She took a step back. "Who?"
"God loves you, Shannon, and he has a plan for your life."
He heard her gasp as her eyes opened wide. "What? You, Collin? You're preaching God?"
A sheepish smile creased his lips, and he combed his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, it is pretty crazy, isn't it? But he bailed me out on a field in France, and I can tell ya the life that passed before my eyes was anything but pretty. I realized the huge void I was trying to fill with women and booze could only be filled by him. We're a team now, and I'm at peace for the first time in my life." He tilted his head and grinned. "You should try it."
She rubbed her arms. "Goodness, Collin, I wouldn't know where to start ..."
He laughed and slung an arm around her shoulder. "How about starting with a cup of coffee at my house? It's not too late, and I have a feeling my mother will have a pot brewed and waiting. What do you say-great coffee and a new life-I guarantee it's a deal you can't refuse."
She smiled and took his arm. Her eyes sparkled. "So I'm going home with you after all, am I now? There'll be talk, you know."
Collin laughed and squeezed her shoulder, steering her down the street. "And it's only the beginning, Shannon darlin', only the beginning."
She twitched, and it woke him. His eyes were heavy with sleep as he slumped on the couch, arms wound around her while she slept on his chest. Mitch had no idea what time it was, but he knew it was late. How long had they slept? She twitched again and then moaned, and he stroked her hair, resting his face against it. He knew he should wake her, or at least carry her to her room, but he couldn't. There were so few moments left. And so, he remained still, listening to the sound of her soft breathing. Occasionally she would flinch so hard it would jolt him. She's dreaming, he thought, and his arms held her closer. He could hear her mumble, and he bent his head to listen, catching a gentle laugh.
"I do," she whispered, and Mitch smiled. "I love you, Collin, I do," she said, and his blood ran cold. She jerked once more and moaned before finally resting once again, totally unaware she had just inflicted more pain than he had ever known in his life. A sick feeling settled in his stomach. It had always been there, he knew, in the back of his mind, this gnawing fear she still cared for Collin, but he had refused to face it. He had been convinced, as she had been, that once they were married, Collin's hold on her would be broken. But the nausea in his gut told him he was wrong. Collin would always be there-in the family and in her heart. The reality all but paralyzed him.
He laid his head back and stared in the dark, his breathing shallow while his brain wrestled with what to do. He couldn't live with knowing she loved another man. And he wasn't sure he could live without her. Mitch held her tighter and closed his eyes. "God help me," he whispered. And letting the pain go until tomorrow, he drifted off into what little rest was left in a night he wanted to forget.
Collin shut the door and locked it quietly, then turned to sling his coat on the hook. Rubbing his face, he yawned and glanced at the clock on the windowsill-1:30 a.m. He still had a chance for a decent night's sleep, he thought as he carried the dirty coffee cups from the table to the sink.
The evening certainly hadn't gone as he'd hoped-he lost the only woman he had ever really loved-yet somehow God had brought good from it, nonetheless, as promised. His lips tilted into a tired smile as he washed and dried the dishes, then placed them in the cupboard.
All things work together forgood to them that love God .. .
Faith had quoted that once, he remembered, and the thought of her suddenly twisted his heart like a fist of iron. He turned out the light and headed to his room, choosing to think about the "good" God had brought instead. Shannon had given her life to God tonight, right there in the kitchen of the very man who had often made love to her in a bedroom down the hall, unbeknownst to his mother. Collin shivered inside at the flagrant arrogance and rebellion he had once shown to the God who loved him. A sharp stab of grief pierced his heart. How could he have been so blind, so hard, so very cold? His parents hadn't raised him that way; certainly his father, so kind and loving, had given him a better example to follow.
Collin closed the bathroom door and leaned over the basin to splash cold water on his face. He stared in the mirror for a moment, then leaned heavily against the sink, eyes tightly closed. God help him, how he had loved his father! He had wanted nothing more than to be just like him-a caring human being who was gentle and kind, a defender of the weak. Those were the true marks of a man, his father would tell him. Collin had longed to be that kind of man. And so he had learned to use his abundance of charm to make others feel special, loved, like his father had so often done for him.
Collin sighed, looked into the mirror once again, then proceeded to brush his teeth. Somewhere along the way it had all changed. Memories of his mother picking at his father-a barb here, a cut there-came back to him in a rush of sadness. She'd been raised to enjoy the finer things in life, and no matter how hard his father worked, it had never been enough. She had seen his gentleness as a weakness, his kindness as a flaw, and before his young eyes, Collin watched as she slowly sucked the life out of the marriage-and the man himself.
A malaise descended upon his spirit like the web of a spider, and Collin suddenly recognized the bitterness that had grown in him toward his mother, a bitterness that hardened and solidified upon the death of his father. It was that bitterness-that sin-that turned him away from God. Collin stared at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes rimmed with wetness at just how far he had strayed from his father's hand, and God's.
"Forgive me, Lord, for the bitterness I've held toward my mother all these years. I love her, and I choose to forgive her. Please give her happiness."
Turning out the light, Collin made his way down the dark hall, past his mother's room, only to stop at the faint sound of her voice edged with sleep.
"Collin?"
"Mother, why are you still awake? The coffee keeping you up?" He moved into the room and hunched beside her bed.
Her hand reached up to touch his cheek. "You walked Shannon home?"
He nodded and gently brushed the hair from her eyes. She smiled in the dark. "She's nice, Collin. I think things will go well for her now. She's lucky to have you as a friend."
Collin felt the sting of tears in his eyes. His laugh was harsh. "Tonight, yes-in the past, no, I don't think so. But, she is on her way now, Mother, and that's what matters."
"You are too, aren't you, Collin? You're finally back on track, well on your way to being the kind of man your father wanted you to be, I think." Katherine McGuire squeezed her son's hand. Tears glinted in her eyes. "I'm so very proud of you, Collin. Your father would be too."
A lump sealed his throat as he leaned to put his arms around his mother. Tears blurred his eyes, and without the slightest embarrassment, he clutched her tightly, an overwhelming rush of love welling his heart. "Mother, I hope you can forgive me for all the grief I've caused, and for all the bitterness I've held against you. I love you. I've always loved you."
Katherine McGuire's body quivered with a sob as she gripped her son in her arms. "I know, son. And I love you too. More than you'll ever know. And I loved your father ..." Her voice broke as she clung to him. "I never fully appreciated what a good man he was until it was too late. Will you forgive me for that, Collin?"
Collin pulled away to smile into his mother's face. He reached out a hand to stroke her hair. "I already have. And if I'm not mistaken, I'd say we're both well on our way." He kissed her cheek and stood, then pulled the covers tightly to her chin. "Good night, Mother. Sleep well."
"Good night, Collin, you too. Sweet dreams."
His smile was thin as he made his way to his room.
Sweet dreams had been noticeably absent from his life for well over a year now, he thought dryly. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the chair, then did the same with his trousers. After climbing into bed, he stretched out on the cool sheets, arms behind his head as he sta
red at the ceiling. All at once, thoughts of Faith's fiery kiss invaded his thoughts, and a slash of heat shot through him along with a flicker of pain.
"No!" he said out loud, the sound of his voice shrill to his own ears. "She doesn't belong to me, God; please take her out of my mind." He turned on his side and squeezed his eyes shut, but it was no use. He saw her again, laughing, teasing, her eyes searching his as they talked in the kitchen, and a desperate longing filled his soul. He couldn't forget the look on her face. She had been stunned at the change in him, almost a look of alarm ...
He sat up abruptly. A flash of heat soaked him, causing sweat to trickle his neck. He found himself falling to his knees beside the bed, hands grasped tightly in prayer. His muscles, layered with sweat, strained in the dark. "Oh, God, you're the desire of my heart now, not her. Help me to let her go. All the longing and passion I have for her, take it and use it for you. Use me, God, any way you want. Just take me where you want me to go."
Slowly he rose from the floor and tumbled back into bed, all energy depleted. He closed his eyes again and saw her face, but this time peace filled his soul. He loved her. Loved her with the spiritual intensity she had always longed for, an intensity she had introduced him to, an intensity sanctioned by God. Love like that just didn't vanish with the utterance of a prayer. It took time to heal, time to redirect. And so he would use it instead-the beautiful power of it to do God's bidding. He would pray. Every thought of her would become a prayer, a blessing on her head. He would return to her, through the depth of his love, the good she had brought to him. And he knew to the core of his being that in the process of blessing the one he could never have, he would find his way to peace.
Marcy opened her eyes to the final shaft of sunlight she would ever see streaming through her bedroom window, a blinding reminder of just how dark her life had become. She squinted to block it out and turned in the bed, her arm falling upon the emptiness beside her. She sat up, eyes wide, looking for her daughter, and wondered if she had risen early because she couldn't sleep. That was more her pattern than Faith's, but Faith was, after all, the one being left behind. Perhaps the loneliness had begun to set in.
Marcy rose from the bed and grabbed her robe. Wrapping it tightly around her, she tiptoed down the stairs into the parlor that was now filled with morning. She stopped at the door. There they lay, the two of them, sound asleep on the couch. Mitch sat, his arms draped over Faith while she rested, her legs curled on the sofa and her head in his lap. Marcy blinked. How in the world could anyone sleep like that, she wondered, and then smiled when she realized there would have been a time she would have taken them to task for such an incident.
She gently shook Mitch's shoulder, and the blue eyes opened, filled with fatigue. She smiled. "Good morning. I trust you slept well?" she asked, and he seemed embarrassed as he shifted on the sofa. Marcy put her hand on his shoulder. "No, it's all right. Are you ready for coffee now, or do you need to go up and get a few more hours of decent sleep? We've got the time, you know-ship doesn't sail until late this afternoon."
Mitch blinked, then rubbed his eyes and yawned. "No, I wouldn't sleep." He put his hand on Faith's head and stroked her hair while Marcy watched. "Faith," he whis pered, "we fell asleep on the couch. I think you better get up.-
Faith stirred, her eyes lidded with confusion. "What?" she asked, then bolted upright when she saw Marcy.
Marcy smiled. "It's all right, Faith; I understand how you could have fallen asleep. I'm just worried the sleep you did manage to get wasn't as restful as it might have been. Do you need to go up and get into bed?"
Faith shook her head and groped at her hair to pull it away from her face. "No ... no, I'll be fine. I can always sleep in tomorrow. We've got too much to do."
Marcy patted her cheek. "You'll feel better when you freshen up," she said, heading for the kitchen, "and get a good hot cup of coffee inside of you." She disappeared through the door.
Faith hesitated before turning to Mitch. "Good morning," she whispered, rubbing her arms to hide her awkwardness. "Goodness, I guess we've spent our first night together. I hope I didn't drool on you."
"No," he said quietly.
She squinted a bit. "Are you all right?" Her hand reached to touch his cheek. "You look.. . drained. But then I guess you would. I hogged the couch, didn't I?"
"Completely," he said with a faint smile.
She laughed. "I'll do better, I promise." His smile faded enough to catch her eye. "What?" she persisted, her brows crinkled in concern.
He stared with sober eyes, and his voice held no mirth. "Are we doing the right thing?"
She felt her face go pale. "What?" she asked again.
He stood and stretched, his eyes brooding. "Getting married. Is it what you want?" He watched her carefully, as if measuring her response-the way she looked at him, the color in her face, her tone.
She suddenly felt chilled and buffed her arms with her palms. "Of course it is, Mitch. Why would you ask that? As a matter of fact, I just dreamed of our wedding last night."
"I figured you were dreaming of a wedding," he said. "You said 'I do.'"
"Well, then, look at that. I can't even be without you in my dreams. What more proof do you need than that?" she asked with a laugh.
"More, I'm afraid."
Her heart stopped. "What are you talking about?"
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "It's not my name you said, Faith."
The oxygen swirled still in her lungs. "What?"
His eyes snapped open, and his pupils dilated in anger. "It wasn't our wedding."
"That's not true! You were there. We were married!"
"All I heard was his name. You said, 'I love you, Collin, I do.'"
She recoiled as if he slapped her. "No! That didn't happen." Closing her eyes, she put her hand to her head and tried to think, to remember. She thought of Collin, of how she felt when he held her, kissed her, and a sick feeling buzzed inside. Her eyes flew open. "I love you!" she cried. She reached for him, but he stepped back.
"Do you love him too?"
Her heart thudded, and her gaze dropped to the floor. "I don't know," she whispered.
He grabbed her then, his fingers gouging her shoulders. "You do know-you're lying to me! Tell me the truth. Do you still love him?"
She jerked away, wet fury stinging her eyes. "Yes!" she screamed, and his face calcified to stone. He spun around. She clutched his arm. "Mitch, don't do this. I want to marry you!"
He turned, his blue eyes glazed with ice. "Perhaps we better sleep on it."
Her temper flashed. "I just did, and I want to marry you. I won't lie to you, Mitch, ever again when it comes to Collin. No, I'm not over him yet-I realized that fully last night. But the fact of the matter is he's leaving, and in a very short time I am too. There's nothing more for me here. I want to go home-home to Ireland and to you."
"And if he marries Charity? How am I supposed to cope with that? Knowing he's part of our lives forever, part of you forever ..."
She put a hand to her throat, the taste of fear weighting her tongue. "Collin wouldn't want to live in Ireland, I'm sure, if he even marries Charity. We still don't know that for sure."
A spasm jerked in his jaw. "No," he whispered, "all we do know for sure is that you love him ... and that he loves you."
She gasped at the sound of his words and dropped to the sofa, her hand shielding her eyes. "He doesn't love me..."
"The devil he doesn't! Do you think I'm blind? The way he looks at you makes me sick. But even that didn't matter until I saw how you looked at him. It tears my heart out, Faith, and I'm not sure I can handle it."
She started to cry. "So, what do we do?"
"I don't know. Maybe we need to give it a rest for a while. God knows we could use some time apart to pray about it."
She nodded and wiped the tears from her eyes, then stood to face him. "I love you, Mitch," she whispered.
His mouth tightened in a hard line. "
I know. As much as you can with another man in your heart. But I won't share you, Faith, not with any man."
She nodded again and took a deep breath. She pried the ring from her finger and held it out with a quivering hand. "Keep it for me, will you?" He stared at it for a moment, then took it and dropped it in his pocket.
She pushed the hair from her eyes and tried to smile. "Goodness, no wonder you want to postpone the engagement," she said, attempting to be light, "I must look frightful! I better go freshen up." Without a backward glance, she fled the room, fighting a fresh blur of tears as she ascended the stairs.
The morning was strained, but then Marcy wasn't surprised. Why should any of them be happy, she thought. They were all being torn-she from the life she'd known, Mitch from the woman he loved, and Faith from everything she held dear. It was not a day to remember; it was a day to forget, and for Marcy, the memory of it could not pass soon enough.
She fixed them breakfast, although none of them really ate; each picked at their plate as if their thoughts and appetites were somewhere else. Marcy sensed tension between Faith and Mitch but attributed it to sheer anxiety at their pending separation. They would be together again soon enough, she mused, and the thought warmed her. Unlike she and Patrick, she suddenly remembered, and the warmth was pushed aside, as always, by the cold grip of reality.
The plan for the day was simple enough. Mitch and she would assist Faith in packing up as much of the house as they could. They would leave only a few things for Faith until the house could be sold and their lives in Boston put to rest. Faith might even move in with Mrs. Gerson for a while, Marcy thought, although she suspected her daughter would stay until the bitter end. Her daughter's heart was tenacious in its clinging to the things and people she loved, and Marcy knew she loved this house, or at least the life it once held for her.
A Passion Most Pure (Daughters of Boston, Book 1) Page 40
