A Passion Most Pure

by Julie Lessman

  Faith took a deep breath, her gaze fading into a blank stare. “She was an angel from God. I loved her with all my heart …” Her voice trailed, and she suddenly blinked, moisture glazing her eyes. “Still do.”

  “So, what are some of your other strong suits?” he asked quickly, hoping to steer the subject away from the sadness he’d obviously inflicted.

  “Well, I like to think I’m loyal, I have a deep faith in God, and I suppose I’m a good listener. Especially if you want to tell me what’s in your hand.”

  He glanced up with a wry smile. “No, thanks. But I do seem to recall you made a pretty good sounding board when we were in school. Did I bore you to tears?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a laugh. “You were the exalted senior, and I was the lowly freshman. What else could I be but mesmerized?”

  He picked up, frowned, then threw the card back down. “To tell you the truth, I don’t even remember what I rambled on about.”

  She looked up, a slight blush stealing into her cheeks. “You don’t remember? You had so many dreams, so many plans for your future. You had it all mapped out, as I recall. You wanted to work the printing business with your father. He was going to teach you, and you were going to grow it.”

  The muscles in his face tightened as he discarded. “Yeah, I remember now. What a pie-in-the-sky dreamer I was.”

  “No, you weren’t! You wanted to make your father proud.”

  “Like I said—a dreamer.” He snatched a card from the deck, then hurled it back.

  “There’s nothing wrong with dreams, Collin. You could still make him proud, you know.”

  He leveled his gaze on hers. “And how would I do that now? He’s gone, and everything is gone with him. The dream died when he did.”

  “I don’t think so.” She put her final card facedown on the pile. “The dream lives in you, not your father. Gin.” She looked up with a touch of defiance in her eyes.

  He tossed the cards on the table with a faint smile. “You haven’t changed much since high school, you know that? I think you’re a bigger dreamer than I was.”

  “Maybe. But I think you could have carried on with the business when he died. After all, you still had his shop, his equipment, and most of all, you had the fire inside to fuel it all. Honestly, Collin, if you could have seen the look on your face whenever you spoke about your future, you would have known you could make it a success.”

  He gripped the edge of the table and leaned forward, his eyes burning. “Do you think I didn’t want to? You don’t think I wasn’t crushed? The person I loved more than anyone in this world died! And any chance I might have had got buried right along with him. Don’t you understand? I didn’t know enough about the business to turn on a machine, much less print anything.”

  Collin slumped back in the chair, his voice deadened. “He never wanted to burden me with working while I was in school. And summers … well, he said I should enjoy them, that there was plenty of time to learn the business once I graduated. Plenty of time, he said, to work the rest of my life.” Collin looked up, his eyes stinging with anger and pain. “Only there wasn’t. He left me alone, Faith, with no one to turn to.”

  She sat, her hands gently cupping the deck of cards as she watched him, her face full of emotion. “You weren’t alone, Collin. God was with you every step of the way. He would have shown you what to do if you had asked. You could have learned the business from someone else, given yourself as an apprentice to someone who would run the shop, I don’t know. All I do know is you have great potential, and if you would only turn back to the one who gave it to you, I know you could fulfill your father’s dream … and yours.”

  Never did she radiate more beauty than when she spoke of her God, and never was his anger kindled more than when she did. It was the same seesaw effect she always had on him—a tug-of-war between wanting her and hating her. He stretched back in his chair and stared, his eyes angry slits as they took in the face aglow with hope and the eyes glimmering with promise. “And just exactly what would you know about my potential, Faith?”

  She went red. “I just meant—”

  “You meant well, I know, but keep in mind I’m not the only one running from potential.”

  Her cheeks flamed, and it gave him some small satisfaction to see her squirm.

  His silence seemed to unnerve her further, and she suddenly stood, fumbling with the cards as she put them away. “Actually, Collin, I am pretty tired. I better head up.”

  “Why? My ‘potential’ too frightening a subject for you?”

  Her green eyes narrowed. “No, I just don’t know why you feel the need to ruin a perfectly good evening.”

  He let out a weary sigh and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Faith,” he whispered. “You got a little too close to home, I guess. Sorry if I hurt you. Tonight … and in the past.”

  She averted her gaze while she brushed her hair from her face. “Don’t be. Everything’s fine, Collin. I’m getting over it, really I am.”

  “I hope so,” he said without conviction.

  She laughed, her voice shaky as she gathered empty glasses off the table. “Really, I’m fine. We had fun tonight, and that’s good. It shows we can be around each other comfortably, without strain.” She stared at the glasses in her hands, her voice fading low and soft. “You fit in well. The way you handle Katie, the way you tease and make us all laugh, it just feels right. I know you’re going to make my sister very happy.”

  “Faith …”

  She looked up into his eyes, and it was back, the memory of that day in the park flooding his senses with a strange connection as thick as the tension in the air. He could tell from her eyes she felt it too.

  She straightened her shoulders and pressed her lips in a tight line. “Collin, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you and me to be alone like this. It’s … well, it’s very hard, and I think I do better when we avoid it.”

  He nodded without a word. So this was it, the self-control in action. The self-control that kept her at a safe distance, taught her to deny her feelings and then robbed him in the process. She turned and walked toward the kitchen. Collin jumped up. “Faith, wait—”

  She stopped at the door, her back to him, when Charity’s voice severed the air. “What’s going on?”

  Collin stiffened. “Just chatting with your sister.”

  Charity looked at him strangely, then glanced at Faith, who spun around, arms full of dirty glasses.

  “I’ll tell you what’s going on. He’s making me carry his dirty dishes without lifting a finger to help. It’s best you know what a slave driver he is.” Faith’s tone was flip, and for that Collin was grateful.

  Charity produced her most seductive smile. “Well, that’s your problem, sis. You have to learn how to get a man to do for you.” She raked her sister with a look of pity. “Maybe I’ll give you lessons sometime.”

  Collin guessed it wasn’t the first time Charity had humiliated her sister in front of people, but obviously it was one of the most painful. Faith’s cheeks were crimson as she escaped from the room.

  “Why do you do that to your sister?” For the first time since he’d known Charity, he was annoyed with her.

  Charity blinked, her smile fading. “It’s just a sister thing.”

  “It’s not right.”

  She blushed. “Why do you care so much?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Really? It seems to me like you do.”

  Collin strode to where she stood and leaned a hand against the wall. He grabbed her chin with the other. “Charity, it’s late and I’m tired. I don’t give a whit what you say to your sister, as long as you say the right things to me. I need to be going. Walk me to the door?”

  She followed him to the parlor while he said his good-byes to Patrick, who was the only one still up. Patrick looked up from his newspaper. “Merry Christmas, Collin. See you tomorrow morning. Charity has something special under the tree for you, I think.”
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  “I wouldn’t miss it, Mr. O’Connor.”

  Faith slipped from the kitchen, leaned to kiss Patrick, then darted up the stairs.

  Collin took a deep breath, grabbed his coat from the rack, and put it on. “Good night, Charity. Sleep well.” He kissed her lightly on the forehead.

  Her smile was tight as she opened the door. “I’ll try to be nicer,” she promised.

  “Me too,” he said, grazing her chin with his thumb. He descended the steps and heard the door click as he headed to the street. Pulling his coat tighter, he exhaled softly.

  Another roadblock. Well, he’d just have to push it away, just like Faith did with the “potential” they held for each other. She wouldn’t have him, but Charity would. The thought did little to ease the heaviness of his mood. He slammed his fists deep into his pockets and kicked an empty bottle lying in his path, hurtling it against a lamppost. It shattered to the ground.

  When would he learn? He had watched his mother do this to his father—control him, destroy him—and he vowed it would never happen to him. But it was, and he had to do something to stop it. He forced himself to think about Charity, and a bit of calm came over him. She loved him, wanted him. He let his mind wander to thoughts of making love to her, and a smile creased his lips. Everything would be all right, he promised himself. Once they were married, his passion for Charity would consume him, save him. He inhaled deeply to fill his lungs with the sting of the frigid night air. And with a new confidence in his step, he headed for home.

  “Mama, Daddy, wake up! He’s come—Santa’s come!” Katie’s tone vibrated with excitement as she bounded into the room. “We have to get up! We have to have Christmas!”

  Patrick’s head was buried in his pillow, and Marcy never even stirred beneath the heap of blankets piled on her side of the bed. Obviously impatient with her parents, Katie leaned over her father’s face, lifted his eyelid with her little finger, and stared into his bleary eyeball. “Daddy,” she whispered loudly, “we have to get up—it’s time!”

  Never moving his head from the pillow, Patrick moaned, blindly reaching in the air until he found the alarm clock on his nightstand. He rubbed his eyes with his fist, squinted at the time, and moaned again. “Katie, it’s only five o’clock in the morning—it’s too early for Christmas. Go back to bed, little girl.”

  Katie remained undaunted. She tugged at his covers and managed to pull them back, leaving Patrick exposed to the chill in the room. She grabbed his hand in her two little fists and began to yank, eliciting more groans from her father. “Daddy, it’s Christmas—Jesus’s birthday! Don’t you want to celebrate Jesus’s birthday?” Her tone was accusing.

  That did it. Somewhere deep within the mound of covers, Marcy’s sleepy giggle erupted, and when Katie heard it, she vaulted on the bed with a squeal. Patrick felt Marcy’s arms encircling as she cozied up behind him. Her soft lips brushed the back of his neck while Katie giggled and tunneled under the covers.

  He sighed. Since Katie had been born, Christmas seemed to get earlier and earlier every year. He barely had the strength to get up, much less fight them both. “Katie Rose, it’s an absolute wonder Santa brings you anything at all as demanding as you are, young lady.”

  “Well, he did! Lots and lots of presents. Just wait till you see. I’ll wake the others. Hurry!” In the next breath she was gone, flying down the hall like a Christmas Paul Revere rousing the troops.

  “Lord, please let me live long enough to see what becomes of that girl,” Patrick muttered, “because I know it’s got to be something truly amazing.”

  Marcy squeezed him tightly. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

  He rolled to face her, pulling her close. “They always are with you, Marcy,” he whispered, her kiss warm on his lips.

  For a moment they lingered, then Marcy shimmied free from her arsenal of blankets. “I suppose we better get downstairs. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to incur the wrath of a strong-willed five-year-old, do you?”

  Patrick laughed and swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretching his arms high in the air. “No, thanks, I’ve already had enough cold chills for one morning. What time is Faith supposed to collect Mrs. Gerson?”

  Marcy pulled her hair into a chignon. “Christa said Faith could come by anytime after six. What time did you tell Collin?”

  “I told him we would begin Christmas around seven, breakfast closer to nine, then church at noon.” Rising, Patrick walked to the closet to get ready, then returned to the bed to put on his shoes. In short order he stood up, completely dressed. He turned to his wife, hands on his hips. “So! What can I do to help you?”

  Marcy smiled as she buttoned her blouse. “Well, you can light the fire in the parlor, of course, and then you can put all your energy into keeping Katie from tearing into presents. I’ve got the platter of cookies ready to go. All I have to do is put coffee on and start a few preparations for breakfast, but Faith and Charity can help me with that.”

  “Sure,” Patrick teased, “give me the hard part!” With a wink, he adjusted his suit vest and turned on his heel, bracing himself for what surely would be the most daunting task of the day.

  Collin was certain he had circles under his eyes—he hadn’t slept a wink all night. It had been a very long time since he’d been this excited about Christmas. Surely further back to a time before his father died, and probably even longer than that to before he had first noticed the strain between his parents. He hadn’t realized that a household could exist without tension until he met the O’Connors. The brief amount of time he’d spent with them had done more to restore his faith in marriage than anything he had ever seen.

  He was enamored with the buzz and hum of this passionate family, often finding himself studying Marcy and Patrick’s interactions with the interest of an avid student of psychology. Never had he seen such warmth and tenderness between two people married for such a long period of time, and it completely intrigued him. It seemed as if the entire family thrived in the glow that surrounded these two people, spilling over onto each as naturally as rain onto the earth. Collin had never experienced this before, and his hunger for it drew him like a moth to flame.

  He grabbed his coat from the closet and headed for his mother’s room. Pushing the door ajar, he tiptoed to her bed and leaned to see if she was awake.

  “Are you leaving now?” The covers rustled slightly, and Katherine McGuire looked up, her eyes squinted with sleep.

  Collin sat on the bed beside her and put his hand over hers. She looked so tired, like she used to when she waited up all hours of the night for him to come home. But it had been several months now since he had pulled a late-nighter at Brannigan’s, which eased the strain with his mother considerably, and Collin wondered why she wasn’t sleeping now.

  “Yes, I am. Are you sure you don’t want to come along? Mrs. O’Connor made a point of my asking you. I know they would love to see you.”

  Katherine McGuire shifted in the bed, attempting a faint smile. “No, you go alone. I’m not up to it today, Collin. I haven’t been sleeping well. But you go and have fun. When will you be home?”

  He kissed her on the cheek. “Should be back by early afternoon, plenty of time to help you get ready for our company tonight.”

  “Company …” she muttered. “I’d hardly call Uncle Sydney and Aunt Jane company, but I do appreciate your help. Will you be bringing Charity for dinner? I’m anxious to meet her.”

  Collin stood and pulled the covers over his mother’s shoulders. “No, I don’t think so, unless her father changes his mind. You get some rest, okay?”

  His mother nodded and closed her eyes while Collin shut the curtains. Silently, he left the room, sparing one last glance at his mother. How he wished she and his father could have known some of the joy he saw in the O’Connors. But, it wasn’t to be, and for that, Collin felt a twinge of sadness, certainly not an uncommon emotion for him during the holidays.

  He opened the hall closet door a
nd lifted a paper bag filled with presents. There was a gift for each of them. They were practically family to him, after all. He wondered if they knew that, if they realized how starved he was for what they had to offer.

  Faith’s present caught his eye, and his mood ebbed. Would there ever come a time when the sight of her, the sound of her, would not affect him like this? He hoped to God there would. God—that was the root of the problem. If it wasn’t for this God of hers, imaginary or real, he might be with her instead of Charity. But the thought of God angered him as much as Faith stirred him, and it would only be a matter of time before the relationship would feel the strain. Charity’s belief in God seemed minimal, at most, and Collin was quite sure he mattered more to her than her surface devotion to a demanding deity. No, it was definitely for the best. It was much safer with Charity. He could be happy with her—in control with her—and that was certainly more than he ever believed he would achieve in the realm of love.

  Collin thought about Charity, and a smile stretched across his face. She was beautiful. A bit of a brat, but truly beautiful, and he couldn’t wait until he could really hold her in his arms again. But for now, pecks on the cheek would have to do. Nothing was going to jeopardize this relationship, he promised himself, and the thought infused him with the energy to control his passions—for the moment. At least, until the time was right. But the time would come, Collin felt quite sure, and he was counting on it heavily to douse any other flame that burned.

  Faith was certain the parlor had never looked lovelier. She wished Mrs. Gerson could see it as she ushered her to a chair by the fire. Her mother had every oil lamp, candle, and light glowing, causing the tree to shimmer with a dazzling array of ornaments and candied fruit. The air drifted with the sweet scent of pine and cinnamon. Her father, chatting with Mrs. Gerson, stoked the fire while her mother divvied out mugs of steaming hot chocolate and coffee.

  Under the tree, Katie was busy playing with the manger. She placed Mary and Joseph on their sides and covered them with her bear’s blanket. Steven lay prostrate beside her, galloping the camel like a stallion. Katie snatched it away, a look of disapproval on her face. “Give me the horse. It’s time for his nap,” she said.