Her finger slowly circled on his leg. "Worse for Faith ... or worse for me?"
He grabbed her hand and held it behind her as he leaned over her, danger in his tone. "I don't take to teasing well."
"I'm not teasing," she said, peering from under heavy lashes. Slowly she lay back on the swing, her eyes fluttering closed. He saw the invitation on her face, and a fire raged as he wrestled with his conscience. The blue eyes opened, and she extended her hand. And the look she gave said it was only a matter of time.
She suspected sleep would punish her by its absence. From the moment she collapsed in the gloom of their room, both tears and prayers had been flowing. And although her exhaustion was complete, her heart was far too heavy to be stolen away by the peacefulness of slumber. It had been hours since she'd left them. She no longer spent what energy she had worrying her parents might find them. It didn't matter. How could it possibly be any worse than it was now?
She rolled on her back to stare blankly at the ceiling. He loved her. He said so himself, but for Faith, there was little joy in the declaration. There was such a strong physical attraction between them, she was certain it clouded his thinking, as it had hers. How much clearer could it be that God's Word was truth when it spoke of "fleeing sexual sin"? For the first time, she could easily see how it could make you say and do things you would later regret. No doubt Collin would regret the words he had spoken to her. If not tonight, certainly tomorrow.
Faith forced her eyes closed, desperate to shut it all out, but all she could see was Collin's head bent in prayer. For the moment, it had brought her such joy, and him such peace. Then it had been stolen away, rendered insignificant in what should have been one of the most important nights of his life. No doubt he thought her to be a complete fraud, espousing God and the avoidance of sin when she so readily fell into his arms, returning his passion with her own. The thought of it made her nauseous, a fine complement to the guilt and shame over what she had done to her sister.
The door creaked open. She froze as Charity crossed the room to her bed. Faith lay completely still as her sister disrobed and hoped Charity would think she was asleep. But her sister knew her all too well, apparently. Tossing her robe on the chair, Charity moved to the side of Faith's bed, sending a prickle of fear down Faith's spine. Her eyelids flickered open to see Charity standing over her, eyes candescent with cold rage.
"What a little hypocrite you are. To think all this time I actually believed you were this pure little Christian, so in love with God, so bent on doing the right thing." Her tone burned like acid. "But Collin told me how you've been chasing after him, teasing him, begging for his attention."
Faith jolted up in the dark, her fear fusing to anger. "You're lying! He never said that."
Charity's lips twisted into a savage smile. "Oh, but he did. He said he's tried to put you off, but you wouldn't leave him alone."
Faith's throat constricted, trapping her breath. Fear feathered her skin like spiders.
Charity laughed. "You can't accept the fact he loves me, can you, Faith? That it's me he's marrying, not you. Tell me, does it eat at you so badly you're reduced to making pathetic attempts to break us up? Because that's all it is. Don't you get it? Collin doesn't love you. He said he used you, just like he's used so many girls at Brannigan's Pub. Just like you said he would use me. Only, he's not using me, Faith-he wants me for his wife."
"No! He ... would never say that ..."
"Oh, but he did. I'd let you ask him yourself, only you caused us both so much embarrassment, he feels it's best if he stays away for a while. We'll tell Father and Mother we needed time apart, but we'll still see each other. So you see, your plan didn't work."
Faith shivered at the loathing in her sister's eyes. "Charity, what did I ever do to make you hate me so much?"
"Why don't you ask Father? He might have an idea." Turning on her heel, Charity walked across the room and slipped into bed, leaving the darkness of their room to settle like a shroud.
"What do you mean Collin won't be coming over for a while?" Patrick said, glancing up from his newspaper with a frown on his face.
Marcy halted in the middle of a stitch to stare at Charity, who clutched against the parlor door for support. She immediately put her sewing aside to go to her.
Charity teared up, then quickly straightened and blinked the wetness away. "Mother, I'm fine, really. Collin and I just decided to take some time apart, that's all."
Patrick leaned forward, the newspaper rustling to his lap. "What's going on, Charity? Two people in love just don't decide to take time apart. Did you have a fight?"
She nodded, and Marcy touched her arm.
"About what?" Patrick demanded.
Charity's eyes were blue ice. "I believe that's between Collin and me, Father."
"Not if it affects the whole household, it isn't. That boy is as much a part of this family as he is your fiance. We all have a right to know what's going on."
"Why don't you ask your girl'?"
Patrick stood. The color in his face paled.
Marcy shot him a pleading look and pulled Charity closer. "Patrick, she's just upset. We all need to remain calm."
"You're both my girls," he hissed, stomping to the foyer, "although you both don't act like it." He bellowed at the bottom of the staircase. "Faith? Come down here-now!"
Faith appeared on the landing, her shadowed eyes a telling contrast to the pallor of her skin.
"I need to speak to you, please, in the parlor." Patrick marched back in, leaving Faith to follow. Her eyes remained downcast as she took a seat across the room. Marcy moved to the sofa while Charity remained at the door.
"It's been a week now that you two have been walking around here like death, and I want to know why. First, Collin is sick last Sunday and can't come over. Now Charity tells me they've decided to take some time apart. What's going on, Faith?"
She didn't answer.
"Faith? I want an answer-now!"
"Why ask me, Father? This is between Charity and Collin."
Patrick swore under his breath. "Answer me! Do you know what's going on?"
Marcy shook her head. "Patrick, there's no call for profanity-"
"Do you?"
Faith's gaze met his. "Yes."
"Are you going to tell me?"
"No ."
Her jaw was set just like his-and Marcy could see the danger in her husband's face. She jumped up. "Patrick, we're all upset. Please, can't we take some time to cool off?"
He stormed across the room to grab Charity's arm. "So help me, Charity, one of you will tell me what's going on."
"That would be 'your girl,' Father. Why don't you use your influence with her?"
The sound of his slap echoed like a clap of thunder.
"Patrick!" Marcy flew across the room.
Charity's hand trembled to her cheek.
"Charity, I ... I'm sorry, darlin', I lost my temper ..." He touched her arm and went white when she flinched. He faltered back. "Charity, I ..."
"May I leave now, Father?" She shivered like a willow in the wind.
He nodded, and Marcy hovered as she led her from the room.
Patrick's shoulders sagged. He staggered to his chair, depleted of energy. He sat on the edge of the seat and buried his face in his hands.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. "Father, I'm so sorry," Faith whispered.
Patrick reached to cup her hand and held it against his shoulder.
"Me, too, darlin'-sorry two people I love are hurting so much. Sorry I've made it worse."
"Father, it's too painful to talk about right now. But we will, I promise. When we're ready. Until then, will you pray for us, please? All of us?"
Patrick stood and gripped her in his arms. "Dear God above, I never stop, darlin'," he whispered. And dear God above ... forgive me.
For Marcy, the blackest day of the year was always Good Friday. More often than not, the weather was foul or overcast, and from childhood, she'd always f
elt a sense of foreboding on that day in particular. She'd never forgotten the mournful look on her mother's face when she said Jesus had hung on the cross from noon until three. From that moment on, rain or shine, there were no more insidious hours in the year. She never understood until she was older just why it was called "Good Friday," for the mood of the day was anything but good.
Today was no exception, Marcy thought as she prepared breakfast. Except, perhaps, it could be called the second blackest Good Friday of them all. April 6, 1917-the day the United States of America would declare war on Germany. Only three days earlier, President Wilson issued a Declaration of War before the U.S. Congress, calling for a stronger navy and an army of five hundred thousand men. Today, before the whole world, it would be official-America was entering "the Great War." Marcy shuddered to think what such a turn of events might bring.
She reached for an egg, separated the yolk from the whites, and thought about Collin and Charity. Whatever the rift, it was enough to keep Collin away, and Charity and Faith in a state of chronic dejection.
"How long?" Marcy would ask, and Charity would attempt a smile that did nothing to cloak the sadness in her eyes.
"I don't know, Mother. All I know is he said he would call when he's ready, and he will. We just have to be patient." She would say nothing more.
Between the heaviness of impending war and the absence of someone they hoped would be one of their own, Marcy felt sure the season of Lent had never extracted such sacrifice.
Patrick's mood was equally somber as he entered the kitchen, the usual smile missing from his face. He kissed Marcy on the cheek, draped his suit coat over the chair, and sat down. Fatigue glazed his eyes, the result of too many sleepless nights of late. He worried incessantly how the war might affect Sean and Collin and knew that Marcy, in turn, worried about him.
I really wish you weren't going in today, Patrick. You're so very tired, and I would feel much better if you stayed home."
He looked up from his breakfast. "Marcy, there's no place I'd rather be than by your side, today of all days. But I can't, darlin'. It'll be a busy day at the Herald, and I must be there. That's why I'm going in so early, darlin', instead of my usual time with Faith."
She nodded and turned away. His heart ached as he watched her while she worked at the sink. He knew she was crying. There had been more of that in their house over the last three weeks than he cared to admit. Patrick wondered when their lives would return to the joy and peace they'd once taken for granted.
He rose from his chair and crossed the room to where she stood and circled his arms around her waist. He buried his lips in the curve of her neck. At his touch, she sobbed openly and turned, clinging while her body quivered with weeping. Patrick stroked her hair and held her close. His heart felt as if it were being squeezed in a vise. What could he say that would stem the tide of her tears? How could he reassure her when he himself was so unsure as to what the future held for them all?
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.
The first line of Psalm 46 from his morning devotional came to him in a rush, bringing with it a wave of calm. He tightened his hold on his wife and took a deep breath. "Marcy, everything will be all right. We have the Lord. He promises to be our refuge and our strength. We must put our trust in him-not what's going on in the world." He felt her nod against his chest as she gripped him. He led her to the nearest chair, then held her on his lap like a little girl, her head on his shoulder. "Let's not cry about it, shall we, Marcy? Let's pray about it instead."
A shaky sigh quivered from her lips, and she nodded again. Resting his head on hers, he closed his eyes and prayed. Prayed that God would give them peace in the midst of this storm, protect them, and keep them safe. He prayed for Collin and Charity and Faith, that God would give peace in a situation that had clearly shattered their joy. He prayed for God to give wisdom to President Wilson and his advisors, for victory to be swift and sure. When he finished, Marcy sniffed and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Patrick smiled, a rush of love welling his heart. "Marcy, what if I took an extended lunch hour today? You know, between noon and three?"
She lunged, almost tipping the chair with her embrace, and kissed him with such passion that a soft moan escaped his lips. "Mmm ... maybe I won't go in at all!" he teased, returning her kiss with equal passion. He paused and drew back, a brow shifting high. "You do realize, of course, I'll have to work a bit later tonight, don't you?"
She nodded and kissed him again, and he chuckled at her enthusiasm. Patting her on the leg, he resumed an air of responsibility. "I'd best be going, then; I'll need every minute I have at work."
Instead of getting up, Marcy pressed closer, her lips swaying against his.
Patrick groaned and nudged her away. "Marcy, you're a wicked woman," he said with a tight grin. "Darlin', there's no time-" He stopped, his heart flinching at the desperation on her face as her eyes pooled with dread.
"Patrick," she pleaded, "please ... the world's being torn apart at the seams. I need to be close to you ... to hold you. God help us, we're at war! And we don't know what tomorrow might bring ..."
The reality of her words stung, and he felt his perspective shift. He picked her up in his arms and kissed her again before letting her go. Pulling his suit coat off the back of the chair, he slung it over his shoulder and took her hand in his, quietly leading the way to their room.
The last three weeks had been the worst of Collin's life, except for those when he and his mother had buried his father. He was in a fog of confusion, deep in thought and yet thinking nothing at all. It was like one, long drunk he couldn't shake-a sick feeling in his gut and a dull ache in his head. Only this one hung over his heart and stubbornly refused to succumb to any remedy he might try.
He hadn't seen any of the O'Connors since that awful night, and today, with the solemnity of Good Friday and the gloom of war, it seemed an appropriate time to return to settle his business. He had done more than his fair share of drinking over the last three weeks, and even ventured a few prayers in the process. But in the end, he received more solace from the pub than the prayer, because at least the pub helped to dull the pain that was so much a part of him these days.
Collin kept his eyes down as he walked toward their house, his hands shoved deep in his pockets as he went over in his mind the words he wanted to say. They would be surprised to see him, he knew, for they would hardly expect him during the day when he was supposed to be at work. They would all be home, he hoped, except for Patrick and Faith and possibly Sean, and that suited him just fine. He could talk so easily to Marcy; it was much like talking to Faith, she was so caring and honest. But it would be hard to say good-bye to Sean, and especially difficult to face Patrick. Collin dreaded the look on Patrick's face when he told him. Patrick had become the father he'd lost, and he cared too deeply what he thought. It would crush Collin to see the pain in his eyes, just as he knew it would crush him to see Faith again. No, it was better this way, he thought-quickly, quietly, while all the world's eyes were focused on the reality of war.
Turning onto their street, Collin took a deep breath and braced himself to confront Charity again. His thoughts traveled to the night she offered herself to him. She had never done anything like that before. But she knew his weakness and felt no compunction in exploiting it. He had admired that once. She was more than well aware of the attraction she held for him. Like a skilled gambler in a game where the stakes were all or nothing, she played it for all it was worth. He couldn't seem to resist her, and Collin wondered if Faith had been right. Perhaps he was a sinner. But then surely a sinner who could never change. He recalled how, at the last moment, he finally denied her, a first in his young life. A faint smile flickered on his lips. Maybe he was changing after all. Certainly the old Collin McGuire would have never said no to a woman who was his for the taking.
Collin stood at the base of their front steps, wondering how Charity would handle it. The thought of her brought a s
ad smile to his lips. He did care for her. And the attraction was certainly there. But when he was with Faith, his attraction to Charity paled in comparison, and he knew it would be an emotional triangle Charity could never tolerate. She wanted to get married right away, but he'd told her he needed time to think. And so they agreed to separate for a time. The weeks had convinced him that, in the end, time would be his best friend, and he was quite sure he'd need a great deal more of it.
He ascended the steps with trepidation, as if scaling an impossible summit. He knocked on the door and waited, queasiness in the pit of his stomach. Somewhere within he heard Katie shriek. The door swung wide, and Collin froze.
Patrick greeted him, grinning ear-to-ear. "Collin! What a sight for sore eyes you are. We've missed you, my boy. Please, come in."
Patrick gave him a bear hug, and Collin tried to smile but was embarrassed at the wetness springing to his eyes. He returned the hug, clutching Patrick tightly, hoping the awkwardness he felt wasn't obvious. Turning toward the kitchen, Patrick called for Charity. The kitchen door flew open, making way for a parade of O'Connors bounding toward him. Marcy's eyes were sparkling as she pulled Katie off his leg, and Patrick demanded to know if his absence meant he was scared to lose at chess.
Collin smiled for the first time in weeks. "I think it's more of a case of my extending mercy to Sean, Mr. O'Connor."
Patrick laughed and slapped him on the back.
"It's good to see you, Collin," Charity whispered. He turned to look at her. She was a bit thinner, but it was nice, he decided. Her pale gold hair seemed even longer as it fell in loose curls over her shoulders and arms. He smiled, and her face glowed.
"It's good to see you too, Charity. I've missed you." He'd had no intention of saying that, but the words parted from his lips so easily. "I've missed you all."
A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1) Page 19