But she could not. She doubled over, clenching her sides.
Shame. Her face was branded by it. The painful legacy of Psalm 83, prophesied by Mitch that night in the car.
Make them like a whirling thing, like stubble before the wind. As fire burneth a forest, and as the flame setteth the mountains on fire, so pursue them with thy tempest, and terrify them with thy whirlwind. Fill their faces with shame, that they may seek thy name ...
She covered her eyes with her hand. Oh, God, he'd been right! Her faith had been nothing but chaff, whipped about by her own passions and desires, with little or no regard for others. Or God. And tonight, she had paid the price.
She shivered and tried to stand, seeing it clearly for the very first time. Her lust for Mitch had been a consuming fire, infecting her with sin, setting her passion ablaze. Misguided passion that had callously wounded her sister and Mitch and Rigan. And in the end, the very men she had strived to enflame had rejected her, despised her, degraded her. Until nothing was left. A raging fire to burn away the dross, a tempest to blow away the chaff. And a storm of shame so she would seek his name...
With a wrenching cry, she collapsed into a chair, arms strewn across the table and her body wracked by sobs. "Oh, God, forgive me. I've been so blind. So lost." She thought of what Rigan had done and wanted to hate him, but knew she could not. Her dance with sin was over. The choice was clear. Forgive or hate. Life or death. Peace or shame.
In the shudder of a single breath, she knew what her decision would be. A decision that would set her free from a life adrift. Bind her wounds and save her soul.
She looked up with swollen eyes and pushed the hair from her face. Tears of pain made way for tears of hope. Her heart surged with a rush of adrenaline as she bowed her head and committed her life. Totally. Completely. Devoid of ulterior motives.
The time had come. She would finally belong to him.
Not to Mitch. Not to Father. Not to herself.
To him. The apple of his eye.
Charity leaned over the railing of the Cambria and closed her eyes, reveling in the sting of the sea breeze in her face. She could smell Boston in the spring, the earthy scent mingling with the pungent smell of the harbor and its fishing dinghies and shrimp boats. A sigh drifted from her lips and she opened her eyes, drinking in the welcome sight of home.
Emma's chuckle sounded behind her, wisping on a breeze. "So this is where you've been hiding. I should have known. You're even more anxious than me to see dry land again."
Charity looked over her shoulder and smiled. "I came up at dawn and didn't want to waken you." She turned back to the harbor and felt the rush of tears in her eyes. "I never thought Boston would look so good." She sniffed and pointed to a squat-looking cast-iron lighthouse, half on a sandbar, half in water. "That's the Deer Island Lighthouse. Four years ago, Keeper Joseph McCabe met his fiancee on Deer island to fill out wedding invitations. When he returned to the lighthouse, ice trapped his boat and he drowned."
Emma shivered. "That's awful."
Charity glanced at her friend. "Sorry, Emma, I don't mean to be morbid. Blame it on the harbinger of gloom over my head, especially these last few weeks." She looked out over the water, scanning the city's skyline with longing in her eyes. "But the winds of change are coming. I can feel them blowing." She pointed again, this time with a smile. "And to prove it, I'll show you a part of Boston Harbor that's full of hope-a boatload, to be exact. See that ship against the seawall, the one with a flag on either end?"
Emma squinted and nodded.
"Well, that, my friend, is the Boston Floating Hospital for Children. Begun by Reverend Rufus B. Tobey. He was a minister who wanted to help indigent women and their sick children. In the summer, you can actually see naked babies and toddlers playing on the sundeck, therapy for vitamin D deficiency."
Emma giggled. "I bet that's a sight."
Charity laughed, the sensation welling her with hope. Her laughter had been scarce the last few weeks. She sucked in a fishy breath. Weeks? Try months. And too many to count. Her fingers lightly traced along the steel bar of the railing while her gaze gently traced the line of the shore. But this was a new day and a new place. And thanks to the many prayers of her family, Brady, and Emma, a new heart.
She glanced up at the sky, puffs of clouds billowing in the breeze like her spirit in the gentle wind of God. Tears pricked her eyes and a lump thickened in her throat. He was real and alive! The Light of the World, flooding her with hope when darkness tried to snuff hers out. For the first time in her life, she understood her sister, Faith, and her fervor for God. She closed her eyes and exhaled a cleansing sigh, thinking of Mitch, and then of Rigan. In the past, she would have blamed God. But in her darkest hour, his mercy had illuminated her life, revealing a painful path twisted by sin.
She felt Emma's arm encircle her waist and looked up, tears streaking her face. "Oh, Emma, God is so good."
Emma leaned her head against Charity's. "He is for a fact."
They stood there, arm in arm, until the ship docked at the shore where crowds milled at the gangplank. Charity's heart began to race. Her gaze anxiously probed the throng, searching for the one face that could heal her heart. And when she spotted a zoot hat waving wildly above the crowd, she laughed, the sound winging in the air.
"Father," she screamed. She jumped and waved and cried till she laughed, hugging Emma with more joy bubbling inside than she'd known in a lifetime. Her father stood tall on the shore, dressed in his best suit and a grin, pressed in on all sides by people he probably didn't even see. She'd forgotten how handsome he was, and her heart swelled with love. Daddy, oh Daddy, I missed you so much. She wiped a sleeve to her eyes and stifled a sob. One of the last, she hoped, for a while. He blew her a kiss, and she caught it, holding the fragile gift in her hand. She pressed her lips to her palm and held it to her heart, then swooned. The giggle of a little girl took flight from her throat.
She spun around. "Oh, Emma, the bags!"
Emma chuckled and motioned her head to the side. Charity looked down and laughed. She hefted her bag and made a beeline for the gangplank. "Come on, Emma, we're home!"
She streamed down the passageway with a flood of people, her nerves itching under her skin like a bad case of the measles. She jumped and stood on tiptoe, hoping to catch a glimpse of her father. She grinned when she saw his dark cropped hair, salted with gray, stubbornly resisting the slick style of the day.
"Charity, darlin'!" He wagged his hat in the air, then put it on as she ran for him.
She squealed and dropped her suitcase, launching into his arms. He swept her up, high above the crowd, twirling her in the air. The rumble of his deep laughter tickled her stomach, and she squeezed him hard, tears puddling her face. "Daddy, oh Daddy, I love you so much."
He put her down with a chuckle. Wetness glimmered in his gray eyes. "I love you, too, darlin', and don't be looking to stray too far from home again, because I'll be keeping you close." He clutched her again, his voice hoarse in her ear. "My heart grieves for what you went through, Charity. But you're home now, where we can love on you." He kissed her cheek and hugged her again, eyeing Emma over her shoulder. He swiped a hand at the tears in his eyes. "And who's this pretty young thing staring at us like we've taken leave of our senses?"
Charity giggled and spun around, grinning at Emma. She grabbed her arm and pulled her close. This is Emma Malloy, my best friend in the whole world, and the only one who would put up with me."
Emma's look was shy as she peeked up beneath dark lashes. She extended a hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. O'Connor. And thank you for allowing me to stay with Charity for a while. At least until I find a job."
Patrick propped thickpalms on his hips. He jutted a brow and nudged the brim of his hat, then stared at her hand. "I think we need to do better than a handshake, don't you, Emma? From what I understand, you're one of the family." He swooped in and gave her a voracious hug, taking her airborne while she held on to her cl
oche hat. When he put her down again, her cheeks were as red as the scar on her face. "And as far as staying with Charity, Faith has a habit of sleeping with her husband in their home a few blocks away, so I doubt she'll be needing her bed anytime soon. It's yours as long as you like."
"Father!" Charity tilted her head, giving him a shocked smile.
He laughed and picked up their bags. "Nothing wrong with two people in love, darlin', when the good Lord joins them as one." He glanced at his watch. "Now let's get you two home so your mother and I can fawn over you before the horde descends after work and school. Marcy's been cooking up a storm all day, so everyone will be chomping at the bit to see you again." He winked as he opened the car door. "And the heavenly smells will be drifting, no doubt, so you can bet Collin and Brady will show up early to eat me out of house and home."
Charity looked up, her eyes wide. "Brady will be there tonight?"
Patrick grinned and helped her and Emma into the car. He closed the door and leaned in the open window. "Unless I can figure a way to change the locks before dinner. He eats more than Collin, and you know that's saying something." He whistled as he rounded the car to the front, churning the crank with a grunt.
Emma pursed her lips into a curious smile. "So ... I get to meet your Brady, do I?"
Charity tilted her head and arched a brow. "I suppose you do, but he's not 'my' Brady."
Emma folded her hands in her lap and looked out the window. A hint of a smile shadowed her lips. "No, I don't suppose so. At least not yet."
Collin wrapped a stack of forms in brown paper, then slapped an invoice label on top. He turned and tossed it on a table stacked high with packages of completedjobs. "That's it, Brady, we're done for the day. Close down the presses."
Brady looked up, then checked his watch. He squinted. "It's only four o'clock."
Collin wiped his hands on a towel and grinned. "Marcy's cooking a special dinner."
A broad smile inched across Brady's face. He wiped his forehead with a rag, certain it would leave a trail of ink. He tossed it in the laundry box and rolled his neck, groaning as he worked out the kinks. "So, what's the occasion? You and Faith have news to share?"
Collin sauntered to the back of the shop to wash his hands in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder. "Not yet." He turned around and leaned against the counter, drying his hands with a clean towel. "Although it's not from lack of trying, of buddy, I can tell you that."
Brady scratched his throat and gave Collin a droll smile. "A six-month honeymoon. I'm real happy for you, Collin. Now stop rubbing it in."
Collin chuckled and picked up a rag to help Brady clean the press. "I wouldn't have to if you would get married and curl up with something other than your Bible every night. Not that the Good Book isn't sustenance for our souls, but right now, it's your body I'm worried about."
Brady dropped on a flat wooden dolly with a grunt and rolled beneath their Bullock press, checking the rotors for nicks. "Worry about your own body, Collin, not mine. When Faith figures out that you're trying to get her pregnant so you can make her quit her job, your body's going to be sleeping on the couch."
Collin chuckled. "Not a chance, Brady. The woman can't keep her hands off me."
Brady extended an arm. You sure it's not the other way around? Hand me a wrench."
Collin squatted to snatch a wrench from a tool chest on the floor. He shoved it in Brady's hand. "Yeah, that too." He paused. "Brady?"
"Yeah?"
"About dinner tonight ..."
Brady groaned. "Spit it out, Collin."
"There is a celebration."
"I figured as much. What is it?"
Collin rolled his chair back, bracing himself for Brady's reaction. "Charity's home."
The wrench clattered to the floor. Brady rolled out, his pale face accentuating the ink on his forehead. "What did you say?"
Collin smiled and leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. "She's at the house right now. Arrived today."
Brady swallowed, a lump shifting in his throat. "With Mitch?"
"Nope. He's marrying someone else."
He swallowed again, the lump growing. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew this is how you would act, love-struck and staring off into space like a zombie. We're too busy for that."
Brady stared, then quickly shifted to a frown. "Give me a little credit, will you, Collin? Charity's my friend. You should have told me she was coming home."
"And go through a week with you pale as death? No way, of buddy. And she may be your friend, but it doesn't take a mental giant to see you wish it were more."
Brady scowled, flinging the towel toward the laundry box. He missed. "Where are you getting half-baked ideas like that? I told you we're friends, pure and simple."
"With you, the 'pure' I believe. With Charity? Nothing's 'simple.' Every letter she sent you cost us a half day of your time."
Brady glared, rare prickles of irritation wrinkling his brow. "You're crazy."
Collin grinned. "Ah-hah! The tables are turned, aren't they, Brady? How does it feel to have someone scratching beneath the surface, delving into your mind?"
Brady sighed and lumbered to his feet. "Look, Collin, you're ruining my appetite. Charity's letters meant a lot to me because I was concerned about her spiritual progress, nothing more. And I thought she bought a store. Why is she coming home?"
The smile faded on Collin's face, and Brady's stomach tensed. He watched his friend's jaw harden. "Tell me what's wrong, Collin-now!"
Collin huffed out a sigh and looked up, his eyes dark with anger. "Same reason as before, only a different twist. She was raped."
Brady caught his breath and slowly slumped in a chair. He felt like he'd been kicked in the gut. "By the same scum who beat her last time?"
Collin nodded.
"Did he beat her again?"
Collin shook his head. No, the lowlife just took what he wanted and left. Thinks he can force her to marry him because he bought the store out from under her. As soon as Faith's grandmother heard that, she put Charity on the next ship home."
Brady sagged and put his face in his hands. "Dear God, no. '
"Yeah, and on top of all of that, Mitch treated her like dirt."
"I can't believe it." He groaned and ran a hand over his face. "God bless her."
"He already has." Collin stood and massaged the back of his neck. "He's given her a friend like you."
Brady looked up, a nerve pulsing in his cheek. "Thanks, Collin. I only hope and pray I can be the friend she needs."
Collin smiled and made his way to the door. He plucked his coat from the rack. "Don't waste good air on that prayer, my friend, it's a done deal." He gave Brady a quick once-over and grinned. "And that, of buddy, is why we quit early. 'Cause my money says you'll be wantin' a bath."
Charity hovered close to her father as he carved the turkey, waiting for him to turn and talk to her mother before stealing another piece. A luscious hunk of dark meat was halfway to her lips when he snatched it from her hand. He popped it in his mouth and arched a brow. "So you're wanting special treatment, are you now? Long-lost daughter or no, you'll wait like everyone else or you won't get the wishbone."
She reached up and kissed him on the cheek. "We both know I'll get the wishbone, now don't we, Father? Turkey thievery or no."
He grinned and tossed a piece to her, then one to Blarney, who lay at his feet. "Enjoy the attention, young lady. It ends at the stroke of midnight when you turn back into just another O'Connor sibling."
Katie hopped up on the table and began picking at the turkey. "Why are we having turkey and dressing? It's not Thanksgiving; it's almost Fourth of July."
Patrick swatted her hand and handed her a consolation piece. "Stop fingering the food, Katie Rose. Only God knows where your hands have been. And we're having turkey and dressing because it's Charity's favorite. Get off the table."
Katie rolled her eyes and jumped to the floor. "My favorite is cho
colate cream pie; are we having that?"
Marcy turned at the sink. "No, ma'am, we're having peach pie because-"
"It's Charity's favorite," Katie mimicked. She crossed her arms, a petite eight-year-old with the air of a matriarch. "You have other children, you know."
Charity grabbed Katie and swung her up in her arms, nose to nose. "You got a problem with peach pie, little girl?"
Katie squealed and squirmed. "Nooooo! It's my favorite."
"I thought chocolate cream pie was your favorite," Charity teased, tickling her sister.
"After peach," Katie shrieked before sliding to the floor.
Charity squatted to hug her, then stood. She touched her own ear. "Oh-oh, ear kiss."
Katie cocked her head. "What's an ear kiss?"
Charity leaned back down and hugged her again, pressing her head to Katie's. She pulled back, catching Katie's tiny ear on hers. It sprang back. Katie giggled. "Oooo, I can't wait to give one to Collin! Mama, when are they gonna be here?"
Marcy glanced at the clock over the stove. "Anytime now. Beth, is the table all set?"
"Yes, Mother, everything's ready."
Marcy paused, ladle in hand. "You look very pretty tonight, Beth. Very grown up."
"Too grown up to suit me," Patrick muttered.
"Thanks, Mother. Charity helped me."
Marcy blinked at Charity. "Did you use all the rouge on Beth, dear? You look a bit pale."
Charity smiled. "No, I haven't been fixing my face for a while. No interest."
Her parents exchanged a look. Marcy pushed a limp strand of hair from her eyes. Her face glistened from the steam of the mashed potatoes. "Well, you're pretty with or without makeup, Charity. And Beth too. You're all growing up into beautiful women. I'm afraid if your father had his way, you'd still be in pinafores and playing with dolls."
"I hate dolls," Katie announced, filching more turkey. "Except for Miss Buford."
A Passion Redeemed (The Daughters of Boston, Book 2) Page 40
