry! Put that sprinkler down right now or so help me, I’ll come out there and give you a wet, sloppy kiss.” She sighed and slumped back on the bench. “Men! God, please – give me the grace to deal with my son, my husband, and now, apparently, the owner of the Boston Herald.”
“A kiss? You threaten him with a kiss?” Lizzie gawked, a smile of disbelief on her face.
Charity’s lips shifted. “Yeah, the kiss of death, apparently. Seems my son would rather brave a spanking from his father than a kiss from his mother, the little dickens. Be grateful for girls, Faith. I have a feeling that boy is destined to make me old before my time.”
“What goes around comes around,” Faith said with a wiggle of brows.
An impish grin surfaced on Charity’s lips as she nodded at Katie. “Well then, we should be in for quite a show when this one starts having babies.”
Thoughts of Luke and babies suddenly collided in Katie’s brain, and she choked on her lemonade again, certain that the color in her cheeks had reached heatstroke proportions. “Ooooo . . . it’s not often we see you embarrassed, Katie,” Charity said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. She plopped her arms on the table and leaned in with a wicked smile. “Can’t be babies that has you all heated up . . . unless, uh, it’s tied to thoughts of Luke McGee?”
Katie shot up from the table, almost tumbling her drink. “More lemonade, anyone?”
Charity clamped a firm hand to her arm and pulled her back down. “Oh, no you don’t, kiddo. I may have a talent for making a fool of myself, but I’ve also been blessed with a sixth sense when it comes to romance. There’s something brewing in that brain of yours regarding Luke McGee, and I for one want to know what it is.”
“Oh, do you like him?” Lizzie breathed, ever the advocate for romance.
With a loud groan, Katie pressed her palms to her face, feeling the heat of her skin through her fingers. “No, I don’t like him!”
“Then why are you seven shades of red?” Charity asked, more than a little smug.
“Because he still makes me miserable,” Katie said in an acidic tone.
“Is he still obnoxious to you?” Faith asked. There was a hint of concern in her voice.
A flashback of him pressing her to the wall and kissing her soundly popped in Katie’s mind, and the heat of the thought invaded more than her cheeks. “No! Yes! Oh, I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? Is he nice to you or not?” Charity demanded.
Katie snatched a sewing pattern and began to fan her face. “Most of the time.”
“And the rest of the time?” Charity asked, “badgering” also high on her list of talents.
“He’s nice all of the time, all right?”
“So you do like him. Oh, Katie, that’s so exciting!” Lizzie said with a glow in her cheeks.
“No, Lizzie, I don’t, I promise.” Katie grabbed a scrap of material and began to swab the sweat from her neck. “He’s turned into a nice man, and that’s all I can say.”
“A nice and attractive man . . . ,” Charity said with a dance of her brows.
“Yes.”
“But you don’t like him,” Faith said.
Katie shot Faith a definitive glance. “No.”
Charity cocked her head, eyes squinted in thought. “Are you attracted to him at least?”
“Oh, for pity’s sakes, Charity, is that all you have on your mind? Yes, I’ll admit the little brat has grown into a very handsome man, who even manages to be civil most of the time. But I can tell you right now that I have my sights set on Jack, not a street rat named Cluny McGee.”
“Luke McGee,” Emma said quietly, watching the whole scene through gentle eyes.
Katie sighed and slumped in her seat. “Yes, Luke McGee. And I didn’t mean to call him a street rat because he’s actually turned out to be . . . ,” she swallowed hard, “a pretty decent guy.” She glanced around the table with pleading eyes
. “Look, I like working at the BCAS, I do, and all of the people there – including Luke – are really great. But it’s still work and a punishment that’s cut me off from Jack, so if it’s all the same to you, can we please change the subject?”
Faith squeezed Katie’s arm. “Sure, Katie.” Her gaze lighted on Lizzie. “So . . . what do you think of our husbands hiring a poor widow? A pretty sweet thing to do, wouldn’t you say?”
Lizzie blinked, eyes wide. “You think it’s ‘sweet’?”
“Of course I do, don’t you?” Faith cocked her head and reached for the Betsy Ross costume she’d been working on. “Well, I have to admit, ‘sweet’ is not the first word that came to mind.”
“Why? They could have hired any of the several men who applied, but they chose to help a poor old widow instead.” Faith stuck a needle in her mouth and adjusted the hem on the costume.
“‘Old’?” Lizzie croaked, her fingers numb against the silky white material for the Statue of Liberty. “He told you she was old?”
Faith glanced up, confusion wedging her brow. “He said she was an old family friend.”
Lizzie gulped and Charity honed in, her interest in the Uncle Sam costume in her lap suddenly gone awry. “You mean she’s not? Old, I mean?”
All eyes focused on Lizzie, whose face now felt like Katie’s had looked earlier. She swallowed her discomfort, aware that this time, her warmth had nothing to do with pregnancy.
“Lizzie?” Faith lowered the Betsy Ross hoop skirt in her lap. “She’s not old?”
A chestnut strand of hair bobbed against Lizzie’s damp brow as she shook her head.
“Have you seen her?” Faith asked.
Lizzie nodded, and the stray strand quivered in response.
An edge crept into Faith’s tone as she leaned forward, her green eyes narrowing a touch. “Really. Then how old is she, exactly?”
True to her form, Lizzie hesitated with a pregnant pause. “Collin’s age or younger,” she finally said with a shift in her throat, her gaze stuck on the needle in her hand.
No one said a word as Faith quietly laid her costume aside and inched to the edge of her seat, her manner calm enough, but her voice slow and menacing. “Well, then . . . is she pretty?”
Lizzie looked up, gnawing at her lip. She nodded again.
Charity slammed her hand on the table. “Sweet saints, what is wrong with those two, hiring a beautiful woman to work in the office with a bunch of men – are they crazy?”
“I didn’t say she was beautiful,” Lizzie began.
“Young and beautiful, young and pretty – same difference to me.” Charity huffed. “Either way, Brady and Collin should know better. Widow or not, she needs to go.”
Faith took a deep breath and eased back onto the bench. She pulled her sewing into her lap. “No, Charity, we’re being silly here. The woman needs a job, and Brady and Collin were kind enough to give her one. And I’m sure part of the reason Collin agreed is because he wanted to help out an old family friend. Besides, she’s qualified – he told me she’s worked in several print shops including his father’s, so the woman has experience.”
Lizzie touched Faith’s arm, her eyes contrite. “More than you know,” she whispered.
The color faded from Faith’s cheeks. Her gaze fused to Lizzie’s. “What do you mean?”
Lizzie scraped her teeth against her lip before continuing, her voice low. “I mean he was supposed to tell you, Faith – Collin promised he would tell you . . .”
“Tell me what?”
Lizzie drew in a fortifying breath. “That, yes, Evelyn does have experience at Collin’s father’s shop because she worked there the summer before his father died.” Lizzie paused to catch her breath. “Collin’s junior year in high school . . . when Collin was . . . involved with her.”
“Involved with her?” Faith repeated, her voice barely audible.
She blinked, and Lizzie saw comprehension flicker across her sister’s face, her memories of Collin’s sordid past flashing through her mind, no doubt.
Faith closed her eyes. “How do you know?” she whispered.
“Mama, can we have something to drink? We’re thirsty.” Laney shook Faith’s arm, jolting her and everyone at the table.
Emma immediately rose and gripped the pitcher in her hand. “I’ll get it. Laney, go tell the others to stay where they are – we don’t want you kids traipsing water into the kitchen or getting your costumes wet, all right, sweetheart?”
“Okay, Emma.” Laney bounded off to rejoin her cousins in the sprinkler.
With a tender look in Faith’s direction, Emma disappeared into the kitchen.
“How do you know?” Faith asked again, her words barely audible.
“Because Brady and I confronted him the day after he told us he hired her. He admitted to being involved with her back then.”
“So it was Collin’s decision?”
Lizzie sighed. “Yes, but Brady made Collin promise that if this woman gave him any indication whatsoever that she had the slightest interest in Collin, he would let her go.”
Faith stood to her feet. “I see.”
“What are you going to do?” Lizzie whispered.
“Help Emma with the lemonade,” Faith said, her voice painfully quiet.
“Faith, please – you need to talk to Collin,” Marcy said. She rose and put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder. “Tell him how much this upsets you.”
Faith attempted to smile and patted her mother’s hand. “I will, Mother, I promise.”
“Men,” Charity muttered under her breath. “Sometimes they are so blind to the obvious.”
Faith paused, appearing to struggle to maintain a calm demeanor. “Charity, I know you’re all upset for me, but don’t be, please. I am perfectly fine. I trust my husband, and I will talk to him about this, I promise. Now if you will excuse me, I’ll go see what I can do to help Emma.”
Emma heard the screen door squeal open and glanced over her shoulder, a nearly squeezed lemon lodged in her hand. She took one look at Faith standing inside the door with a hand to her eyes and quickly put the lemon down. She took a step forward. “Faith, are you all right?”
A deep breath rose and fell in Faith’s chest as she opened her eyes, valiant in her attempt to conjure a smile. “I’m fine, Emma. Just a little dizzy from the heat.” She walked to the cupboard to pull six tumblers off the shelf. “This heat wave is something else, isn’t it? It’s a brutal day.”
Emma tucked an arm to Faith’s waist, her voice soft and low. “They’re not like us, you know, the men that God brings into our lives – they’re as different as the night is from the day.”
The tenderness of her tone seemed to unravel Faith, causing her to list against the counter with a broken heave.
Emma wrapped her in a gentle hug, her head resting against Faith’s. “They don’t see things the way we do, Faith – the temptations, the dangers. But I truly believe that once you explain to Collin how you feel, he will understand your concerns. I can feel it in the depth of my soul that he only wanted to help this woman.”
A faint shiver traveled Faith’s body, and Emma tried to absorb it by tightening her hold. “You know, Faith, you and Collin or even you and I can talk about this all we want, but in the end, the only thing that will resolve your fears will be the God who delivers us from them all.” She paused to stroke a comforting hand against Faith’s hair. “Would you like to pray about it?”
Faith nodded, pulling away with a tearful heave. She sniffed and wiped the wetness from her eyes with the side of her hand. “Thanks, Emma, I would like that.” She dug a handkerchief from her pocket and dabbed her nose with a shaky smile. “I’m not used to being on this end of the prayers, I’m afraid. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You can thank me by not letting the devil deceive you into thinking God’s not in control of this situation, because he is. He’ll show you and Collin what to do.” Emma took Faith’s hand in hers and bowed her head,
eyes closed. “Heavenly Father, we ask you to be in the midst of this situation between Faith and Collin. Give them both wisdom and clarity of mind to do what you would have them do, and we pray for your outcome. Your Word says you give peace in the midst of a storm. Please, Lord, give Faith peace now in the midst of this short storm in her life, and unleash your blessings on her marriage to this man that she loves with all of her heart. Thank you, Lord, and amen.”
Faith squeezed her hand and cocked her head. “Where did you learn to pray like that?”
Emma smiled. “When I moved back with Charity from Dublin, I used to go to Brady’s Bible studies with both her and Lizzie for a while.”
A grin creased Faith’s lips, and a twinkle returned to her eyes. “He’s good, isn’t he?”
Emma’s soft chuckle floated in the air as she nodded. “That he is.”
“Man, it’s hot out there.” Faith’s brother Sean pushed into the kitchen through the dining-room swinging door, his cheeks ruddy from the heat of the day. He wiped his brow with the rolled sleeve of his once crisp white shirt, flicking away a limp strand of light, sandy hair. “Hi, Emma, Faith, what are you doing here?” Inquisitive eyes, the same sky-blue as his mother’s, lit up when he spied the lemon rinds on the counter. “Is that fresh lemonade?” he asked, making a beeline for the pitcher.
Faith pulled a tray from the cupboard. “Fresh squeezed by Emma Malloy herself.”
“Bless you, Emma.” He reached for the tallest glass he could find in his mother’s cabinet. “Want me to chip some ice?”
“Nope, already done. Just need to finish here and then pour some for you and the kids.”
“The kids are here?” Sean strolled over to the kitchen window to squint outside, ducking his six-foot-two frame to allow full view. “What’s going on, a picnic?”
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