A Passion Denied

by Julie Lessman

He brushed a finger to her chin, lifting her gaze. “I love you, Beth, make no mistake about that. So much so that everything I say and do is filtered through that love. I’m asking you to trust me and know that I am only looking out for your welfare.” He paused and shifted from his knees to a squatting position. “That said, I’m asking you to stay away from my brother—”

  “I’m not interested in your—”

  “No, I know. But you’re a beautiful girl, Beth, and I don’t trust him. He’s got a jaded past—” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Like me, I guess, only Michael has no faith in God to save him. And you and I both know that faith in God is everything. It’s the air we breathe, the pulse of our soul. Promise me, Beth—with all of your heart—that when you fall in love, it will be with a man who seeks God.”

  She cupped his face in the small of her hands and gave him a trembling smile. Wetness shimmered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks, making her look so much like the little girl he longed to protect.

  “Oh, Brady, I already have. And he does. With all of his heart.”

  11

  “You look exhausted, darlin’. Why don’t you go to bed?”

  Lizzie looked up to glance at the clock. Ten fifteen. She sighed and closed her book with a thud, then gave her father a weary smile. “I am tired, but I’m not sure I’ll sleep.”

  He squinted over his newspaper. “Because of Tom?”

  “No, I’m fine about that. I’m glad I broke it off.”

  “What, then?”

  She rose and hugged the book to her chest. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m just a bit blue tonight, nothing a good night’s sleep can’t cure.” She leaned to kiss his cheek. “Good night, Father. You coming up soon?”

  He squeezed her hand, then disappeared behind the paper once again. “In a bit, darlin’. Sleep well.”

  “I’ll certainly try.”

  She needed to. It had been a grueling day. Not because of her breakup with Tom. No, that had lifted a huge burden from her shoulders, dispelling a heaviness that had mounted over the last three months. She was grateful it was over, although Tom apparently felt otherwise. He had called a number of times, but she had refused all calls, asking her mother to turn him away.

  With a tired sigh, she headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, then tiptoed into her bedroom. She listened for the sound of Katie’s even breathing. As quietly as possible, she undressed and put on her nightgown, then slipped under the sheets. She curled into a ball and let her thoughts drift to the true source of all her sadness.

  John Brady. A man she loved but couldn’t have. Elusive as the wind.

  Wind. The Scripture they’d studied last week came to mind.

  O LORD my God, how great you are! . . . You ride upon the wings of the wind. The winds are your messengers; flames of fire are your servants.

  She stared at the ceiling. John Brady to a T.

  A man aflame for God and a mighty wind, one who carried the Word of God to all who would listen. She, too, had ridden on the wings of that wind, allowing him to breathe hope and change into her life. And in the process, he had become for her a flaming fire, a man who’d set her heart ablaze, along with her passion.

  Wetness pricked at her eyes and she let it have its way, sluicing down her cheeks until it soaked her pillow. She shivered. If only she could dispel her longing as easily. A broken sob escaped her lips.

  “Lizzie? Are you crying?”

  She froze. “Oh, Katie, I didn’t mean to waken you. I’m sorry.”

  Her sister sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, moonlight spilling across her face. “What’s the matter? Do you miss Tom?”

  “No, darling, I don’t. Not even a little.”

  Katie maneuvered her legs over the side of the bed and lumbered to her feet. She padded over to Lizzie. “Good. I don’t miss him, either. He always called me ‘kid.’ ”

  A smile tugged at Lizzie’s lips. “You know, Katie Rose, when it comes to maturity, I do believe you may have it all over Tom Weston.”

  Katie’s teeth flashed white in the dark. “Lizzie? Are you lonely? ’Cause if you want, we can cuddle.”

  More wetness rimmed Lizzie’s eyes, but this time it felt good. She lifted the covers. “Sure, Katie, I would really like that.”

  Her sister burrowed in, and Lizzie gave her a tight hug. She rested her head against her sister’s soft hair. “I love you, Katie Rose,” she whispered.

  “I love you too, Lizzie. You’re way too good for Tom.” She yawned and nestled close, releasing a contented sigh.

  Lizzie smiled in the dark with Katie snug in her arms, and wondered what she would ever do without her family.

  Or God.

  Or Brady.

  Katie’s even breathing finally resumed.

  Lizzie sighed.

  So had her heartbreak.

  Patrick waited a full thirty minutes after Lizzie went upstairs before he set the paper aside and stood to his feet. At long last, everyone was in bed. He checked the kitchen door and turned out the lights, feeling well beyond his years as he slowly mounted the steps. Sleeping at the Herald was taking its toll, but no more so than the wound in his heart. The couch at the Herald robbed him of a decent night’s sleep, to be sure, but his bitterness robbed him of far more. And yet, for the first time in his life or his marriage, he had no will to fight it.

  Marcy’s love had been sustenance to his soul and strength to his bones. Without it, he was empty, weak, a shell of despair that grew more brittle each day. The love he once thrived on was now tainted, and it was difficult to be in the same room with her, let alone the same bed. In the beginning, she had pleaded and begged, shedding more tears than she had in their lifetime together. The sight of his wife’s tears had once pierced him beyond measure, but now they only fell on a hardened heart, one too wounded to care.

  And so they’d come to terms. She would give him time—to stew, to pray, to heal. And he would give her a semblance of normalcy. Home for dinner, time with the family, and then leave when his children were in bed and all was right with their world.

  While Marcy and his ripped apart at the seams.

  Patrick was certain his children sensed the tension. It couldn’t be helped with a family as close as theirs, but a mundane routine settled in, assuaging his worry. They now expected the hours he kept—up late at night and gone before they rose in the morning. Once, Katie had informed him, she’d fled to their room after a nightmare, but Marcy had quickly ushered her back to her bed, where they apparently snuggled until dawn. Patrick sighed as he trod down the hall. Marcy was a wonderful mother, no question about that.

  And a wonderful wife? He stiffened as he opened their door. He no longer cared.

  He moved to his closet to retrieve the clean clothes he’d set out, noting the silence of the room. He knew she was awake; he could feel it in his bones. Living with a woman for a quarter of a century did that to you. Sharpened your senses, made you aware. Like an unspoken language between once-kindred hearts.

  He stilled as she stirred in the bed.

  “Dinner will be early tomorrow because of Katie’s play—five o’clock.” Her voice sounded lifeless and far away.

  Like their marriage.

  “I’ll be home early, then,” he said.

  “Then the children are having dinner at Charity’s on Friday, so you can work as late as you like. Charity says it’s to give us a night off.”

  He hesitated, fingering the clean clothes draped over his arm. “I have plenty I can do.” He turned toward the door.

  Her voice reached out, little more than a frail whisper. “Patrick, I love you.”

  He paused, hand on the knob. A flicker of response flared and quickly died out. “Good night, Marcy.”

  He opened the door and jolted at the sight of Lizzie in the hall.

  “Father, I’m so glad you’re still up. Is Mother awake?”

  Marcy sat up in the dark. “Lizzie, is that you? Are you all right?”

>   Patrick’s pulse skipped a beat. He quickly stashed the clean clothes on the bureau. “What’s wrong? Can’t you sleep?” He steered her to his side of the bed. She crawled in next to Marcy while he sat beside her, his arm encircling her waist.

  She shook her head while Marcy scooted close.

  “What’s the problem, darlin’?” Patrick asked.

  “The same old thing, I’m afraid,” she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Feeling sorry for myself because I’m in love with a man who won’t love me back.”

  “Brady? We’re back to that again?” Marcy brushed the hair from Lizzie’s eyes and stroked her face.

  “It would seem so.”

  “Did something happen to stir the pot?” Patrick kicked off his shoes and stretched his legs out on the bed, cupping her closer.

  Her laugh was bitter. “Yes, Father, Tom happened. Proving quite neatly that no other man can even come close.”

  “Darlin’, one relationship is hardly a measure. There’ll be plenty more.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know, Father, how do you get over someone who’s held your heart in their hands for so long? And what do you do when they constantly turn your love away, leaving you battered and bruised?” A sob broke free from her throat to pierce the darkness.

  His arm stiffened, paralyzed over her shoulder.

  Marcy’s voice rose, quiet and strong, to counter her daughter’s pain. “You run to the arms of the Almighty, Lizzie. ‘Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.’ That’s the only place our hearts are safe, the only place they can heal.”

  Patrick watched as Lizzie fell into her mother’s arms with another hoarse sob. Marcy held her tightly, her eyes squeezed shut and her own face sodden with tears over her daughter’s shoulder.

  Pain seared his heart and he turned away, unwilling to witness his wife’s grief.

  He startled at the touch of her hand on his arm. “Patrick, will you pray? That Lizzie can be set free from this torment? And that God will restore her joy?”

  He stared at his wife’s hand for several seconds, and then up into her eyes. His heart clutched in his chest. He pulled Lizzie from Marcy’s arms to his, resting his head against his daughter’s. His heart, riddled with bitterness, was in no condition to pray. But pray he would, if not for himself, at least for her.

  “Lord God, we bring Lizzie before you, and ask that you heal the grief in her heart. Your Word says you are the lifter of our heads and that your joy is our strength. Lift our daughter’s head, oh Lord, and be her strength during this time of heartbreak. We pray that you free her from these ties to Brady and help her to move on to where you want her to go. In your time, Lord, we ask that you bring a godly man who will love her with all of his heart. But until then, fill her with your joy and your peace. Amen.”

  Lizzie sniffed against his shoulder and gave him a squeeze. “Thanks, Daddy. I love you.”

  He pressed his lips to her hair. “I love you too, darlin’, with all my heart.”

  Marcy hugged her. “Lizzie, would you like me to come in for a while, just until you fall asleep?”

  “No, Mother, I’ve already kept you and Father up late enough. You two go to bed, and so will I. I promise.”

  She rose and kissed each of their cheeks. “I love you both so much, I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you for praying with me. Now please get some sleep.”

  Patrick rose and followed her to the door. “I have a bit more to do downstairs, I’m afraid. You two will be long gone before my head even hits the pillow.”

  He felt Marcy’s pull from the bed. “Patrick, whatever’s keeping you . . . can’t you . . . just this once, set it aside for tonight?”

  Lizzie stood on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss. “You do look tired, Father. Why don’t you call it a night?”

  He stroked the curve of her jaw with the pad of his thumb. “All in good time, Lizzie, all in good time. Good night, darlin’.”

  He watched her disappear down the hall, feeling Marcy’s gaze in the dark. His sigh filled the room. Slowly, he returned to the bed to put on his shoes.

  The press of Marcy’s hand, gentle on his back, jarred him. “You don’t have to go, you know.”

  He dared not look at her. Prayer had softened his heart and threatened his pride. He stood and walked to the bureau to gather the clean clothes in his arms. “Yes, darlin’, I do. Good night.”

  And with a resolve he didn’t fully understand, he twisted the knob and shut out his wife, closing the bedroom door along with his hardened heart.

  Brady made his way home in the fading light of dusk, the air still so thick, it drenched the back of his shirt. Despite the stifling ninety-degree temperatures, people milled on the sidewalks and lawns, thick as flies at a summer barbecue. The smell of fresh-mown grass hung heavy in the air, tinged with the sweet scent of honeysuckle. As he strode down Rumpole Street, he waved to his neighbors, several of which were dousing their gardens or their kids. In one front yard, children swung on rope swings, cooling off in the breeze, while moms and dads chatted beneath leafy oaks as limp as the flag on the post office pole.

  But tonight, his thoughts were far from the city heat wave and its happy victims. Instead they festered on his brother, unleashing a heat wave of his own that burned in his eyes. Here less than a week and already Michael had almost destroyed his relationship with Beth. He had forgiven his brother long ago for their past, but he had no intention of beginning again with the future. One way or the other, Michael would have to go.

  “Hey, Brady, wanna play?”

  At the sound of Cluny’s voice, Brady looked up, shaking off his thoughts. He stopped dead in his tracks a quarter block from his building, his smile waxing into shock. There was Michael next to Cluny, leaning against a light pole with hip cocked and arms folded.

  Miss Hercules let loose with an unladylike woof and bounded toward him. She planted two dirty paws on Brady’s chest while Esther gave him a gap-toothed grin, balancing one leg like a stork in a game of kick the stone out. She hopped in the air and kicked at a rock, sending it pinging into Cluny’s leg.

  “Hey, watch it, will ya, Mullen? Come on, Brady. Wanna play? Michael’s won twice. Think you can beat him?”

  Michael grinned. “I doubt it, Cluny. He wasn’t much good as a kid, sure couldn’t beat me now.”

  Brady glared. “I need to talk to you inside. Now.”

  Esther rolled her stone into the next chalked square, then implored Brady with pleading eyes. “Come on, Brady, we just started this game. Can’t you talk to Michael later?”

  Brady tugged on her pigtail. “Sorry, Ess, but this can’t wait. Why don’t you and Cluny finish the game, and I’ll take you both to Robinson’s for a soda after?”

  She thought about it and then grinned. “Okay. Come on, Cluny, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Cluny grunted and hiked up his pants. “In your dreams, Mullen.”

  Brady nodded to his building, giving Michael a look of warning.

  Michael leaned down to whisper something in Cluny’s ear, then sauntered toward the flat with Brady close on his heels. The sound of Cluny’s laughter rang in their ears. Brady followed him into his apartment and shut the door hard, bent on unleashing his anger.

  “Why’d you do it, Michael? Why’d you lie to Beth?”

  Michael eased back onto the sofa and hiked a leg up on the table. “Come on, John, you’re so big on the truth, and that’s all I told her. You going to deny you love her?”

  “It’s none of your business what my feelings for Beth are. You deceived her and got her hopes up. You hurt her, Michael.”

  Michael rolled his neck while studying Brady from across the room. “No, John, you hurt her, and apparently not for the first time. What’s your problem, anyway? She’s a beautiful woman, and from what I can tell, the beauty runs way deep. I’ve never met any girl like her. If she wasn’t so all-fired bent on God, I’d be tempted to give her a shot.�
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  The muscles in Brady’s neck were knotted as tight as his fists, but he kept his tone calm. “I love her as a friend. Nothing more. I just don’t want to see her hurt, that’s all.”

  “You sure have an odd way of showing it. The woman is goofy over you. I only saw you together for a few moments, but it was enough to convince me of one thing. You can espouse the virtues of God till you’re blue in the face, little brother, but if you stand there and tell me you love Beth only as a friend, I’d have to say you’re lying through your teeth.”

  The hackles rose on Brady’s neck. He moved to the window to thrust the sash up, then turned to glare. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Michael shot him a narrow gaze. “Try me.”

  “I’ve known Beth since she was thirteen. She’s like a sister to me.”

  A glimmer of surprise reflected in Michael’s eyes. “Oh, I get it. You’re attracted to her, but you see her as family. Gee, that sounds a bit familiar, John.”

  Brady jerked forward. “Get out, Michael, now. I want you gone.”

  He laughed. “Well, that makes two of us, little brother, but you and I both know we have unresolved business. I’m not going anywhere until you agree to sign the papers.”

  “I don’t care where you go, but you’re not staying here.”

  Michael sat forward to straddle the edge of the couch. For the first time, his face was void of its usual confidence and humor. “Look, John, I came here to get you to sign the papers, it’s true. But that’s not all. For some cockeyed reason I actually had this far-fetched idea that maybe, just maybe, we could heal our relationship, get back on track as brothers, as a family.” He turned away and threaded a hand through his hair. “I’ve missed you. Both Helena and I have. With Lucille gone, you’re the only family we’ve got. Can’t we start over?”

  Brady stared, shock warring with anger. He looked away. “I don’t know. There’s a lot of pain in our past. I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  “Maybe you need to. Ever think about that?”

  Brady exhaled and nodded. “Yeah, I have. But I need more time.”