A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1)

by Julie Lessman

  Faith looked up, concern creasing her brow. "Mother, why don't you come with us? It'll do you good, and I won't have to worry about you being here alone."

  "Nonsense," she said. "You two need some time together, and so do I. I want to be-no, I need to be here-alone." She turned and left the room too quickly.

  Faith sighed. "I suppose she's right. But I can't help but ache for her."

  "I ache for all of us," he said quietly.

  "I can't believe it! Look, we've gone and gotten you all gloomy too. That's got to change. All I need to do is grab my jacket and we can be off. Are you ready?"

  He didn't blink as he stared hard at the table, his jaw angled tight. Faith bent to smile into his eyes. "Hey, Dennehy ... what's wrong? In a few short weeks, I'll be back in your life, the same old thorn in your side."

  He looked up but didn't smile. "Where does Collin stand?"

  Her eyelids flickered. "I don't know. You'll have to ask Charity."

  "I'm asking you," he whispered.

  Her face went pale, and she sat down, avoiding his eyes. "What do you mean?" she asked, and he was pretty sure she knew exactly what he meant.

  "Do you still have feelings for him?" He could barely form the words. His stomach curled into a knot when he heard her catch her breath. She took too long to answer, and Mitch stood up, looming over her as she sat at the table, her eyes fixed on the cup in her hands.

  Without notice, he reached to yank her up, gripping her in his arms. Her coffee teetered and sloshed in the saucer from the force of his action. His eyes burned into hers. "I don't care if you do," he breathed. "You belong to me, not him. I hope and pray he marries that sister of yoursBoston can have 'em!" His tone was harsh.

  She touched his cheek. "Mitch, please don't worry," she whispered. "The ring on my finger belongs to you, and so do I."

  He stared for a long moment, then crushed her tightly against his chest, his face buried in her hair. Suddenly, he hefted her high in his arms until her feet dangled in the air. Bent on staking his claim, he kissed her soundly before finally setting her down with a thud.

  She jumped back, eyes and mouth rounded in surprise. "What was that for?"

  "That's for even thinking of him," he muttered as he carried their coffee cups to the sink. He walked to the door and held it for her, his eyes menacing. "Don't do it again," he ordered and followed her out the door.

  It was fun showing Mitch this city she loved, but melancholy at the same time. She showed him Boston Harbor, site of the famous Boston Tea Party where a band of angry patriots had disguised themselves as Indians to dump English tea into the harbor. They masterminded one of the most important events leading up to the American Revolution, she explained. Mitch seemed completely absorbed, both with the history lesson and with her.

  "I like the way you Americans think," he teased with a note of respect, as only an Irishman could. They walked along the wharf, hand in hand, while she pointed out sights, both historical and personal. From Paul Revere's house to the Bunker Hill Monument, she worked at being the perfect tour guide, and she hated for the day to end.

  The sun was sinking fast into the dusky skyline when Mitch glanced at his watch. "Your mother said dinner is at six; we better head back." His tone was laced with disappointment.

  She nodded, and he put his arm around her and hailed a taxi. Only one more night, she thought solemnly when the taxi pulled up in front of her house. Mitch helped her out of the cab before turning to pay the driver. It was dark now, and Faith tugged her jacket tighter to ward off the chill from the air-or maybe from the thought that tomorrow he'd be gone. Either way, she still had tonight, and she clutched his arm tightly as they climbed the steps. Mitch opened the door, and she stepped inside.

  "Mother, we're home!" she cried.

  "In the kitchen," Marcy called.

  Mitch sniffed the air while helping Faith with her jacket. "Boy, am I starved."

  "You're always starved," she teased and grabbed his hand to pull him into the kitchen.

  Marcy seemed relaxed working at the sink, rinsing the vegetables she was preparing. She had the fire crackling, and the kitchen was warm and cozy, filled with the aroma of fresh-baked apple cobbler.

  "Mother, we're famished, and it smells so wonderful!" Faith made a beeline for Marcy and wrapped her arms around her from behind.

  Marcy laughed and turned, her hand stroking Faith's ruddy cheek. "Goodness, you're like ice!" she exclaimed and then grinned. "But I think I've got something that will warm you up." Stretching her hand, she directed Faith's gaze across the room.

  Faith turned, and the blood in her face coursed to her toes like a thundering waterfall. There stood Collin McGuire casually leaning against the counter as he had so often done, legs crossed and stretched out before him. But this time he wore a uniform as he relaxed, arms folded across his chest. His body was leaner and harder, his handsome face tan and weathered. But the gray eyes were as mesmerizing as ever. And as soon as they saw her face, the deadly smile went to work.

  "Hello, Faith," he drawled. He stood up slowly. A twinkle lit his eyes. "You can breathe now."

  "Collin. . ." Her voice drifted out on a soft gasp, and her tongue felt pasted to the roof of her mouth.

  Collin walked over to Mitch, who stood beside her with shock glazing his eyes. Collin extended his hand and smiled sheepishly. "You must be Mitch. Congratulations on snagging this one. She'll give you a run for your money, but you won't be sorry."

  Mitch hesitated, then gave him a wooden handshake, quickly withdrawing to latch a protective arm over Faith's shoulder.

  "Collin showed up early this afternoon," Marcy said, her voice breathless with excitement. "We've had a wonderful visit. He's almost completely recovered now."

  Mitch peered at Collin, his eyes narrowing just the slightest bit. "You were wounded?"

  Collin nodded and grinned, tapping his chest over his heart. He lifted his hand to measure a quarter inch of air with his index finger and thumb. "Yeah, a piece of shrapnel came this close to putting a harp in my hand. But somebody up there decided I had payback to do, I guess." He grinned at Faith.

  She swallowed hard and attempted a smile. "I'm ... so glad to see you, Collin, really I am. You just shocked me, that's all."

  His eyes softened. "I know," he said gently, then turned his attention to Marcy. "Your mother almost fainted dead out."

  Marcy laughed and put a hand to her chest. "Honestly, Faith, a feather could have knocked me over when I opened that door and saw him standing there. What a wonderful farewell evening to Boston." She wiped her eye with the corner of her apron. "Somehow, having you here, Collin, well ... it almost feels like Patrick's here too."

  Collin nodded, and Faith saw the grief in his eyes. She took a deep breath and turned to her mother. "Well! What can I do? Set the table?"

  "No, Collin's already handled that." She pulled the roast from the oven. "Why don't you two run over and collect Christa, and when you get back, we should be pretty close to eating."

  "Great!" Faith breathed, then flashed a quick smile in Collin's direction. She turned and clutched Mitch's arm. "Ready, Mitch?"

  He nodded, his eyes locked on hers. She pushed through the kitchen door, and he followed, hesitating long enough to turn and look at Collin.

  Faith grabbed her coat from the rack in the foyer and prayed it was too dim for Mitch to see the shock in her face.

  Mitch secured her arm in his, but even in the dark, he could sense her tension. His lips flattened into a hard line. Blast that pretty boy, he thought to himself. Too bad the shrap- net missed. He sucked in a harsh breath and then exhaled. "Sorry about that," he whispered to God.

  Faith looked up. "What, Mitch?"

  "Nothing," he said, and then uttered a silent prayer that he was right.

  Although Marcy had packed away her best china, her prized candlesticks still remained to grace the table. Their soft light painted a warm glow in the room where Collin joined them for their final dinner. Mrs.
Gerson resided at the head of the table with Marcy to her side while Mitch sat close to Faith, his arm grafted to her shoulder.

  Collin was determined to fight the melancholy he was feeling. He stretched back in the chair and sipped hot coffee as he entertained them with colorful war stories that didn't resemble war at all.

  He noticed that Faith seemed uneasy, but as Marcy poured the wine that warmed them all, she slowly began to relax, her tension giving way to easy laughter as Collin regaled them with his misadventures in France.

  "What have you decided with Charity?" Faith suddenly asked, as if waiting until the opportune time to broach the subject. Her eyes focused on her mother's homemade cobbler as she carved out a mouth-sized piece with her fork.

  Collin looked up from his plate and smiled faintly. "I'm not sure," he said, stabbing at his own dessert. "Things are different now."

  Marcy fumbled her coffee as she set it down. "Collin, you can't be serious! What could possibly be different? Charity loves you."

  Collin attempted a reassuring smile. "I'm not the same man she fell in love with, Mrs. O'Connor."

  His serious tone caused Faith to hesitate, her fork poised midair. "How so, Collin?"

  He sighed. "Things change, Faith. Your father once told me war has a way of illuminating the face of God. He was right."

  The fork dropped from her hand and clattered to the plate. Cheeks blooming bright red, she picked it up and took a deep breath. "What do you mean?" she asked.

  Collin stared straight into her eyes, feeling the heat of Mitch's glare. "I mean that your prayers worked. I gave my life to God. He got me through this foul war, and from now on, it's me and him."

  A spasm twitched in his gut as he watched her face drain to the color of Marcy's ivory tablecloth, and for a brief moment, he thought she was going to faint. No, it doesn't matter, he thought; it's too late. She may have a twinge of regret, possibly, but any regret she might have would be quickly doused by this Mitch character, who hovered over her like a fog on a rainy day.

  Marcy's face registered alarm at the prospect of Collin never being part of the family. "Collin, please, talk to her! You owe her that much. She loves you."

  He nodded and gave Marcy a gentle smile. "I will, Mrs. O'Connor. There's no place I'd rather be than in your family." He quickly deflected the emotion he felt by reaching for his wine glass and emptying it.

  Marcy smiled and stood. "Well, as much as I hate for this evening to end, I have a kitchen full of dishes to do. And Mitch and I have a busy day tomorrow."

  Collin rose and pushed in his chair. "Dinner was wonderful, Mrs. O'Connor."

  She held his face in her hands. "Collin, it's done me a world of good to see you again. Nothing makes me feel better than knowing you'll be here to look after Faith when we leave."

  Collin resisted the urge to smile when Mitch's face blanched white. He saw him tighten his grip on Faith's arm. "I'm sorry, Mrs. O'Connor, but I'm leaving Boston myself tomorrow," he said, noting that Mitch's grip suddenly relaxed once again.

  "Where are you going?" Faith asked, her eyes rounded like a toddler caught by surprise.

  He looked at her, his heart melting in his chest. "To New York," he said quietly. "A good friend from the army lives there. He's still in France because he wasn't lucky enough to get shot." Collin grinned before becoming serious again. "But it's just a matter of days before the armistice now, and he'll be out soon. He and I have talked about going into business together-the printing business," he emphasized with a faint smile. "So, I thought I'd head up there and settle in, you know, just to see how it fits." He flashed a teasing grin. "You'd like him, Faith. He was the one who preached to me day and night until I turned to God just to shut him up. His name is Brady. I hope I can introduce you someday."

  A lump shifted in her throat. "I'd like that, Collin."

  He picked up his plate. "Come on, Mrs. O'Connor. What do you say you and I knock out these dishes? I did have kitchen duty once or twice in the army, you know."

  Faith jumped up. "No, Mother, I'll do the dishes. You cooked this wonderful meal, and now you've got to get into bed."

  Marcy opened her mouth to protest, but Faith cut her off. "No argument, I'm doing dishes, period. Go to bed." Ignoring the hesitant look on her mother's face, Faith rounded the table to collect plates and utensils.

  Marcy sighed. "All right, no argument. I will admit that I am tired. Thanks, Faith. I can always count on you." She put her arms around her daughter's neck and gave her a hug, then turned to Mrs. Gerson. "Christa, I guess this is good-bye. I wish I knew when I would see you again."

  Mrs. Gerson rose from the table and gave Marcy a tight hug. "Soon enough, my dear, soon enough." She dabbed her handkerchief at the wetness in her eyes and sighed. "Mitch, could I trouble you to walk me home?"

  Collin didn't miss the panic in Mitch's face before he answered in a gracious tone. "Absolutely, Mrs. Gerson." He stood and took her arm, glancing first at Faith, then briefly at Collin. A frown puckered his brow. Collin cleared his throat and pushed the chairs in around the table.

  "I'll be by on Sunday, Mrs. Gerson," Faith said, dishes stacked high in her arms.

  "Looking forward to it, my dear, as always. Good night."

  "Good night, Mrs. Gerson," Collin called, battling a grin as Mitch shot a scorching look.

  Marcy closed the door and yawned, a limp hand over her mouth. "Oh goodness, maybe I'll actually sleep tonight." She gave Faith a hug. "Good night, Faith. Don't stay up too late. We've got a long day tomorrow."

  Faith nodded and kissed her mother's cheek. Marcy turned to Collin. "Promise me, Collin, when the war is over, you'll talk to Charity. Losing you would be like losing a son."

  Collin grinned to diffuse the moisture in his eyes. "You won't be rid of me so easily, Mrs. O'Connor. I feel exactly the same way. And I promise I will talk to Charity."

  She patted his cheek. "Good boy just like one of my own. God bless you, Collin," she whispered, then headed up the steps.

  Collin turned to see Faith watching him. She quickly looked away and focused on her stack of dishes as she headed to the kitchen. He followed with more dishes in hand and carried them to the sink. He reached for a dish towel, slung it over his shoulder, and casually leaned against the counter, arms crossed. His eyes followed her every move.

  She filled the sink with soap and water before she glanced up, catching his gaze. A soft tint of color fanned her cheeks.

  He grinned. "Mitch seems a bit overprotective-he knows about us, doesn't he?"

  She bit her lip. The pastel in her cheeks blossomed to flame.

  He shook his head and laughed. "I thought so. Did you see the look on his face when Mrs. Gerson asked him to walk her home?"

  She suddenly giggled and nodded.

  Collin grabbed the dish towel from his shoulder. "Okay, Little Bit, are you going to start washing, or am I gonna have to flick you with this towel?"

  She gave him a smirk. "Why do I have to wash?"

  "Because I'm bigger than you ... and meaner." He snapped the towel hard in the air, making a loud pop.

  She chuckled and rolled her sleeves, then piled the dishes into the water.

  "By the way, congratulations."

  She shot him a quick glance before returning her focus to the pot in her hands. "Thanks, Collin. He's a good man."

  His gut twisted. "Wouldn't expect otherwise. When's the big day?"

  Faith took a deep breath and pushed a strand of hair from her eyes. "The plan is for me to finish things here as quickly as possible, then head back to Ireland. Once I return, we plan to be married as soon as possible."

  "Smart guy. It's tough to wait-especially with a girl like you."

  She kept her gaze straight ahead, but he didn't miss the quiver in her cheek. She handed him a dripping pot, and he proceeded to dry, his thoughts reflective. "I'm happy for you, Faith. You got just what you wanted. I've been praying you would."

  She looked up in surprise. "You have?" she asked,
wet hands dripping on the floor.

  He laughed and gently steered them back over the sink. "You're dripping." He continued to dry the pot. "Of course I have. It's the least I could do after all you did for me."

  She faced him again, hands dribbling as before. He arched an eyebrow. Distracted, she impatiently wiped her wet hands on her dress and peered up at him. "What have I done for you?"

  He set the pot on the counter and smiled. "You prayed your heart out for me."

  "How do you know that?" she whispered.

  He reached over to push a stray curl from her eyes. "Because I know you, and I wouldn't be here today, alive and a changed man, if you hadn't. So you see, I owe you."

  She drooped against the counter as if the wind had been sucked out of her.

  He laughed. "Don't tell me you're surprised. Isn't that what you've been praying for?"

  She nodded.

  "Well, it worked. Not soon enough for us," he said, his tone light but his heart heavy, "but effective, nonetheless."

  Her eyelids fluttered ever so slightly, and he noticed her nails pinched white on the counter. Her lips parted, giving vent to shallow breaths.

  His jaw clamped tight. It wasn't fair! Here she was a breath away, his heart's desire, and now she belonged to somebody else.

  Abruptly, Collin flung the towel on the counter and stepped in front of her, his eyes burning. "You know, he's going to walk through that door any minute now, and you and I will never be alone again. Come on, Faith, what do you say-do I get to kiss the bride?"

  The breath seized in Faith's lungs, and old, familiar feelings surged before he even laid a hand on her. Her heart pounded at a pace she hadn't felt since the last time he had touched her, and she wondered how that could possibly be after all this time. No, she thought to herself, I can't let this happen!