A Passion Most Pure

by Julie Lessman

  Patrick’s look was sober. “I can’t help but believe it’s inevitable. I hoped it wouldn’t be, but when the Lusitania was torpedoed by that German sub last year, well, I’m afraid my hopes sank along with it. I know the president has been trying to keep us out of the war, to maintain a position of neutrality, but I suspect it’s only a matter of time. Of course, when the Germans sank the Sussex earlier this year, President Wilson did manage to get their pledge not to sink merchant vessels without warning, and certainly without saving the lives of those aboard. But, I’m afraid I hold out little hope of their compliance. We’re hanging on to our neutrality by a thread. Wilson will probably be reelected because he kept us out of the war, but it’s likely to be a hollow victory.”

  Faith stared out the window, the prospect of war whirling in her brain. “But haven’t the Germans kept their pledge so far?” She turned to face him. “I mean, they have, haven’t they?”

  Patrick shifted closer to Faith to allow a heavyset man to pass as he made his way off the trolley. “Yes, they have, darlin’—so far. I just don’t know how long we can trust them.”

  “If they do break the pledge, will we go to war with them?”

  “More than likely.”

  “And will you have to go? And Sean?” She held her breath.

  Patrick squeezed her hand. “There’s always that possibility. But you listen to me. No matter what happens, we can get through anything, anything at all. We’re a close-knit family with a very deep faith. If it happens—and I do mean if—then with God by our sides, we’ll get through it, do you hear me?”

  Faith nodded stiffly.

  “That’s my girl.” He smiled and released her hand. “Now, before we get to our stop, there is something else on my mind.”

  The minute the words were out of his mouth, Faith suddenly became enamored by the passing scenery. “I hope it’s nothing too serious after this last conversation,” she teased, praying her father would think twice before broaching the subject of Collin McGuire.

  He didn’t return her smile as the car rumbled toward Herald Square. The pensiveness was back. “There is something else I’m concerned about. It’s Charity. I can’t seem to get through to her. She and I have never … well, I guess we’ve never had the closeness you and I share. I regret that, I really do, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to fix it.” Her father rubbed his face with his hands, then leaned forward. “I’ve got to know. Is Charity still seeing Collin McGuire behind my back?”

  A wave of warmth assailed Faith’s cheeks. “I … I really can’t say, Father.” She looked at other passengers, at the back of the conductor’s head, out the window—anywhere but at her father’s face.

  He sighed heavily. “You don’t have to. I’m afraid it’s written all over your face.” He patted her hand. “You know, darlin’, it’s awfully good you’re not prone to lying, because you really are terrible at it.” The trolley jerked to a stop, and he stood and took her arm firmly in his. He guided her down the aisle with a gentle hand to her back and nodded at the driver before alighting from the car. “Let’s go punch that clock before they dock our pay.”

  Faith cleared the last step, then turned to look at him. “But, Father, wait—what are you going to do?”

  He latched on to her arm again and began walking quickly, dodging an elderly man toddling with a cane and a paperboy tugging a wagonload of newspapers. “Well, I suppose we’ll need to restrict her a bit more, watch her like a hawk as much as we can, and then do the only thing that’s really going to matter anyway.” Patrick smiled at his daughter. “No question your mother will be lighting a lot more candles at church, and I’ll be saying a few more prayers.”

  Faith blinked, holding on to her navy blue hemp-braided hat as her father tugged her along. “And me? What do you want me to do?”

  He barely slowed as he smiled down at her. “You? Well, I’m counting on your prayers as well, darlin’, along with something else.”

  She blinked up at him expectantly.

  He pursed his lips together into what appeared to be a cross between a grimace and grin. “When it comes to Collin McGuire being alone with my daughter, you have my permission—indeed, my most sincere request—to become the biblical thorn in Charity’s side.” And tightening his grip on her arm, he wasted no time ushering her through the mahogany and plate-glass doors of the imposing six-story Herald.

  “You’re kidding!” Maisie gasped. She took a huge bite out of the apple she was eating, her eyes as big as the piece of fruit in her hand. “What did you say?”

  “What could I say? Sorry, Father, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not follow Charity around because, you see, I’m rather crazy about Collin McGuire myself.” Faith blew at a stray hair and finished her banana. “What do you think I said? I said I would.” She tossed the peel into the trash can by the loading dock and sighed. “I feel sick,” she announced.

  “Oh, Faith, I’m so sorry!” Maisie exclaimed, finishing her apple and flicking the core into the trash. “But you have to admit that this is exciting. I mean, talk about a love triangle! I’ll tell you what, my life got a whole lot more interesting when you became my friend. So what are you going to do?”

  Faith considered the question. “Well, I’ll have to step up the prayers a notch, I suppose, and then … then, I will obey my father. And in doing so, take considerable satisfaction in becoming a bigger thorn in Collin McGuire’s side than he is in mine.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Maisie said with a grin. Her expression turned serious. “Are you doing okay, you know, with your feelings for him?”

  Faith ignored the twinge in her heart and forged a bright smile. “Better, I think. I’ve been doing what Mrs. Gerson told me to do, and I’ll tell you what—that man’s got some changes coming if my prayers have anything to say about it. But in the meanwhile, I intend to do everything in my power to keep him away from Charity.”

  “And from you?” Maisie’s smile was wicked.

  Faith scrunched her nose. “That’s not even funny, Maisie,” she muttered.

  Maisie laughed and jumped from the loading dock to stand. “Hear ye, hear ye—let the record show that today, October 6, 1916, Collin McGuire will rue the day he fell in love with Faith O’Connor’s sister!”

  “It’s your sister he’s in love with?”

  Faith and Maisie whirled around at the same time to stare in stunned silence at the girl behind them. The surprise on Briana Muldoon’s face was at least equal to theirs.

  “You know Collin McGuire?” Faith and Maisie asked in unison.

  “Know him! I do a lot better than know him. I’m the girl who got the best of him, if you know what I mean. At least I did, until your sister came along.”

  “How … where?” Maisie managed to get a few words out. Faith was speechless.

  The surprise on Briana’s face twisted into a smirk. “Oh, Collin and I go way back. We met at Brannigan’s, and I could see right away he was a bit of a scoundrel with the ladies, that’s for sure.” Her face softened. “But then we got together, and for a while, it was quite lovely.”

  It was the first time Faith had seen Briana devoid of her usual hardness and sarcasm, and something tugged at her heart. Briana continued, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I guess I still care for him because I can’t seem to get over it, even though he’s made it pretty clear how he feels about me.” She looked at Faith with haunted eyes. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to want somebody so much you ache all over? And know you’ll never have him because he’s in love with someone else?”

  Faith glanced at Maisie, then swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “And what do I do?” Briana continued, as if talking to herself. “I just keep going back, taking whatever he’ll give and giving whatever he’ll take.”

  A sharp pain sliced through Faith at the meaning of Briana’s words. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment and anger at how casually Collin McGuire trampled women’s feelings
to satisfy his own. Her own hurt began to fester. She reached out and took Briana’s hand. “Briana, I’m so sorry, really I am. He’s not worth it; you deserve so much better.”

  Briana looked up with sadness in her eyes. “No, I don’t.” Her voice was weak, resigned.

  Faith grabbed her by the shoulders. “Look at what he’s done to you! The same thing he’s trying to do to my sister. Only we aren’t going to let him. And you aren’t, either.” Faith ignored Maisie’s raised brows.

  Briana shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I can’t seem to stop myself. It’s like he possesses me …”

  “In a way he does, Briana, but only because of the liberties you’ve given him. You want to be loved, and there’s nothing wrong with that. God made us that way. But you can’t do it your way. It has to be within God’s timing and will, or you’ll reap the consequences. The Bible says to flee sexual sin. Do you know why? Because he made us, and he knows when a man and a woman enter that level of intimacy, the two become one. It’s right there in the Bible, honestly. You’re tied to Collin, Briana, because of the intimacy you’ve given him, and you won’t be free from the pain—or find the type of love you really desire—until you do it God’s way.”

  Briana stared, eyes wide and lips parted in amazement. Maisie appeared stricken dumb for once, her freckles dark against the pale shade of astonishment on her face. She probably couldn’t believe Faith was preaching to the likes of Briana Muldoon. Well, Faith couldn’t believe it either, but somehow the words had spilled out so freely. She knew she was right. Mrs. Gerson had been so good for her—teaching her, guiding her, leading her through God’s Word. And now Briana needed God’s direction for her life too. Desperately.

  All at once Briana began to cry, and Faith put her arms around her, an unbelievable tenderness welling up inside.

  “I want to do what’s right, really I do. I’m just not sure I can.” Briana’s tears grew into sobs, and Faith held her tighter.

  “Yes, you can, Briana, trust me. And I know just the person to show you how.”

  The shrill wailing of the whistle could be heard above the deafening drone of the boiler room, a welcome signal that it was the end of another long and productive workday at Southfield Steel. The second shift filed in, occasionally nodding to first-shift workers who lumbered out like zombies, exhausted and soaked with sweat.

  Collin didn’t mind the heat of the boiler room; in fact, he almost enjoyed it. Of course, Jackson thought he was out of his mind, but then Collin thought that about Jackson as well, so they pretty much called it even. Several times in the last three years at Southfield, Collin had been offered the opportunity to work in other parts of the mill, but he always refused. There was something about the heat that appealed to him, as if it purged him, his tight muscles layered with sweat while straining within its stifling inferno. He wasn’t afraid of hard work and was often amazed how the suffocating heat seemed to feed his strength rather than sap it.

  Collin headed for the door, where Jackson caught up with him. “Hey, buddy, are we on for tonight? I could do with a few tall ones.”

  Collin hesitated. It certainly wasn’t unusual to spend three or four nights a week at Brannigan’s. But lately, with such limited access to Charity, he found himself spending every free moment there, a development that was quickly taking its toll—on his sleep, his money, and his mother.

  Collin paused, and Jackson’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “And don’t say you’re thinking of staying home. I know Charity’s out of the picture since her old man hates you.”

  Collin scorched Jackson with a glare. “You’re really an idiot, you know that, Jackson?”

  Jackson appeared hurt. “Come on, Collin, you know I don’t mean anything by it. All I’m trying to do is get your mind off of her. I’ve never seen you like this before; it’s not like you. What, you in love with this one or something? Is that it?”

  Collin clinched Jackson’s arm and slammed him hard against the wall. Jackson’s mouth fell slack, his blue eyes widening in surprise. Strands of blond hair tumbled over his forehead.

  “I’m not in love with anybody, ya got that?”

  Jackson gulped. “Look, Collin, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just worried about you.”

  Collin dropped his hold, suddenly very tired. He draped his arm around his friend. “I’m sorry. It’s me who’s the idiot, not you. And you’re right—I have been acting differently. This whole thing with Charity has me kind of mixed up inside, you know? I mean, I want her … but then I don’t want her.” Collin sighed. “I don’t know, I just feel less alone when I’m with her. If that’s love, well, then I guess it is.”

  Jackson slapped Collin on the back, his eyes sympathetic. “Sounds to me like ya got it bad for her. It’s a downright shame her old man is being such a hard nose.”

  Collin grabbed his time card and shoved it in the machine to punch out, then threw it in the bin. “Yeah, but for some reason, it’s not Charity who has me so crazy.”

  Jackson punched his card and flipped it on top of Collin’s. “What d’ya mean?”

  Collin stopped and turned, his lips jabbed into a scowl. “It’s the older sister—the one who got Charity in trouble over me.”

  “Hey, buddy, you got enough problems with the old man. Forget the sister.”

  “That’s just it—I can’t.” Collin slung his jacket over his shoulder and kept walking.

  Jackson grabbed him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Collin peeled his friend’s fingers from his arm and flicked them away. “It means she’s driving me crazy. I keep thinking about her, and it’s really starting to get on my nerves.”

  Jackson gaped, then started hooting and hollering as he slapped Collin on the back. “Now that’s the Collin I know and love. So you’re wantin’ to double dip in the same family, are ya?”

  Collin smiled patiently at the excitement on Jackson’s face. “Okay, now the ‘idiot’ remark still stands. No, it’s nothing like that. Believe me, when it comes to beauty, Charity has it all over her, but this one—something about her just raises my blood pressure, that’s for sure. I mean, I wanna tell her off, and then in the next minute, I wanna grab her. I’m telling you, Jackson, this one’s nothing but trouble.”

  “Hey, is she pretty? Maybe you can introduce me.”

  Collin laughed out loud. “Yeah, right. I’d say your chances are slim to nil. She’s real different and too good for you.” Collin felt a smile flicker on his lips. “But yeah, she’s real pretty—not like Charity, of course, but the greenest eyes you’ve ever seen and a temper like a wet hen.”

  Jackson’s eyes rounded. “Well, I’ll be doggone! You got it bad for both of ’em.”

  “Aw, you’re out of your mind, you clown. It’s Charity I’m after. The other one’s too scary for me. A girl like that … well, let’s just say she’s too prim and proper for me.”

  “But she’s on your mind now, isn’t she?”

  Collin blistered Jackson with a look. “Not for long. Once I see more of Charity, the sister’ll fade real fast, I’m sure.”

  “How sure?” Jackson was notorious for tweaking Collin when he was so serious, which of late, was probably more than Jackson liked.

  “As sure as I am that I’ll be at Brannigan’s tonight, drinking you under the bar. Is that sure enough?”

  “Exactly what I wanted to hear, as a matter of fact,” Jackson said, tipping an imaginary hat as they headed out the door.

  It was pure, breathless magic. Gliding on Katie’s swings, Faith grinned at her sister Hope, the two sailing side by side into the heavens. They pumped in perfect harmony, breeze lashing their hair and toes poised and skimming the sky. Higher and higher they flew, their bodies taut with exhilaration. Their laughter floated on the wind as they thrust themselves into the blue, embracing the sun and the flood of its warmth. Faith’s heart, like her body, was soaring with joy. Never had she felt so free, so peaceful …

  “Higher, Hope! Hi
gher!” Faith said, but her sister’s swing slowed, breaking their bond and their rhythm. In a sweep of the sky, Hope’s magical swing split wide, flinging her into the air. Terror seized Faith’s throat. “No!” she cried. But her screams were only silent echoes while her sister plummeted in the dark …

  Faith jolted up in her bed and clutched her nightgown, her heart thundering in her breast. Across the room Charity slept soundly, the rhythm of her breathing in stark contrast to the panic choking the air from Faith’s lungs. Taking a deep breath, she looked at the window, an ideal canvas for the sliver of moon that hung in the sky. It had to be past 2:00 a.m., she thought with a shudder. Slowly she laid her cheek on the pillow, all sleep gone from her eyes.

  All at once, she sat up again. What was that? She strained to listen. Was it raining? She glanced at the window and blinked at the soft shaft of moonlight streaming across her floor. And then she heard it again—the faint clink of something against glass. She hurried to the window and stood to the side, peeking out at the backyard.

  Her mother’s lovingly tended garden was bathed in moonlight. Katie’s rickety wooden wagon stood beneath the rope swings that hung from the massive oak, the one her mother always begged her father to trim. “Patrick, my garden needs sunlight,” she would argue, and Father would give her the stern eye, followed by a somewhat intense discussion, the closest thing to an argument Faith ever saw between them. But tonight, all seemed quite peaceful and still as her eyes searched in the dark for some sign of intrusion.

  And then she saw him. Her heart clutched in its usual exasperating fashion. He was standing there, bold and motionless in his stance, coat slung over his shoulder and hip cocked. His handsome face was illuminated in the moonlight as he peered up at her window. Faith’s eyes flitted to Charity’s bed. The breath, thick in her throat, slowly released when her sister didn’t stir. Shifting back to the window, she carefully raised the sash.

  He lifted his hand to shield his eyes. “Charity, is that you? I need to see you.” His voice sounded different, a slow drawl, almost slurred in speech.