"That's it-our home! Driver, right here is fine." The taxi came to a halt long after she opened the door.
Mitch laughed and pulled out his wallet. Marcy reeled to face him. "I intend to pay for every cent," she vowed, "from the ship to the taxi, I will reimburse you, Mitch, rest assured."
Mitch handed the cabbie his fare and gave Marcy a threatening look. "So help me, Mrs. O'Connor, if you mention paying me back one more time, I'm turning around and going home."
Marcy vaulted from the cab and smiled. "Oh, I don't think so. I have a feeling you'll be quite enamored with Boston. Or at least, a certain Bostonian."
Mitch grinned. "Now I know where your daughters get it from!" he teased, and he heard her laugh-one of the first since the ship had sailed into the harbor. "Are we going to your home?" he asked, hoisting the luggage in both hands.
"No ... no, renters live in it now, I'm afraid . . ." Her voice withered as she stood before the home where she and Patrick had made their life.
Mitch sensed an instant heaviness in her manner. But then, that was the way it was, she had said-overwhelming grief punctuated by moments of peace that quickly faded whenever she thought of Patrick. And how could she help but think of him now as she looked at the home where he had loved her and fathered her children and promised he would never leave her ...
"I just wanted to see it again, that's all," she whispered. "We'll go to Mrs. Gerson's, my neighbor who lives three houses down." Marcy swiped at the tears on her face, and a heavy sigh shuddered from her lips. "I'm so very tired of crying," she said. "How one woman can cry so many tears is beyond me. But then again, how one woman could have been blessed with such a love astounds me even more. And now it's gone. . ."
Mitch watched as one of the sudden mood swings he'd become so familiar with took its toll, and his heart ached for her. He gently touched her arm. "Which way?" he asked.
"That way," she whispered and linked her arm with his.
They walked, Mitch's heart hammering in his chest at the thought of seeing Faith again. She would be home, he supposed; it was Saturday, after all. But then again, she might be out, and a twinge cramped in his chest. Maybe she had met someone. Maybe she was still angry and would treat him coldly. Maybe she wouldn't speak to him at all. He took a deep breath. No, she wasn't like that. She would, he knew, treat him with the utmost courtesy. His lips compressed into a tight line. But confound it, it wasn't courtesy he wanted, and he found his stomach tightening as they climbed the steps to the house.
He rang the bell and thought he could feel Marcy shivering, or maybe it was him. And then the door opened, and he saw her, auburn hair spilling over her shoulders and green eyes glistening with tears. He swallowed hard as he stared and knew he never wanted to be without her again. She fell into her mother's arms, and the two of them wept, their fingers knuckled white as they clung. For the first few moments, she never even noticed he was there.
All at once, Marcy pulled away and wiped her face with her sleeve. "Goodness, I almost forgot," she said with a shaky laugh. "Mitch brought me, Faith. I hope you don't mind."
For the first time in over a month and a half, their eyes met. His heart stopped. "Hello, Faith," he whispered.
She smiled-the most perfect smile he had ever seenand his heart took off again.
"Hello, Mitch."
She embraced him, and he could smell the familiar scent of her hair. He pulled away. "I'm so very sorry about your father," he said quietly. "I wish I could have met him." He hesitated. "I've missed you." He hadn't planned on saying it like that, but his lips betrayed him.
"Me too," she whispered, and his heart soared.
She turned to her mother and linked her arm to take her inside. Mitch stooped to pick up their luggage. She glanced back. "You can leave it on the porch, Mitch. Mrs. Gerson is anxious to see Mother, and she really wants to meet you. But after that, we're going home."
Marcy stopped. "Home?" she whispered.
Faith smiled. "I gave the renters notice right after I started back at the Herald. They moved out a week ago Friday. And, I'll have you know, I've been cleaning every day since."
Marcy threw her arms around Faith's neck and started to cry, prompting a fresh round of tears from her daughter as well.
Mitch sighed and reached in his pocket for a handkerchief. He pushed it into Marcy's hand. "Are you people going to stand out here crying on the porch, or do I get to meet this incredible woman I've heard so much about?"
Faith wiped her eyes with her sleeve and laughed. His brows rose in humor as he held the door. She brushed passed him, and the old familiar warmth surged through him once again. He had been a fool, he decided for the hundredth time. Closing the door behind, he made up his mind to never let it happen again.
It was their first meal in their home in a year, and the taste of it was bittersweet. The moment Marcy stepped foot over the threshold, a solemnity settled over her, and at times, Faith felt as if she and Mitch were alone. Of course, it helped to have Mrs. Gerson there, now recovered from her own shock at Patrick's death. She seemed reenergized with her faith and chattered about anything she hoped would take their minds off the pain they were feeling. She enjoyed Mitch, it was obvious, but then who didn't, Faith wondered as she watched the two of them discuss Scripture. She had forgotten how handsome he was. Even her recent daydreams had not done him justice, and her heart picked up pace as she sipped her tea.
As the evening wore on, Marcy rose from the table, her face drawn and her body exhausted. "I think it's time for me to retire."
Mitch started to get up.
"No, Mitch, you stay. You and Faith have a lot to talk about. I'm tired and could do with a good night's sleep."
Mrs. Gerson rose. "I couldn't agree more. Mitch, could I trouble you to walk me home?" she asked, and he obliged by jumping up and taking her arm.
"Christa, how I can ever thank you for all you've done, for all your prayers ..."
Mrs. Gerson smiled and patted Marcy's hand. "How can you thank me for something that has given me so much joy? It is I who needs to thank you for the gift of your family in my life. I am blessed to have such good neighbors."
Marcy hugged her and then squeezed Mitch's arm. "Thanks, Mitch, for seeing Christa home ... and for everything." Tears reappeared.
Mitch nodded and cleared his throat as he escorted Mrs. Gerson to the door. "My pleasure, Mrs. O'Connor," he said gruffly.
Marcy headed for the stairs, then turned, somewhat tentative. "Faith ... would you mind very much sleeping with me tonight?"
Faith smiled. "I planned to, Mother, whether you liked it or not." She moved to her mother's side and hugged her.
"Good night, Faith. I love you," she whispered and turned to slowly mount the stairs.
Faith watched her mother head up, then returned to the dining room to clear the table. She paused, dishes in hand, a sudden thought blinking in her mind. She would be alone with Mitch. The realization made her lightheaded as she carried the dishes to the kitchen. She was finishing up when the creak of the kitchen door set her stomach aflutter. Whirling to face him, her mouth parched to cotton at the sight of him. His blue eyes probed, and she swallowed hard before she was able to smile.
"That was fast," she managed, drying her hands on a towel.
"Not fast enough," he whispered, taking a step toward her. "About six weeks too late."
Her stomach performed a somersault, and she stared at the floor, rubbing her arms.
"Are you cold?" he asked. Another step forward.
"A little," she lied, painfully aware of the warmth he generated.
He stood before her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "We need to talk."
She nodded, too afraid to look in his eyes.
"But ... first things first." He lifted her chin with his fingers and gently stroked her cheek before carefully leaning to brush his lips against hers. It was a quiet kiss, his hands lightly cupping her face as if she were the most fragile thing in the world. "I love you, F
aith. And I've missed you. . ."
"I've missed you too, Mitch," she whispered.
He kissed her again, then lifted her in his arms. He carried her into the parlor, then set her on the couch and sat beside her, his touch gentle on her arm. "Faith, I was sick when I heard about your father. I'm so sorry."
The mention of Patrick brought a rush of tears to her eyes. "I know. It's been pretty devastating for us all. The pain ... it's ... well, it's just so very hard to get past." She stared at him intently. "I'm glad you're here, Mitch, I really am. I need you right now. I think I'm going to need you for a long time."
He folded her into his arms and closed his eyes. "I think we need each other," he whispered, "and I'm hoping and praying it will be for a very long time."
He held her for several moments, then pulled away to reach into his coat pocket. He palmed the ring she had once worn. "This belongs to you," he said. "I'm asking you to take it back, Faith. There's not another woman alive who could wear it."
She touched it slowly, fingers trembling and vision blurred with tears.
He gently closed her fingers over the ring and covered her hand with his. His eyes reflected a rare humility. "Faith, whether or not you decide to wear this, it belongs to you. I don't blame you if you don't put it back on your finger. What I did was"-he glanced away, the muscles working in his throat-"despicable, unforgivable, and yet . . ." He looked up again, a glimmer of hope in his eyes, "I'm asking for forgiveness. Asking for you to give me another chance ... to prove that you can trust me."
She stared at his hands locked over hers, and drew in a shaky breath. "I want to, Mitch, but I'm scared."
He lifted her hand and kissed it, his eyes earnest. "I know, Faith. Me too. Scared to death that I'm going to lose you."
She looked up then. "Trust is such a fragile thing. I didn't realize that before. Mine for you was so strong, so invincible. But now. . ."
He gripped her close, his voice steeped in remorse. "As God as my witness, I will never hurt you like that again, I swear. Please, Faith, trust me ... just one more time."
She pulled away and looked at the ring in her hand. Her eyes welled with water, and a single tear trailed her cheek as she slowly slipped it on her finger. "I forgive you, Mitch," she whispered, "but I need you to forgive me too."
He lifted her chin with his finger. "Why would I need to forgive you?"
She sniffed. "The way I treated you when I left, how I treated everyone ..."
He rested his face against her hair. "I won't lie to you, Faith, it hurt. You all but cut my heart out by leaving like you did." He pulled back and lifted her face with his hands. "But I deserved it. I love you so much, Faith, and yet, I let a moment of lust sever what we had. I don't know which has been more painful-knowing the pain I caused or you leaving."
She sighed and dropped back on the couch, her hand extended as she gazed at the ring on her finger. "I was pretty angry when I left," she mused. "I went to a place I've never been before, so much hurt and hate inside, I thought I would die. I wanted to cause you as much pain as you caused me."
"Good job," he said, his tone droll. He became solemn as he took her hand in his. "I was so wrong in what I did. Although I never planned it or sought it out, it happened, and I can't pretend in any way I was innocent." He sighed and rested against the back of the couch, one hand in hers as he rubbed his eyes with the other. "I'd suspected for some time that Charity ... well, that she was attracted to me, but I thought it was harmless enough." He ducked his head in shame. "I never dreamed it would come to that. She was so distraught, and I was only trying to comfort her ..."
Faith couldn't resist a thin smile. "Pretty intense comfort," she whispered. It was the first time she ever saw him blush scarlet.
"I know. It's just that, well, it'd been so long ..
It was Faith's turn to blush. She lifted her chin. "A condition I hope to correct soon enough."
He glanced at her with a sharp intake of breath. "When?" he whispered.
"As soon as Mother and I settle things here. I don't want to wait any longer."
"Me either," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "I'm lonely for my wife."
Faith gently kissed him, the warmth returning in a rush. He returned her kiss with a heated one of his own before nudging her away. He stood up.
"It's late and we better get you to bed," he said. A grin creased his lips. "There are limits to my willpower, you know."
She rose to her feet with mischief in her eyes. "Thank goodness," she exclaimed. "A little help in the restraint department-I like that."
"Don't get used to it," he teased. "It's definitely shortterm. I'm just biding my time until the gold band's in place. When it is, there'll be no mercy."
Faith's eyes twinkled as she gave him a smirk. "Likewise," she said.
Mitch didn't want it to end. His two weeks in Boston were dwindling fast, and the thought of returning to Ireland without her chilled him to the bone like an icy gust on a winter day. Their home was on the market, but there was no telling how long it would take to sell, and Faith insisted Marcy return with Mitch while she herself put their life in Boston to rest.
It helped having him there, he knew, because both Marcy and Faith repeatedly told him so, and he could see the relief in their eyes when he made them laugh. Somehow, with him there, they didn't seem to notice the pain as much when they spoke of Patrick, which they did often throughout the course of their many conversations. Mitch bitterly regretted never having met him, this man so loved by the women who had profoundly affected his own life. It was, perhaps, the greatest regret he had during the time he spent with them in their mourning.
The days flew by, as he'd known they would, and there was a degree of guilt over enjoying it so while they were engulfed in their grief. But the moments of laughter had been frequent enough, what with Mrs. Gerson's visits, and those of Maisie and Briana. Mitch smiled now as he thought of the shocked look on Maisie's face when she had met him.
"Oh, my goodness," she had cried, the spray of freckles becoming more noticeable as her face paled. "It's just not fair! He's gorgeous!"
Mitch laughed, embarrassed at her candor, while Faith took possession of his arm. "Back off, Tanner, he's spoken for."
Maisie rolled her eyes. "Mmm, they're all spoken for when it comes to you," she teased, and Mitch's eyebrow angled in question.
"Oh, really?" he said with a smile, shards of jealousy prickling his tone.
"I don't know what she's talking about," Faith said with a grin, and Mitch doubted it.
The evenings had been filled with wonderful meals, sometimes at Mrs. Gerson's, sometimes at Marcy's, but always served up with lots of conversation and laughter. The days were spent running errands and helping Marcy pack while Faith was at work.
And then the day he'd dreaded finally arrived. Tomorrow they would leave for Ireland-he and Marcy-and the thought of leaving Faith behind rolled his gut like a bout with the flu. She had, at least, agreed to take the day off so they could be together, but it was small consolation for the agony he felt.
She came down for breakfast, her eyes tired and a bit sunken, and he suspected she hadn't slept any more than he had. "Good morning," she said, obviously attempting to sound as bright as she could. She gave her mother a peck on the cheek as Marcy and Mitch sat at the kitchen table with their coffee. Standing behind him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "Good morning, Mr. Dennehy," she whispered. She turned and walked to the counter in search of coffee.
He looked up, his eyes tender. "Did you get any sleep?"
She scrunched her shoulders and poured herself a cup. "Sleep," she announced, "is not foremost on my mind right now."
He smiled. "Yeah, I didn't either."
"How about you, Mother?" Faith asked as she sat with them at the table.
Marcy sighed. "Oh, well enough, I suppose. But I wish we were all back in Ireland."
Faith reached to put her hand over her mother's. "
We'll all be there before you know it. And now that the war is almost over, Sean will be home too, and hopefully he'll decide to stay with us in Ireland. We'll finally be together again."
Mitch could see the tears welling in Marcy's eyes and quickly sought a diversion. "Faith, what's the scuttlebutt at the Herald regarding the armistice?" He leaned back in his chair while he sipped his coffee.
"Well, everybody's been pretty much holding their breath since early October when the Germans and Austrians contacted President Wilson about an armistice. But nobody trusts them, of course, and you'll find as many that don't think the war's over as those who do. But honestly, Mitch, I can feel it in my bones. It's coming. By the grace of God, the armistice is coming, and we'll finally be able to get on with our lives." Faith stirred the cream in her cup. "I wonder how Mima's doing?" she said, changing the subject.
Marcy looked up in surprise, a look of apology on her face. "Oh my goodness," she cried, "I can't believe I forgot to tell you! I just received a letter from Mother yesterday. She must have written it right after we left, and Christa just received it." She jumped up to retrieve it from the counter and handed it to Faith, who laid it on the table and smoothed out the folded sheets.
"Sean and Collin are both doing fine and quite anxious to come home, I understand. Mother told them our plans to relocate to Ireland, so I suppose both of them will head there first. At least, I certainly hope Collin will. I know Sean will, of course, but there's no telling what's going to happen with Collin and Charity." Her tone was worried once again.
Mitch stiffened at the mention of Collin's name. He glanced at Faith. The mere utterance of his name had affected her as well, sending a faint blush into her cheeks. He frowned.
"Mother, they do know about.. ." Faith couldn't go on, and Marcy nodded, rising to refill her coffee. She kept her back to them.
"Yes, of course, dear. Charity notified them the first week." She returned to the table, her eyes moist as she poured them another cup, then managed a shaky smile as she put the pot back on the stove. "Well, I've got a few more things to pack. You two better get going and enjoy your day." She headed toward the door.
A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1) Page 37