A Passion Most Pure

by Julie Lessman

  He dropped his pencil on the desk, then leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, his fingers massaging the fatigue from his face. He hoped he was tired enough to sleep tonight. He hated that more than anything—lying awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling, realizing she would never be there beside him.

  He heard a sound at the door and reached to grab the wastebasket. “You’re here a little early tonight, aren’t you, Clara?” he asked, pushing the basket out from his desk.

  “Early? I thought I was late.”

  Mitch looked up at Charity, and his mouth slacked open. Despite the element of surprise obviously playing to her advantage, he sensed fluster beneath the composure that masked her face. Even so, she draped herself regally against the door. He watched as she stepped into his office, striding as if she had just walked off the pages of a magazine. Her skin glowed, her eyes were luminous, and her body swayed in a haze of pale blue the exact shade of her eyes.

  Mitch scowled. “I thought you were the cleaning lady. What the devil are you doing here?” He swore under his breath, then clamped his lips together. “Sorry. Tough habit to break.”

  Charity smiled. “Don’t break it for me.”

  Mitch angled back in his chair and assessed her through hooded eyes. The blush on her cheeks deepened.

  “So … why are you here?” he asked again, although he already knew the answer from the way she looked.

  She smiled. “Look, Mitch, it’s been a month since … well, since … look, I know you’re hurting and … well, we’re both hurting …”

  It was the first time he ever heard her stammer, and it seemed to unnerve her completely.

  “I mean, I just thought …” Her blue eyes pleaded. “Well, I just know I could use someone to talk to, and I thought that maybe … maybe you could too.”

  He studied her, never moving a muscle until he spoke. When he did, his voice was steeped with sarcasm. “That’s what got us into trouble the last time.”

  “I know,” she said, rubbing her arms with restless hands as she stared hard at the floor. “But I just thought you might, that’s all. And I thought that maybe … well, maybe we could get a bite to eat.”

  He didn’t say anything, and he could tell she was horribly uncomfortable, a condition he guessed was totally unfamiliar to her. He was tempted to finish her off.

  As if reading his thoughts, her chin shot up, and arrogance peaked in her brow. “If you’re not interested, Mitch, that’s fine,” she said coolly. “I just thought since we’ve so much in common …”

  His laugh was harsh. “And what would that be?” he asked, pressing his hand to his eyes.

  She paused before she spoke. “Well … we’ve both been wounded by my sister …”

  His smile faded as he looked away. He closed his eyes to rub the back of his neck and then opened them once again, releasing a weary breath. “Sure, why not?” He heard her exhale slowly as he stood to put on his coat. “What are you hungry for?” he asked, immediately regretting the question.

  A dangerous smile quirked at the corners of her full lips. This had the feel of trouble, he thought, but he shook it off. Hang it all, he could use a little trouble after all he’d been through. He rounded the desk and walked to the door.

  “Whatever you like,” she said, her silky voice suspended in the air. Her head tilted to the side while her full lips eased into a smile. He supposed she was making an offer he couldn’t refuse. Too bad. There was a time he would’ve jumped at a chance like this. But that was before. Now he found himself saddled with a conscience and a boatload of heartache to boot. And between the two, he saw little chance for a meeting of the minds—or bodies—whatever the case may be.

  Faith didn’t have any idea why she’d been so frightened standing before Mrs. Gerson’s door, suitcase in hand. But she’d been trembling, nonetheless, the day she arrived in Boston a month ago. Perhaps she worried what the old woman would think of her, a young woman once devoted to God, now so lukewarm and carrying far more baggage than a simple valise.

  The door had opened, and Faith suddenly realized she needn’t have worried. The joy in the old woman’s face was unmistakable, as was the warmth in her voice as she welcomed her, a glimmer of tears in her vacant eyes. Faith’s own eyes smarted with wetness as she picked up her valise. “Mrs. Gerson, would it be possible—”

  “Of course, my dear!” Mrs. Gerson said, interrupting her before she could finish. “I’m thrilled to have you. I’ve been looking forward to it since I received your mother’s telegram.”

  A stab of shame shot straight to Faith’s heart at the mention of her mother. She was grateful Mrs. Gerson couldn’t see the guilt on her face. “I’m glad Mother notified you. How is she?”

  “Regretfully, I don’t know, but I planned on sending a telegram the moment you arrived, safe and sound. Come now, let’s get you settled in, and then we’ll have tea.”

  The evening passed pleasantly enough with a lovely dinner and welcome conversation. Mrs. Gerson detailed all the news of the neighborhood and especially reports on Maisie and Briana. “I know I promised Maisie I would advise her of your arrival,” Mrs. Gerson said with a twinkle in her eye, “but I’ll call tomorrow. Tonight, I want you all to myself.”

  Faith followed into the parlor and took a seat, a familiar peace settling in her soul. She knew it was inevitable Mrs. Gerson would want to know why she was here without her family. For the first time in many days, she allowed herself to focus on the pain of Ireland. With an edge in her voice, she relayed the whole agonizing sequence, from her engagement to Mitch until the moment she found him in Charity’s arms. Other than Mitch, no one but Mrs. Gerson knew more about the hurt Faith suffered through the years at the hand of her sister. Now, Faith found herself spilling all the sordid details of the bitterness that had imprisoned her since Mitch’s betrayal. As good as it felt to have wounded them at the time, it felt even better now to speak it out in the open. She needed to rail against God without condemnation, baring her wounds to another human being who would listen in love. Mrs. Gerson was as patient as Faith had known she would be, and when she finally finished, the old woman was beaming.

  “Why do you look so happy, Mrs. Gerson?” Faith asked, her voice tinged with the same bitterness she’d just espoused.

  “Do you know what I see, Faith?” Mrs. Gerson asked, leaning forward in her chair.

  “No,” Faith responded curtly, “what do you see?”

  Mrs. Gerson smiled a broad smile. “I see a golden opportunity, my dear.”

  Faith stared at the old woman, and for the first time in her life, a hint of irritation rankled. “And what would that be, Mrs. Gerson?” Faith asked, her tone clipped.

  The old woman’s smile remained unwavering. “Why, an opportunity to put God’s Word to the test, of course! A golden opportunity, my dear.” Mrs. Gerson hovered on the edge of her seat, her face aglow with the same excitement Faith had once known herself.

  “You’ve always encountered problems with your sister Charity as long as I’ve known you, and you were always faithful to return love for the pain she inflicted. But this …” she said, stretching her hands out in front of her, “this, my dear, is the answer to your prayers. It’s the way home, the resolution! You have an opportunity here to take the narrow path Jesus spoke about, and I have absolutely no doubt whatsoever, that you, Faith O’Connor, will choose life!”

  Faith bristled, wondering if Mrs. Gerson had always spoken in riddles like this. What on earth was she rambling on about? “I’m afraid I don’t understand your point.”

  Mrs. Gerson ignored her terse tone and smiled, picking up the Bible next to her chair. She held it aloft. Reluctantly, Faith reached for the book, surprised that her heart jumped as she touched its leather binding.

  “Open it to Deuteronomy 30:15, please,” Mrs. Gerson instructed.

  Faith sat back in the chair and flipped through the pages of the book she’d read so often, up until a week ago. She found the passage and read it
aloud.

  “See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil; in that I command thee this day to love Jehovah thy God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commandments and his statutes and his ordinances, that thou mayest live and multiply, and that Jehovah thy God may bless thee in the land whither thou goest in to possess it. But if thy heart turn away, and thou wilt not hear, but shalt be drawn away, and worship other gods, and serve them; I denounce unto you this day, that ye shall surely perish; ye shall not prolong your days in the land …”

  Faith’s voice trailed off, and Mrs. Gerson lifted her face, her eyes glowing. “Read on, Faith, the next paragraph, please.”

  Faith rolled her eyes and puffed out a sigh.

  “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before thee life and death, the blessing and the curse: therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed …”

  Faith couldn’t go on. Her voice balked as she slapped the book closed. “These are just words, Mrs. Gerson. I don’t even know what they mean.”

  The old woman bent forward, teetering on the edge of her chair, her eyes shimmering with joy. “It means, my dear, that every moment of our lives we have the opportunity to reap blessings from the hand of Almighty God. It means you have a choice in your future, Faith, that every decision you make shapes the course of your life, whether there will be joy or sorrow, blessing or curse. He’s begging you, Faith—he begs each of us—to choose life! Choose his way, the way of forgiveness and prayer. In the face of pain such as you’ve encountered, my dear, the choice is clear. You can choose to hate your sister and Mitch and hold on to your bitterness, or you can choose to forgive and be set free. If you choose hate, your heart will grow hard and cold as I suspect you’ve already seen, and you will be destroyed. God is very clear about that. But, if you choose life—his way and his precepts—you choose blessing, not only for your own life but for the life of your children after you.”

  Faith shook her head. “I can’t forgive them; it’s too hard.”

  Mrs. Gerson chuckled. “Skip up to verse 11, my dear.”

  Faith scowled as her fingers slapped through the pages once again. When she found the verse, she cleared her throat. “For this commandment which I command thee this day, it is not too hard for thee, neither is it far off. It is not in heaven, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go up for us to heaven, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it? Neither is it beyond the sea, that thou shouldest say, Who shall go over the sea for us, and bring it unto us, and make us to hear it, that we may do it? But the word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it.”

  Mrs. Gerson’s face was rapt with excitement, and Faith’s eyes blinked wide. She slumped in the chair and pushed the hair from her face, the Bible splayed in her lap. Could it really be that easy to reap the blessings of God? With all of the hurt and hate within her, was it really within her reach to forgive? It was not an impossible thing to do—God was saying it right there in his Word. It was not too difficult or beyond her reach. No, his Word, which commanded her to forgive and love, could be in her mouth if she spoke it, and then in her heart to perform it. It was simply a decision, a choice, one that God himself begged her to make. And all because he wanted to bless her.

  Faith closed her eyes; she had no power whatsoever over the flow of tears streaking her face. Suddenly, it all seemed perfectly clear, as if blinders had fallen from her eyes and shackles from her heart. Crumpling to her knees she sobbed before the Lord, her heart broken with grief at the path she had chosen. It had enticed her, taken her down before she ever realized, and only now was she able to see the folly of her ways. She felt the warmth of Mrs. Gerson’s palm on her head, stroking like the hand of God on the prodigal child. Faith moaned and grabbed the old woman’s hand, pressing it against her tearstained face. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gerson,” she wept, her voice broken and rasped. “Please, God, forgive me and heal me.”

  She thought of Mitch, and pain seared her heart. She thought of Charity, and bitterness rose like bile in her throat. She shuddered. “No! I will forgive them, I will! Dear God, please help me to obey … to forgive. It’s your will I choose, not my own.”

  She lay there in the old woman’s arms until the trembling stopped and peace filled her soul. She felt as if she had returned from the brink of death, shivering while Mrs. Gerson held her. When she could finally speak, she lifted swollen eyes to peer into the face of the woman who had never failed her, not unlike their God. “Mrs. Gerson, will you pray for me? Will you pray I never turn on him again?”

  Mrs. Gerson smiled and gently touched Faith’s cheek as she stared straight ahead. “My dear Faith, I’ve never stopped,” she whispered.

  A smile trembled on Faith’s lips. Slowly, she rested her head in the old woman’s lap once again, quite forgiven … and quite ready for the peace that would follow.

  Charity hadn’t had this much fun since Collin. She studied the man across the table and decided if her sister ever spoiled her plan to become Mrs. Collin McGuire, she could be reasonably happy with someone as wonderful as Mitch Dennehy. Not that he entertained such thoughts, she suspected, judging from the dispassionate look on his face, but there were ways around his hesitation, she knew. And no one knew them better than Charity Katherine O’Connor. Smiling, she lifted the almost-empty glass of wine to her lips.

  Mitch slid the bottle of wine out of her reach. “I think you’ve had enough,” he remarked dryly, miffed he’d allowed her any at all.

  Charity giggled. “It’s my first, you know,” she said with a grin, and he couldn’t help but think he liked her this way, more the little girl than the vamp.

  He reached for his wallet. “It’s time to go home, young lady. Your mother will have my head.”

  Her eyes flitted closed. “I don’t want to go home. I’m having way too much fun.”

  He signaled the waiter. “Hot coffee, please, and very strong.” The waiter nodded and disappeared as Charity lounged against the booth. Tipsy as she was, he knew she was well aware of his gaze, and she made the most of it by stretching lazily, arms high above her head and seduction in her eyes. He shook his head and laughed.

  A hint of fire sparked in her eyes as she opened them. She dropped her arms—and the act. “Why are you laughing?” she snapped.

  His smile was patient. “Because you’re such a little girl. You’ve got plenty of time for all of this, Charity. Why don’t you just slow down?”

  Her back squared, and for the first time, he saw the same Irish temper he’d seen in Faith. He grinned, despite the blistering look on her face.

  “You didn’t think I was a little girl when you kissed me,” she said.

  The smile froze on his lips. She thumped back against the booth, her arms rigidly crossed while the golden curls spilled down the front of that amazing blue dress.

  His eyes smoldered as the waiter reappeared, setting the cups of coffee down. Mitch shoved a cup toward her, and the dark liquid sloshed into the saucer. “Drink it,” he ordered, and she sulked as she grabbed the spoon to stir in the cream.

  He brought his own cup to his lips and sipped while he watched her, then set it down again. He sloped forward to glare like a stern parent. “So help me, Charity, you tripped me up once; you can rest assured I’ll do my level best to see it won’t happen again. You are a handful, little girl, and one of these days it’s going to get you into trouble way over your head.”

  Her eyes narrowed as she drank her coffee. “You know, Mitch, you can treat me like a child if you like, and you can even place yourself in the role of wise adult if it makes you feel any better. But the truth of the matter is, you wanted to kiss me. You know it, and I know it, and we’re both well aware no child could have elicited that response.”

  Her smile was smug as his jaw slacked open. She picked up her cup to sip again, leveling her gaze. He snapped his mouth shut, and a muscle jerked in his cheek. He gulpe
d his coffee and opened his wallet to pay the check, avoiding her eyes.

  She took her time finishing, then stepped from behind the booth, never looking back as she calmly made her way toward the door. Mitch threw some money on the table and followed, completely aware of the stares she drew walking through the restaurant, shoulders back and head high. Outside, she waited for him with a frosty look on her face. “Will you give me a lift home?” she asked, her tone chilly.

  He nodded and opened the door of the car, and she slipped in without so much as a thank-you. He pinched his lips together, afraid to risk any dialogue. She had a knack for turning things around on him, and he wasn’t in the mood to give her the chance.

  When he pulled up in front of Bridget’s house, he left the engine running while he waited for her to get out, his jaw clamped tight. Despite the cool of the night, he was sweating. Not only because he’d sat in this same spot with Faith more times than he could remember, but because Charity made him downright nervous. In his book, she was only a kid of eighteen. Yet when it came to men, she was truly wise beyond her years, and he had already gone down that road one time too many. “Good night, Charity,” he said, hoping the finality of his tone would tell her he wasn’t interested.

  “Good night, Mitch.” She leaned over to kiss his lips. The shock of it caused his heart to stop as she balanced a hand on his leg.

  He grabbed her wrist and jerked it back. “So help me, Charity—”

  She lunged at him again, causing a surge of heat to roll over him. Blast it all, it wasn’t fair, he moaned to himself. He pushed her away, his breathing too fast to suit him.

  She fell hard against the seat, hair disheveled and defiance glowing in her eyes. “I know you’re attracted to me, Mitch,” she said, her voice tinged with anger and hurt.

  He tunneled his hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “Whether I am or not is beside the point. You’re too young, Charity.”