Charity couldn't stand it another moment, this abyss her sister had flung them all into. The house was like a morgue since she'd left over a month ago, and there seemed to be little joy available anywhere. It was bad enough Mother walked around as if in a daze most hours of the day, but Mima was getting progressively worse too, and Charity had never seen Bridget so depleted of her usual mirth and good humor.
Standing in her room in front of the mirror, Charity posed and held up the new dress she had just purchased from the store where she worked. It had taken three weeks to save up for it, but it was worth it. The pale blue frock went especially well with her coloring, and she was quite pleased how it matched her eyes exactly. She studied her reflection with approval. The dark circles plaguing her eyes since reading Faith's letter were finally gone now, as was the state of shock that had put a pall on her cheeks when she realized what her sister intended to do. A sharp intake of breath had fused to her throat when she had first read the letter, for she hadn't believed Faith capable of writing such hateful things. Then the words finally sank in, and the fear that pasted in her mouth kept her in turmoil for weeks.
But, she was feeling some better now, and had every intention of feeling better yet. Disrobing before the mirror, she surveyed her body in her chemise. Her breasts, though lush and full, lifted high, causing her creamy skin to mound softly above the neckline. She angled to the side with her hands on her hips, admiring the dark slash of cleavage. Dipping her head into a seductive pose, she peered out beneath sooty lashes and wondered how long it would take Mitch to fall in love with her. She was certainly more of a woman than her sister, at least to the eyes of a man of the world like Mitch Dennehy. And Charity already knew how he felt about that.
She smiled. His kiss had been as wonderful as Collin's, she thought for the hundredth time, and he'd certainly been putty in her hands! That is, until Faith arrived. Charity frowned in the mirror, then took a deep breath. But Faith was gone now, and Mitch was heartbroken, no doubt-a condition she hoped would make him more than susceptible to her charms.
Charity glanced at the clock on the nightstand and knew she had to hurry. It was almost 6:00 p.m., and Mitch usually left the office by 7:00. Things were always quieter then, he had told her mother once, which allowed him to get more work done. Charity slipped the blue dress over her shoulders and brushed her pale gold hair until it shimmered. She applied a touch of rouge to her lips and dabbed a bit of the color to her cheeks, then pinched them before heading downstairs.
"Mother, I'm going out," she said, entering the kitchen.
Marcy glanced up from the stove. "Charity, dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes; aren't you going to eat?"
Charity smiled one of the few smiles anyone had seen on her face in a long while. "I'll get something out."
"But, where are you going?"
"To Myrna's, then maybe out for supper."
Marcy gave her a weary smile. "I'm so glad you're taking an interest in your appearance once again, Charity. You look very pretty tonight. Will you be late?" Marcy asked.
Charity flashed a smile. "I certainly hope so!" she said and grinned. She blew her mother a kiss and sailed out the door.
Mitch had taken to working later than usual these days. It helped to keep his mind busy, he noticed, and he took full advantage of the heavy load Michael doled out since Faith had left. He suspected Michael did it more out of concern than the pressing need to get the work done, but either way, Mitch was grateful. He liked pushing himself so hard that he would just fall into bed at night, too exhausted to realize how much he missed her.
He knew Michael was worried about him. For pity's sake, he was worried about himself and wondered when the sick feeling would finally go away. It had never taken this long to get over anyone. He frowned. But then, this wasn't just anyone. No, this was the woman who had captured his heart, the woman he had hoped to spend the rest of his life with. Mitch supposed the old timetables for getting on with one's life no longer applied.
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 worri
ed. 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 Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1) Page 34