When she finally spoke, her voice wavered, as if on the threshold of another onslaught of tears. “I was engaged …” she began.
“I know, Collin. Faith told me. I’m sorry.”
She sighed, then dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. “So was I. But at least he agreed to think about us while he was away. He said maybe we could try again after the war.”
Mitch nodded, never taking his eyes from her profile.
“He wrote me a letter.” She looked at him then, her blue eyes tortured. “He’s in love with someone else.”
Mitch felt his heart constrict.
“He met her in Paris, and he’s in love with her, not me.”
The tightness in his chest relaxed, and a surge of relief flooded his brain. Suddenly, the relief turned to empathy as he realized how crushing this must be for her. Faith had said Charity was crazy about Collin. For a brief moment, he hesitated, then moved closer. His hand settled on her shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort her.
“I’m so sorry, Charity,” he whispered.
“What’s wrong with me, Mitch? Why doesn’t he love me?”
Sobs racked her body, and he was at a loss for words of comfort. “He’s a fool, Charity, that’s the only answer. He’s gotta be.”
She lunged away, her eyes wild. “No, Mitch, it’s me! Why can’t Collin love me? What’s wrong with me?”
He couldn’t stand what this was doing to her. He already hated Collin McGuire, but now the hate took on a dimension of rage at the toll taken on the girl before him. Mitch leaned close, taking Charity’s tearstained face in his hands. His eyes locked on hers. “Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Collin is a fool. It’s his loss.”
She was trembling in his hands. He wanted to hold her but didn’t dare. She sniffed and pushed the wetness from her eyes. He handed her his handkerchief once again, then bent down to examine her face. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked, feeling helpless to soothe her pain.
She looked at him from under a sweep of heavy lashes. “Will you hold me?”
His heart stopped before it started pounding again. He took a deep breath and nodded, slowly wrapping his arms around her. She inched closer until her head rested on his chest, and he knew she could hear the chaotic beating of his heart. The delicious scent of her hair assailed him as he rested his face against it. A sensation of warmth flooded as she pressed in close, hands wound around his back as if she were afraid he would let go.
Alarm curled in his stomach, and he tried to pull away. She raised her head to look up, and he read the desire in her eyes. She wanted him to kiss her.
Faith had been a master at boundaries—it had been all too long since he’d been this close to a woman. The touch of her, the smell of her suddenly overpowered his senses. No, he wasn’t going to do this, he told himself. He was in love with Faith. This was wrong, and it wasn’t going to happen. But it was as if she willed it, so strong was the pull. The fire inside him was slowly raging out of control. Push her away! his mind screamed, but his body refused to listen. It wanted to taste those lips just once, please God, just once …
He jerked away and lunged to his feet, his jaw compressed in anger. “I have to get back to work. Cry on somebody else’s shoulder.” He turned to go, but she jumped up to stop him, her fingers clenching his shirt and her face contorted in pain.
“Please, Mitch, don’t turn on me like Collin. Please …”
His eyes burned as he stared at her.
She blinked, sending a tear shimmering down her cheek. “Just hold me,” she whispered. Her voice was a broken rasp. “Please, Mitch, I just need someone to hold me …”
He exhaled his anger and removed her hands from his shirt, every nerve in his body on edge. Against his better judgment, he slowly twined his arms around her, his mind reeling at the prospect of what he was doing. She moved in close, like putty in his hands, melting into him with a familiarity that shocked him. He squeezed his eyes shut. Lust warred within, its warmth colliding with the cold grip of guilt. She just needs comfort, he argued in his mind, nothing more.
He felt her move as she tilted her chin up, and he opened his eyes, regretting it the moment he did. Heat singed him as she moistened her lips before releasing a shuddering sigh.
“I don’t think anyone will ever truly fall in love with me. My greatest fear is I will always be alone …” Her voice broke. “Even my own father has never really cared for me.” She convulsed in his arms as rivulets of tears streamed her pale face. He stared at the fullness of her lips, wet and quivering as she wept, and his heart twisted.
“Stop it, Charity, don’t talk like that.” He couldn’t seem to stop himself as he bent to kiss her wet cheek. When he did, she turned her face ever so slightly, her soft lips barely touching his. Heat engulfed him. “God help me,” he whispered, and his mouth sought hers. He pulled her to him, burying himself in her hair and her neck, his breathing out of control. He was desperate to put words—anything—between them. He stroked her hair as he held her close. “Not fall in love with you? Impossible. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen …”
Neither had seen her enter until they heard her cry, a pitiful gasp paralyzing him as he embraced her sister. A sharp pain jolted through him as he looked up. Faith’s face was stricken with a look of horror he would never forget. Please, no!
Charity reeled and collapsed onto the sofa when he pushed her away.
“Faith!” he cried, his body cold as slate. He started toward her, and she stumbled back, her face crumpling into revulsion.
“No!” she screamed. “Don’t you touch me! Not now, not ever! You just destroyed everything we had, everything we could have had …”
Mitch froze as the blood siphoned from his face. “You don’t mean that. You can’t mean that. You’ve got to let me explain. You can’t just walk away.” His voice came in hoarse rasps.
“I can and I will. We’re through! I could never trust you again, never look at you without remembering … this. It’s over, Mitch.”
“Faith!” he shouted, but she fled the room. He panicked as he heard her race up the stairs and slam the door. He stood there, his heart sick in his chest, feeling as if he were going to vomit. She couldn’t mean what she said. She was upset. He would give her time, and then he would reason with her. He put his face in his hands, a cold shiver traveling his spine. Slowly, he looked up to see Charity watching him, and the reality of what he had done began to sink in.
Charity forced herself to stand, her body pure lead. “Mitch, I’m so sorry.” Strangely enough, she meant it. She was sorry—sorry she caused him pain. She never meant to do that to him. She hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t realized she would also inflict some pain of her own. She looked at him now, and something inside told her the plan had backfired. Oh, she accomplished what she had set out to do. But in the process, she set an emotional trap that managed to snare her as well. She had used him to hurt her sister. She hadn’t counted on wanting him for herself.
He nodded as if in a trance and slowly made his way to the door. His eyes were lifeless when he turned to face her. “Tell her I’ll call, will you? Tell her I love her,” he said, his voice cracking. He left, and Charity put her face in her hands.
What had she done? What possessed her to crush her sister like this? Her grandmother had said jealousy would get her nowhere. She was wrong—it had gotten her the ultimate revenge against Faith. What her grandmother hadn’t told her, however, was that revenge always partnered with heartbreak. Now that was a lesson she could have used.
21
Mitch was in a foul mood when he arrived to the meeting almost thirty minutes late. Michael had never seen him quite this bad. His face had a green tinge, and his eyes were sinking into their sockets as if he hadn’t slept for days on end. His brain wasn’t tracking, and he seemed distracted to the point of lapsing into moments of dazed staring. Several times Mich
ael asked if he felt all right. Mitch would nod and put at least some effort into composing himself before wandering off again, clearly somewhere else. When the meeting ended, the men shook hands and departed. Michael tracked Mitch to his office.
“Michael, telephone,” someone called. Michael scowled. “Take a message,” he yelled as he tried to catch up with Mitch.
“It’s Faith. She says it’s important.”
Michael paused, and Mitch spun around, his face completely devoid of color. “I need to talk to her,” he rasped, racing to Michael’s phone. Michael snatched it first, pushing him back.
“She asked to talk to me,” he said, his hand over the mouthpiece. Bile rose in his throat, and a sick feeling burned in his chest. “What’s going on, Mitch? You’re not dumping her, are you? Because if you are, so help me God …”
Mitch kneaded his forehead with his palm. “No … no, I’m not dumping her. It’s more the other way around.”
Michael didn’t believe him. They were made for each other—a sweet kid with a will of iron and the roving ladies’ man who got his wings clipped. Michael had never seen Mitch happier. Since Mitch had been seeing Faith, Michael had reduced his aspirin intake at least in half. He glared and put the phone to his ear. “Yeah, Michael here.”
“Michael? It’s Faith.” Her voice sounded nothing like her, far more nasal and completely void of its usual lilt.
“Faith, what’s wrong?” Michael felt the heat of Mitch’s glare and turned to stare out the window, his lips pinched tight.
“I … can’t … come … back, ever. I’m giving you my resignation—now.”
“What? No! You and I need to talk about this—”
“My mind’s made up, sir, I’m sorry. But I will never forget your kindness to me …”
Mitch paced, ready to rip the phone from his ear. “I have to talk to her!”
Michael waved him off. “Faith, why are you doing this?”
“Personal reasons, sir, too painful to go into. I have to go now …”
“Faith, listen to me, please—”
“No, Michael, I’m sorry. Good-bye.”
Michael stared in shock, the line buzzing in his ear. He carefully replaced the receiver.
“What? What did she say? Blast it all, Michael, don’t just stand there like an idiot. What the devil did she say?”
He squinted up at Mitch, his fingers frozen on the phone. “She quit. Personal reasons.” Michael scowled at Mitch, his temper kicking in. He could feel a headache coming on. “For the love of heaven, Mitch, what in the devil did you do to her?”
Mitch’s face bleached white. “This can’t be happening … one mistake, one lousy mistake!” He stared through Michael like a zombie, his voice barely audible. “I … I did something stupid—really, really stupid. I’ve got to fix it, Michael. I’ve got to see her.” He bolted to his office to get his jacket, then bellowed something to Bridie before tearing out the door.
Michael watched the whole scene with nausea in his stomach. He hoped Mitch could remedy whatever was wrong. Speaking for himself, he would miss Faith terribly. She had been a breath of fresh air in an otherwise stale newsroom, and the thought of her gone did not sit well. And obviously, Mitch would be crushed. He’d never seen him fall quite this hard before, and the thought of the happy, easy Mitch being replaced by the old, cranky one was enough to push the nagging headache in his brain to the status of migraine.
Marcy was beside herself. She hadn’t felt such a heaviness since the day Patrick had left, and other than pray, she was at a loss as to what to do. When she and Bridget had arrived home with the others, they discovered Faith locked in her room. Charity was sobbing in the parlor, unable to stop long enough to tell them what was wrong. Marcy sped up the stairs, demanding Faith open the door while Bridget checked with Mima to see if she could shed any light on what had happened in their absence.
Mima told them she’d been awakened by screams—it sounded like Faith, she said. She heard Mitch, but wasn’t sure what happened until a door slammed. She suspected they had fought. When she finally managed to drag herself out of bed to see what was wrong, Charity was crying, and she refused to respond to Mima’s queries.
Upstairs, Marcy pleaded for Faith to let her in, but was met only by the sound of her daughter’s weeping. Downstairs, she heard someone knocking at the door and hurried to the landing. Mitch entered, looking like an apparition with his bloodless face and sunken stare.
“I’ve got to talk to Faith,” he stammered, starting up the stairs. Marcy blocked his path, her eyes like flint.
“No, Mitch! Not a step farther until you tell me what’s going on.”
He staggered back, a low groan issuing forth. “Faith and I … we fought … she doesn’t want to see me anymore.”
Icy cold needles flicked under Marcy’s skin. “What are you saying? Why?”
He rubbed his eyes hard. “She walked in on us, Charity and me …”
“What? Are you saying that you and Charity …”
His gaze slowly lifted to hers, a mix of shame and grief on his face.
Marcy grasped the railing, dizziness swelling in her brain. “How? Why?”
He exhaled slowly. “I received a message Faith needed to see me. I came and found Charity crying. She was distraught. Collin wrote her that he was in love with someone else.”
Marcy gasped.
“I swear, Mrs. O’Connor, all I was trying to do was comfort her. I don’t even know how it happened, but it did … and that’s how Faith found us.”
Marcy doubled over, clutching her stomach as her fist tightened on the railing.
“Mrs. O’Connor, I love Faith more than anything. It was a stupid mistake. Please, I’ve got to talk to her.”
Marcy shook her head. “No, Mitch. She won’t talk to you. She won’t talk to me. I think it’s best you go now. We’ll call you.”
“No, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to talk to her. Now!”
He pushed past her and stood in front of Faith’s door, battering it with a ferocious pounding that echoed through the house. Somewhere downstairs, Katie began to cry. He screamed for Faith to open the door, but the futility of his demand became evident by her silence, which seemed to enrage him even more.
Marcy’s eyes flashed. “Mitch, stop it! Please go—now!”
But he only ignored her, bludgeoning the door like a madman, his words full of pain and fury. “Faith, you can’t do this. You can’t run away. I love you! Please talk to me, hit me, anything, only don’t shut me out.”
He raged on for what seemed like eons, periodically sagging against the door, head hanging and arms limp at his sides. Finally, her silence appeared too much for him to take, and he relented, rushing past Marcy as he flew down the steps and out the door.
Marcy leaned against the railing, her body weak from the emotional trauma. She desperately wished Patrick were here, now more than ever. But he wasn’t, and the burden fell to her to bind the wounds of a family badly bruised. Silently, Marcy said a prayer and straightened her shoulders. She would deal with it one daughter at a time, she decided. With a deep breath, she descended the stairs.
Her mind was numb. Never had she felt so totally depleted of energy and hope, and certainly tears. It was all gone, leaving her little more than a shell lying on a bed, staring at a ceiling she wasn’t seeing, through bloodshot eyes that saw nothing but despair.
The picture played in her mind for surely the hundredth time, no longer accompanied by the sickening wave of nausea and tears long since spent. She saw him, the man with whom she hoped to spend the rest of her life, holding her sister, clenching her with an unspeakable passion that should have belonged only to her. His hands … touching, grasping, taking something that did not belong to him, and in the process, destroying something that did. Words spoken—which never should have been uttered, or whispered, or even formed in his mind—now circled in her brain like an endless dirge.
“… the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen
…”
The ultimate betrayal, filling her with the ultimate desolation. She meant what she had said. She cared about Mitch, but the trust he inspired was now shattered, splintered like their relationship into a million irretrievable pieces. She thought of those easy good looks, those laughing blue eyes and the Irish gruffness so much a part of who he was, and a horrendous pain seared through her. Yes, she cared for him, and she had believed in him, defended him. Charity had said men knew what to say and do to get what they wanted, especially a man like Mitch. But she hadn’t believed it. “He’s not Collin,” she had said. But he was—just like Collin—putting his own lust before her and before God.
The room was filled with the shadows of dusk when she finally rose from the bed, and the house was deathly still, free at last from the onslaught of both her mother and Mitch railing at her door. She had lain there for over five hours, leaving the sanctuary of her room only briefly after Mitch left, and only then to call Michael first, and then the shipyard to inquire about any passage she could get. She sobbed through the entire exchange with Michael, quite certain he must be thinking she’d come unhinged. She didn’t care. She couldn’t go back, ever, not as long as he was there. But she did want Michael to know how grateful she was, and that she was sorry, so very sorry.
Faith stood to her feet, her head aching horribly as she bent to light the lamp. Slowly, she made her way to the closet and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. The girl who stared back was ravaged but not defeated; broken but not destroyed. No one could do that to her—ever. Not as long as she had a breath in her body. She reached into the closet and stood on tiptoe to pull her valise from the shelf, causing it to clatter to the floor. She picked it up and laid it on the bed.
There was no way she could stay. How could she live in a city where she would see him again? Live in a house where she was faced with the hate of her sister, a hate that had stabbed through her heart? She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t.
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