Charity opened the door. With a regal toss of her head, she glanced back, and for the briefest of moments, a glimmer of sympathy flickered on her beautiful face. But just as quickly as it had come, she seemed to dismiss it, leaving their room in considerably better spirits than when she had arrived.
Jackson was worried. Never in all the time he’d known Collin had he seen him like this. That covered a lot of territory—since the fourth grade at St. Stephen’s when Collin had shoved Johnny McGee against the blackboard for giving Jackson a bloody nose. From that moment on, Jackson had sworn his allegiance to the tall kid who had a way with the nuns. It had been fun—a virtual whirlwind—riding on the coattails of this handsome charmer, along with the girls who always seemed to be hanging on too. Despite sporadic bouts of being overly serious about life and his occasional somber moods, Collin was to Jackson the best friend a man could raise a toast to and the brother he never had. He knew most everything about him—how he felt when his father died, what he thought of his mother, his favorite drink, his favorite women, and when he was or wasn’t happy. And Jackson was worried. Collin wasn’t happy.
Nobody noticed but Jackson. Everyone else just thought he needed the money from the double shifts he constantly requested. Sixteen straight hours of sweat pouring off muscles so tired and sore, his body looked like a limp rag when he dragged it to the door to punch out. Eight o’clock in the morning to midnight spent hoisting containers of coal to feed a fire hot enough to melt steel—and maybe burn away some memories in the process.
It was a minute before midnight as Jackson waited outside the back entrance of Southfield Steel, shivering and rubbing his hands against the sleeves of his thin jacket. He leaned against the brick wall and tugged his coat tighter. The sound of a whistle pierced the night air. Within moments, men—or shells of men—trudged through the corridor toward the doors, dazed and lifeless, their energy spent in the bowels of Boston’s most prolific steel mill. Jackson watched for Collin, his gaze darting from face to face.
He was the last to the door, whether too exhausted to hurry along with the others or because he had nowhere in particular to go, Jackson wasn’t sure. All he knew was he had never seen his friend so listless, so removed from the Collin he loved. His eyes were tired, and the flesh on his face seemed to sag, aging him at least ten years. He didn’t smile when he saw Jackson, only stared and nodded, as if Jackson were a mere acquaintance.
At that moment, Jackson would have given anything to get his hands on Charity’s sister. She had done this to his best friend, he knew it, because ever since that night outside her house, Collin hadn’t been the same. He had been a madman when he stormed into Brannigan’s just before closing, ready to pick a fight and not a bit particular about with whom.
“If ever I wanted to put a woman in her place,” he hissed, “it would be that one.” He ordered a beer, then argued with Lucas Brannigan when he wouldn’t serve it.
“It’s late, Collin, go home; you’ve had enough,” Lucas said.
Jackson had to hold Collin back from jumping the bar to take Lucas on.
“Collin, come on, buddy, let’s get out of here. I’ll take him home, Lucas.”
Jackson pushed Collin toward the door, talking fast, desperate to calm him down. “Who, Charity? What did she do?” Jackson asked, running to keep up with Collin as he tore down the street.
“No, her holier-than-thou sister, that’s who. I tell you, Jackson, I never wanted to put a fist through a wall so much in my entire life. She’s a real loon. So help me, I gotta stay away from that family and anything even remotely related to that woman, including Charity. Or I swear, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“What did she do to you?” Jackson was dying to know what anyone could do to put Collin in such a state.
Collin stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and turned, his eyes blazing with anger. “She wants me to turn to God.” He enunciated each word as if he couldn’t quite believe any of them, his face as mocking as his tone as he raged on. “Can you believe that? She’s a bloomin’ fanatic, which is just another word for someone who tells you they’re better than you are. I’m the unforgivable sinner, and she’s the righteous Christian out to save me. Well, the only thing she can save is her breath because this guy is not gonna let any woman—or any god—push him around.”
Jackson was dumbfounded. “She wants you to turn to … God?” It was more than he could handle. Poor Collin, out for a little fun and ending up at church! Jackson doubled over, his laughter echoing through the alleyway.
Collin stared, seeming annoyed, and then the whole thing apparently struck him funny as well. The two of them whooped so loud someone yelled out a window for them to shut up.
Since that night, four weeks had come and gone, and Jackson had seen precious little of his friend. Collin seldom met him at Brannigan’s anymore. Most of his days and nights were spent working and sleeping, then working some more. Jackson couldn’t take it. Something had to be done—Collin was way too close to the edge. He watched while Collin silently punched out, then Jackson swung his arm loosely around his friend’s shoulder as he emerged through the door.
“Hey, buddy, I miss ya … and I miss the fun I don’t have when you’re not around. How about a late one?”
Collin was whipped. Without protest, he allowed Jackson to steer him along, almost as if he didn’t have a mind of his own. Actually, he didn’t. Not lately, anyway. His mind, his thoughts were all back there somewhere in a vat of liquid steel, and that suited him just fine. He didn’t want to think, to allow his mind to follow its natural inclination of late, to think about her. He would do anything to drive her out of his mind—fill every moment with work until he was so exhausted he couldn’t think of anything but sleep. And that was the irony of it all. Even when he slept, he couldn’t escape her face, her words …
“He wants you, Collin. He wants you to pursue him instead of your lust.”
Collin had never felt like this, and it scared him. She scared him, and he didn’t want anything to do with her. From that moment in the park when he had kissed her, it was like he’d been possessed, cursed to dream of her, think of her, want her. He’d known women far more beautiful, far more accommodating, far more easy to control. But this! Two encounters and she’d traveled his system like poison, the very same poison that had killed his father. It was moments like this he almost wished he believed in her God so he could pray to be rid of her. Yes, if truth be told, his soul craved to love a woman like that, to the depth of his being. But the risk was too high. That kind of all-consuming love could destroy him. She could destroy him. Better a love restrained, like his for Charity, than a love that controlled.
Collin exhaled deeply. He missed seeing Charity, but he needed time to sort things out, time to think about what to do, and time to break the spell her sister had cast.
“Collin? Did ya hear me? How about Brannigan’s?” Jackson’s voice broke through the stream of consciousness that had become a state of mind for Collin of late. Collin stared blankly.
“You know, Collin, you’re really starting to scare me. You gotta snap out of it. No woman is worth this.”
No woman is worth this. The impact of Jackson’s words stung like a fist to his face. No woman would ever possess him. Thoughts of his mother and how she had destroyed his father came to him, and everything within told him he had to fight it, fight with every inch of his will. He would discipline his mind not to think of her. He would lose himself in Charity and insulate his heart with her love so completely that Faith O’Connor would never control him. Not in his thoughts—or in his heart—ever again. As if jolted out of a daze, Collin grabbed his friend at the waist and lifted him in a bear hug, taking Jackson by surprise.
“What the … Collin, are you crazy?”
Collin just laughed, the first deep-down belly laugh he had enjoyed in a very long time. “I love you, you know that, you big idiot!”
“You are crazy, I swear!” Jackson said, grinning. “A minute ago y
ou looked like death; now you’re lit up like a Christmas tree. Why the change of heart?”
Collin breathed in the cold night air, its briskness filling his lungs with energy. “Great choice of words, my friend. It is, indeed, a change of heart. And you’re right once again, old buddy—no woman is worth this. I will have that drink with you, tired as I am. Let’s celebrate!”
“I knew I could count on you. What are we celebrating? Your resurrection from the dead?”
Collin smacked Jackson on the back and swung his arm around his shoulder, grinning like the Collin of old. “Something like that. What d’ya say we drink a toast to marriage?”
“Marriage?”
“That’s right, old buddy, marriage. I’m thinking of joining the club.”
Faith never ceased to marvel at the warmth and intimacy of Mrs. Gerson’s home, given the fact that Christa Gerson was nearly sightless. Softly hued walls were graced with pictures hung with near-perfect precision. Cozy furnishings, although dated, were tastefully arranged for both visual beauty and ease of movement throughout the parlor. The dining room table was covered with a hand-crocheted tablecloth and set with bone china and silver candlesticks in anticipation of a special dinner Mrs. Gerson insisted on preparing for Faith and her friends.
Faith watched her now as she bustled about the kitchen, a peaceful look in her vacant eyes, and once again marveled at the second thing that amazed her about this remarkable woman.
Despite the darkness she lived within, Mrs. Gerson always emanated a sense of peace. “My darkness is flooded with the light of Jesus,” she would tell Faith, and Faith never saw evidence otherwise. Although a woman of considerable means and blessed with a number of good friends and neighbors to assist, Mrs. Gerson was quite alone in the world when it came to family. She had suffered more than her fair share of heartbreak. She had met and married her beloved Oscar at the tender age of sixteen back in the old country, and theirs had been a marriage made in heaven. They set out for a new life in America, Oscar hoping to capitalize on his skills as a master craftsman of fine clocks and watches. And so he had.
But despite their material success, both longed for a family. And finally, after fourteen years of marriage, Christa Gerson gave birth to their only child, Herbert Roland Gerson. Their lives were complete; no family was happier, until the day everything changed.
Sadness settled over Faith as she remembered the pain on Mrs. Gerson’s face when she’d first spoken about it.
It had been a gloriously snow-laden winter, Mrs. Gerson told her, and Herbert had pleaded to go skating with friends at the lake.
“You may go, Herbert,” she had lectured, “but stay to the sides of the lake; do not venture into the middle where the ice is thin. Is that clear?”
Herbert had nodded, throwing his arms around his mother with great passion. “I’ll miss you, Mama,” he said before dashing out the door. And then he was gone, both from the house and from her life—forever.
Never had she known such pain or darkness. But for all she felt, it had been Oscar who’d borne the brunt of the tragedy. He was never the same after Herbert’s death, and although he was a relatively young man at forty-eight years of age, his health began to deteriorate, leaving Christa to bury her grief in the exhaustive care of her ailing husband.
When Oscar died several years later, Mrs. Gerson was bitter at life and especially at God. She closed herself off from the church she and Oscar had attended for so many years. But in her seclusion, she quickly found she had nowhere else to turn but to God. And then one day, she had reached for the Bible that lay on her mantel, sadly neglected beneath a layer of dust. The words she read were like a balm to her tortured soul, and she found she couldn’t get enough of the tranquility they invoked in her heart.
Tears sprang to Faith’s eyes as she now studied the woman who hummed about in her kitchen. That had been the true beginning of her life with God, she told Faith, the moment she dropped to her knees and recommitted her life to Christ. No longer could she live for Oscar and Herbert, so she would live for God. He became the only thing that sustained her, keeping her from the pain of the past and allowing her to remain, despite the onset of near blindness ten years later, in the glorious light of his unshakable love.
As Faith watched her now, she felt such an awe and respect for this woman whom Marcy had once coerced her to befriend. “But the Bible, Mother? She only wants me to read the Bible? Can’t I take some of my favorite books to read to her?”
Faith recalled her mother gently cupping her chin. “She’s asking for someone to read the Bible, Faith, nothing else.”
“But, I’ll go crazy, Mother! The Bible! It’s so boring.”
Her mother had smiled and gently pushed a strand of hair from Faith’s face. “Not when reading it gives someone so much joy.”
And so, with great reservation, Faith agreed to read to the blind woman weekly, thinking it would be good to give of her time to such a worthy cause. But as it always seemed to happen when God was involved, she ended up on the receiving end. This remarkable woman opened her young eyes to the depth and intensity of God’s love for her. Throughout all the travail of adolescence and the insecurities Faith endured at the hand of her sister, the knowledge of God’s personal love for her, Faith O’Connor, became an inner core of strength like nothing she’d ever experienced before. He was always with her, and the peace of his presence prompted her to commit her life to God, just as Mrs. Gerson had. It was a decision that never failed to bring her joy. It was Faith’s hope that Mrs. Gerson could do the same for Briana.
Over the last month, Faith had gotten to know Briana better, only to discover that her involvement with Collin was the very least of her problems. When she was a girl, her alcoholic father had often come to her room at night, almost up until the day he died. Briana’s mother had simply turned a blind eye to it all, and to Briana as well. Briana compensated with a hard veneer, which Faith managed to penetrate through prayer and persistence. It was slow, but they were becoming friends.
The dinner Mrs. Gerson prepared was magnificent, and Faith couldn’t remember when she’d eaten so much. Apparently Briana and Maisie were feeling the same way. When the meal was over, all three moaned, pushing their chairs back from the table, stuffed but content.
Mrs. Gerson poured tea, obviously enjoying the role of hostess. Spooning a bit of sugar into her cup, she turned her full attention to Briana. “So, Briana, Faith tells me you are no longer seeing this Collin McGuire. That must be very difficult for you. I understand you care for him very much.”
The relaxed smile on Briana’s face faded as she shifted in the chair. “It is. But Faith has been praying for me, and I guess you have too, because somehow I’ve been able to do it. I haven’t seen Collin since the last time I was at Brannigan’s when I told him I couldn’t …” Briana blushed slightly. “Well, you know … I told him no.”
“And he hasn’t bothered you since?”
Briana shook her head, a real sadness in her eyes. “No, he hasn’t. Oh, he was angry with me at the time, almost like he actually cared, but he doesn’t really. I think he was angry at Faith.”
Faith stopped chewing, her jaw suddenly stiff and cheeks lumpy with one of Mrs. Gerson’s sugar cookies.
“Angry with Faith?” Mrs. Gerson seemed confused.
“Yes, at least I think so. When he asked me why, I told him I had been talking to this girl at work and mentioned it was someone he knew. The minute I told him Faith’s name, he went quite pale, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so angry before. He slammed his beer on the bar, spilling it everywhere, all over me, all over him. I smelled like a brewery. He muttered something about …” Briana blushed, glancing at Faith. “Well, I can’t exactly repeat the word he used, but something about ‘that “blank” woman interfering in his life.’ And then he left, just like that. That was awhile ago, of course. I haven’t been to Brannigan’s since.”
Maisie and Faith exchanged looks.
“That’s g
ood, Briana,” Mrs. Gerson said, pausing to reach for a cookie off the plate in the center of the table. “Briana, do you enjoy games?”
Briana blinked. “I suppose so, at least I did when I was young. Why do you ask?”
“Games are great fun, especially when you win. But, to win it takes great skill, and of course, you have to follow the rules.” Mrs. Gerson munched thoughtfully, her tongue swiping a crumb from the corner of her mouth.
“Yes, of course …”
“You know, Briana, I think of life as very much like a game. The one who created it gave us the rules by which it is to be played, rules designed to help us win, rules to help us be happy. The problem is many times we choose to play by our own rules, and then we’re at a loss to understand why we never win.”
Mrs. Gerson leaned forward to stare straight at Briana as if her vacant eyes could see her clearly. “God has a great deal of love for you, Briana. He made you, and he’s given you his Word as the rule book for your life. He wants you to win, but to do so, you must follow his rules. Up to now, you haven’t experienced a lot of genuine love in your life, but that’s going to change. You’ve been looking for love in ways contrary to God’s law. You thought you could find that love in an intimate relationship with Collin, but you found only heartache.”
Mrs. Gerson paused to take a sip of her tea, then patted her mouth with a napkin. “The love you’re seeking is available, Briana. In fact, it’s exactly what God has in mind. It’s right there in the rule book—the Bible. It says in Ephesians 5:22, ‘Husbands, cherish your wives.’ Tell me, Briana, do you know what cherish means?”
“To love and care for, I suppose.” Briana’s eyes were fixed on the old woman’s face.
“Yes, my dear, and much more. It means to hold dear, to protect, to view as the most precious thing in your life. If it’s in God’s plan for you to marry, he wants it to be a man who will cherish you—love you to the depth of his soul, just like God does. But for that to happen, my dear, you must commit yourself to this God who loves you far more than any man ever could. And when you do and then follow his Word, it will lead you to the kind of love your heart longs for, not lustful love like you experienced with Collin. The Bible says the wages of sin is death. God’s Word admonishes us to flee sexual sin. Why? Because he knows it’s not only death to your soul, but death to the kind of love you’re seeking. Death to the only kind of love that will ever make you happy. The choice is yours, Briana, but trust me, the strength to do it is all his.”
A Passion Most Pure (The Daughters of Boston Book #1): A Novel Page 11