The room was filled with the shadows of dusk when she finally rose from the bed, and the house was deathly still, free at last from the onslaught of both her mother and Mitch railing at her door. She had lain there for over five hours, leaving the sanctuary of her room only briefly after Mitch left, and only then to call Michael first, and then the shipyard to inquire about any passage she could get. She sobbed through the entire exchange with Michael, quite certain he must be thinking she’d come unhinged. She didn’t care. She couldn’t go back, ever, not as long as he was there. But she did want Michael to know how grateful she was, and that she was sorry, so very sorry.
Faith stood to her feet, her head aching horribly as she bent to light the lamp. Slowly, she made her way to the closet and caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. The girl who stared back was ravaged but not defeated; broken but not destroyed. No one could do that to her—ever. Not as long as she had a breath in her body. She reached into the closet and stood on tiptoe to pull her valise from the shelf, causing it to clatter to the floor. She picked it up and laid it on the bed.
There was no way she could stay. How could she live in a city where she would see him again? Live in a house where she was faced with the hate of her sister, a hate that had stabbed through her heart? She couldn’t, and she wouldn’t.
The silence was broken by a quiet knock on the door. “Faith, please … may I come in?” Her mother’s tone was pleading.
Suddenly Faith was overwhelmed with the desire to have her mother hold her in her arms. She ran to the door and flung it open.
Her mother grasped her tightly. She closed the door and led Faith to the bed, where she clung with a ferocity that allowed Faith to go limp in her arms. She stroked her daughter’s hair, whispering that she loved her, hurt for her. She knew, she said. Both Mitch and Charity had told her, and they were devastated, both of them.
“Faith,” her mother whispered, “Mitch has been calling all day. I’ve never seen a man so broken. You have to talk to him.”
Faith shook her head and lurched away, her eyes stinging with fury. “No, I won’t talk to him! I can’t. What he did … he might as well have put a knife in me. He knew, Mother. He knew all about the hurt Charity’s caused me over the years.”
“Faith, that’s not true. She’s your sister. Conflict is natural—”
Rage coiled like a serpent in Faith’s stomach, ready to strike. “No, Mother! You’ve conveniently closed your eyes to it all these years. It’s not natural. Charity hates me; she’s always hated me. Mitch knew that, and he knew how I felt about morality. He’s betrayed me on both counts. I will never trust him, nor will I ever give him the opportunity to hurt me again.”
Faith rose, and her mother’s eyes widened at the suitcase on the bed. She sprang up and grabbed her daughter’s arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Faith stared with deadly calm. “I can’t stay. I need time away. Time to heal. I’m going home.” The color drained from her mother’s face as Faith continued. “Please don’t fight me on this, Mother. I can’t stay here, not now. I want to go back to Boston.”
“You’re just angry. You can’t mean that. That would be wrong to do to Mitch, wrong to do to all of us. You can’t run. You have to face it and deal with it, openly and honestly. No, I won’t let you do this. You must face Mitch; you owe him that.”
Faith flinched. An eerie vehemence settled on her soul like an icy mist. She saw her mother shiver. “I owe him nothing but perhaps a little of his own back. I want him to hurt. I want to tear his heart out like he did mine. I can’t wait to leave! I hope and pray it crushes him like he’s crushed me.”
Marcy grasped her arm. “Faith! How dare you ‘pray’ that! Your anger at Mitch may convince you that you owe him nothing, but you owe God your obedience. You know better than anyone that the bitterness in your heart is sin, and you must deal with it.”
“I don’t owe God anything. Not anymore. As far as I’m concerned, when Mitch betrayed me, God did too. I’m through—through with faith in people and faith in God. From now on, I will live my own life, and I will live it in Boston.”
Faith strode toward the dresser, jerked a drawer open, and seized its contents in her arms. She flung the clothing into the valise.
Her mother appeared paralyzed, staring at the stranger before her. “I won’t let you go,” she whispered.
“You can’t stop me,” Faith said. A surge of power shot through her. It was hard and cruel and hurtful. And it felt good.
Her mother shrank back. “Where will you stay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“With Mrs. Gerson, if I can. If not her, then Maisie. I don’t really know. But when the war ends, I’ll see to it the renters are gone and the house is ready.”
“When will you leave?”
Faith’s eyes flitted to her mother’s tired form bent over the bed. She felt a sudden prick of tears in her eyes. Her lips pressed tight. She could not allow her love for her mother to deter her from her rage. She must guard it at all costs—it made her strong. It ensured she would go. “This weekend,” she lied.
Her mother nodded, slowly rising to her feet. “What will I tell Mitch?” she whispered.
Faith eyed her mother with cool indifference. “Tell him to go to the devil,” she said, and meant it. And the look on her mother’s face was worth the price.
Marcy considered bolting her in her room, but that wasn’t the answer. Neither was talking right now. Hurt and bitterness had closed Faith’s ears and heart to anything she or Mitch might say. There was nothing to do but pray her daughter would return to her senses.
Marcy entered the kitchen, where Bridget was preparing dinner. She would let Faith sleep on her anger, she decided. This was Tuesday. She had till the weekend to think of something—anything—to change her daughter’s mind.
Totally drained, Marcy slumped at the table. Bridget turned at the sink, her face etched with concern. “How is she?” she asked.
Marcy shook her head. “I don’t know what to do, Mother. I’ve never seen her like this before, so full of fury, so cold. She’s a stranger—angry with Mitch and Charity, angry with me, and especially God. It scares me. God has always been the most important thing to Faith. Now she’s even turned on him.” Marcy hesitated. “She’s going back to Boston.”
Bridget set a half-peeled potato down and wiped her hands on her apron, then moved to sit by Marcy’s side. “Marcy, Faith has been wounded deeply. Of course she’s angry with God. What human being wouldn’t be? But she knows his goodness too, and in the end, it will woo her back. We have no choice but to trust him. She’s his child too.”
Marcy nodded, and Bridget reached for her hand, her eyes full of hope. “She will come through this, Marcy; I know she will. And do you know how I know?”
Marcy shook her head.
“Because God is faithful,” Bridget said, as if stating a fact no one could possibly dispute. “Faith has served him with her whole heart, and he will not let her go. But I’m afraid you must. Let her go, Marcy, and trust him to keep her.”
Marcy’s head jerked up. “Mother, I can’t!”
“Yes, you can. He won’t fail you, and he won’t fail her.”
Marcy shivered, then finally nodded. “Mitch has a right to know, Mother. For all his stupidity and failing … he has a right to see her before she goes.”
Bridget sighed. “Perhaps not. What he did … well, I’m not sure I would forgive him myself, nor ever trust him.”
Marcy’s eyes strained with fatigue as she looked up. “He deserves to be heard. I’ll call in the morning. Perhaps … perhaps even yet, he can change her mind.” Marcy extended her hand. “Mother, can we pray together, please?”
Bridget smiled and placed her hands in her daughter’s. “It’s the only thing we can do, Marcy,” she whispered. “But, it’s more than enough.”
It was still dark when Faith rose to carry her suitcase downstairs and hide it in the bushes of the neighbor�
�s front yard. When she returned to the darkness of her room, she closed the door and lit the lamp, grateful Charity had found somewhere else to sleep. Apparently she couldn’t stomach the sight of Faith anymore than she could her. Faith hoped guilt was eating at her, but she doubted it. Guilt was a tool Charity used to inflict on others, not something that would ever invade her own conscience, if she had one.
Faith walked to her bed and sat down with pen and paper to write her letters. First to her mother, then to the others, explaining why she needed to do this. A thought came to ask them to pray for her, but she dismissed it with a surge of anger. She had spent enough time and energy on the emptiness of prayers. She had neither time nor inclination for that now.
Putting the letters aside, she began to write a separate one to Charity. The venom flowed easily as she penned her hostility to this sister who had destroyed her life so completely. She would retaliate, she promised. She would write Collin about all Charity had done—how she had vowed to wait for him, then spent time with an endless parade of men, culminating in the very seduction of Faith’s own fiancé. “And one more thing,” Faith wrote with a flourish, “Collin told me he loved me, right before he begged me to marry him.”
Faith stopped, almost hesitant to subject her sister to such pain. But then Charity hadn’t hesitated with her, had she? With renewed anger, she penned the final blow. “And if he still wants me, I’ll gladly marry him, taking great pleasure in causing you as much pain as you’ve caused me.”
Faith shivered. She had never done this before. It felt strange to strike out at her sister this way, to finally give full vent to all the hurt Charity had subjected her to. But her bitterness empowered her, a smiling insanity that spurred her on with each angry word spewed on the sheet.
With amazing calm, she folded the letter and set it aside. Walking to the bureau, she fingered the engagement ring she’d placed there the night before. It glimmered in the light as she held it, gleaming with broken promise. Wetness swam in her eyes, and she laid it on the dresser. She should write him a letter, but would not. Her silence would be the ultimate revenge. The thought made her satisfied and sick all at once.
Moving her hand to the other side of the bureau, she gently stroked the Bible that Mrs. Gerson had given her when she’d left Boston. A sad smile lined her lips as she touched its leather binding. It was cool to her touch—like her fervor for God. Fear prickled over her, causing a shiver despite the early morning warmth of the late-summer day. Hesitating, she started to pick it up, then put it back. She hadn’t packed it on purpose. She wanted a clean break, from Mitch and from God, but found herself wrestling with the desire to take it. Shaking it off, she began to get ready. In every way, she must appear normal to her mother.
Her mother seemed relieved when Faith entered the kitchen dressed for work.
“Faith!” she cried and clutched her tightly. Faith returned her embrace, and Marcy’s wavering sigh drifted against her ear. “You seem better this morning. Are you?”
She nodded and hugged her mother again. “Yes, Mother, I am. I’m so sorry about last night. Please forgive me. I love you, more than you’ll ever know.”
“I know you do. I love you too—very much. Are you hungry?” she asked with a smile.
“Not really. All I want to do is go into work and give my notice.”
The smile faded on Marcy’s face. “So, you’re going through with it, then? You’re going back to Boston?”
Faith squeezed her mother’s hand. “I’m just going home a little early, that’s all. It’s almost September, and they’ve been saying the war is close to an end, maybe as soon as October or November. Just think, Mother, by Thanksgiving we could all be together again.”
“Yes, God willing,” Marcy answered quietly. “You’ll talk to Mitch?”
Faith paused, then patted her mother’s hand. “Yes, I’ll talk to Mitch,” she said, becoming as proficient a liar as her sister. “I’ll tell him I need time away for a while, all right?”
Her mother nodded.
Faith glanced outside. “Grandmother up? I want to say good-bye.”
Marcy looked at her oddly, and fear cramped in Faith’s stomach. “Once I leave Ireland, I won’t be seeing Grandmother and Mima again for a long time,” she said quickly. She hunched her shoulders. “Just getting in hugs before I go.”
Her mother stood at the window to watch as Faith embraced her grandmother in the garden, then returned to tiptoe into Mima’s room.
“Are you planning to say good-bye to everyone?” Her mother’s tone seemed measured.
Faith’s eyes flickered to her face. “No, I’ll see them tonight,” she lied again. She was glad Steven and Katie had slept through the hug she’d given them before coming downstairs.
She hadn’t been quite so lucky with Beth, who had rolled over to peek through sleepy eyes. “Faith? Where are you going? You never kiss me when you go to work.”
“I know, Beth, but today I just wanted to, okay? You go back to sleep now. And don’t forget your big sister loves you.”
Faith returned to the kitchen and to her mother, whose brow now crinkled above wary blue eyes. Does she suspect anything? Faith wondered. She pushed the thought aside. She was confident her rehearsed lies would deter her mother from acting on any qualms. After all, she had never lied to her before.
“I’ll see you tonight, then?” her mother asked pointedly, and Faith silently cursed the blush that heated her cheeks.
“Of course you will, Mother,” she said, not trusting herself to meet her gaze. She blew a kiss and bounded out the door. Her mother peered out the window as Faith traipsed past Bridget’s garden into the street.
She was sure her mother never saw her rounding the neighbor’s yard and collecting her valise from the bushes. She stole one final glimpse at the house, then tightened her grip on the bag, relieved her mother had never suspected a thing. It had become a game of deception, and by God—or not—one she would win.
He almost dropped the phone. “What did you say?” Mitch whispered hoarsely.
“I said, she’s leaving,” Marcy repeated, and his blood ran cold. “She’s going to Boston—this weekend.”
“What?” He could almost feel Marcy wince at the fear in his tone.
“I’ve never seen her like this, Mitch, full of rage at you and Charity and especially God.”
His heart stopped for a moment before panic kicked in. “Please, God, no,” he whispered. “What did she say? How do you know?”
Marcy’s voice trembled as she repeated the conversation. Mitch strained to listen through the sound of his own shallow breathing.
“I’m so afraid, Mitch,” Marcy said, “afraid because she’s said things I’ve never heard out of her mouth before. Awful things like God betrayed her, and that she no longer had faith in him or people.”
He was too stunned to answer. It was a vicious nightmare! When would he wake up?
“And then I asked what I was supposed to tell you when she left, and she said something I never thought I would hear out of her mouth.”
Mitch held his breath, his heart thudding in his chest. “What?” he whispered.
“She said, ‘Tell him to go to the devil.’”
He groaned and closed his eyes. She hated him! How could it be that one awful moment in time could shatter his life so completely? He buried his face in his hands. When he finally spoke, his tone was bitter. “Well, she got her wish because that’s where I’ve been the last twenty-four hours—sheer hell.”
“She’s on her way to talk to you now,” Marcy said.
Mitch sat up in his chair. “What?”
“She left, not twenty minutes ago, to come in and give Michael her notice. She told me she would talk to you then.”
A sick feeling cowered in his stomach. “Why would she do that?” he asked. “She called yesterday and gave Michael her notice.”
“Oh, please, no …” Marcy whispered.
The air rushed from his lungs in a groan. �
��Check her room, her clothes …” His voice was a pained rasp.
Marcy must have dropped the phone and rushed to Faith’s room. When she picked it up again, she was crying. “She’s gone, everything’s gone, except the Bible Mrs. Gerson gave her! Her Bible! Oh, Mitch, she cherished that gift beyond measure. That tells me something’s desperately wrong. The Faith I know would never do this. You’ve got to find her. Please, go to the shipyard and find her. Please, Mitch, don’t let her go!”
He was breathing hard now. No, the Faith they both knew—or thought they knew—would never do this. But the Faith who’d been betrayed to the depth of her soul would, and the degree to which he must have wounded her cut him to the core.
“I’m leaving right now, Mrs. O’Connor.” He hung up the phone, his heart hammering in his chest. He felt like a madman tearing out of the building. His hands shook as he stooped to rotate the crank of his car. What would I do without her? He got in and clutched the steering wheel, then hung his head and closed his eyes. “Oh, God,” he prayed, “I need you. I need your strength and your wisdom. You brought her to me—please don’t take her away.”
A sense of peace settled as he shifted into gear. He sucked in a deep breath. That was the legacy she left him. She could leave and take his joy and his light, but she could never take the peace of God she had led him to. As he pulled out into the stream of traffic, the realization dawned like the pale light of a new day, and he gratefully allowed it to drive the fear from his soul.
No one ever told her anger kept you strong while you flouted God’s will, then left you alone to cower in the face of fear when it was through with you. That was a lesson she would have to learn on her own as she shivered in the bleak bowels of a cold, gray freighter.
A Passion Most Pure (The Daughters of Boston Book #1): A Novel Page 33