Briana’s eyes glistened with wetness as she stared at Mrs. Gerson. Her gaze flitted to Faith, then back to the old woman’s face. Wiping her eyes with her hand, she sat up straight, pushing her chin out. “I want it, Mrs. Gerson. I want what you and Faith have. How do I get it?”
The old woman beamed and nodded her head. Faith stole a glimpse at Maisie, who was watching the entire scene with curiosity.
“It’s simply a heart thing, Briana. All you have to do is acknowledge you’re a sinner and that Jesus is your Savior. Then simply ask him to come into your heart and be Lord of your life. You’ll never be alone again. I’ll be delighted to lead you in prayer and then, if you like, you may keep one of my Bibles to see all he has in store for you. I can assure you, my dear, your life will never be the same.” Mrs. Gerson took Briana’s hands in hers. “Shall we?”
Briana nodded, her hands trembling. “Yes, please,” she whispered.
With the softest of smiles gentling her lips, Mrs. Gerson nodded and led them in prayer, her voice strong and sure as they all bowed their heads.
8
Marcy was extremely worried about Charity. She’d never seen her daughter depressed for such a long period of time, and her concern was growing with each passing week. Patrick tried to comfort her, but Marcy knew he took a more practical view of his daughter’s state of mind.
“She’s a bit heartbroken over this McGuire boy, that’s all, which is natural, I suppose, given the influence he’s had over her. I’m just grateful it’s over. She’ll get past it soon enough.”
His words did little to console Marcy as she lit the candles on Charity’s birthday cake. “I hope you’re right, Patrick. It just breaks my heart to see her like this, especially on her birthday. Seventeen! My goodness, where did the time go?”
“All to Charity, for sure, because it certainly hasn’t touched you, my love.” Patrick slipped his arms around Marcy’s waist and buried his face in her hair.
Marcy gave him a wry smile. “Mmm, a case of being blinded by love, I think.” She handed him a stack of plates to carry in.
Charity hardly seemed like a girl celebrating her birthday. She smiled as Marcy set the cake in front of her, but to Marcy, it was a hollow smile. She was thinner than she’d been, and more than Marcy liked. Most evenings Charity would sit quietly at the table and pick at her food, offering very little to the lively family conversations that always ensued in the O’Connor household. Even her complexion seemed to have lost some of its usual creamy glow.
“Don’t forget to make a wish,” Katie reminded before Charity blew out the candles. “You’re gonna get your wish, you’re gonna get your wish!” Katie was ecstatic as she bounced up and down on her chair.
Even Charity seemed brighter. “Oh, I hope so,” she whispered, a bit of the glow creeping back into her cheeks. Marcy gave her a warm smile.
Everyone devoured the cake, including Charity. When plates were empty, Marcy jumped up from the table, eyes twinkling. “Ready for presents? Let’s head into the parlor.”
Charity positioned herself in the seat of honor—Marcy’s rocking chair by the fire—while Marcy brought in an impressive stack of presents. With great fanfare, she placed them before the birthday girl, hugging her daughter tightly. “My little girl—a woman of seventeen!”
“Hey, I’m your little girl, Mama!” Katie’s tone was indignant. Marcy scooped her up in her arms, tickling until Katie squealed with glee.
The family watched while Charity opened her presents one by one: a brooch from Sean, a poem from Beth, and a handmade clay dish from Steven—to put her hairpins in, he said.
Faith grinned when Charity opened her gift—a lovely red woolen scarf she had crocheted herself. “In place of the one you ‘borrowed’ from my drawer,” she said with mock indignation.
A soft giggle escaped Charity’s lips. She gave Faith an innocent smile. “Mmm … now I have two!”
“Open mine next!” Katie demanded, beaming with pride as Charity unwrapped her present—a picture of the birthday girl herself made out of navy beans glued to paper. Charity oohed and aahed with great relish, holding it up for everyone to see while Katie took a bow.
When Charity opened the last present, she seemed pleased with the new blouse and skirt Marcy had picked out for her. Nodding at her family, she smiled and thanked each of them again, appearing to be quite taken with their generosity.
“Well, that’s it, I guess …” Charity said, stooping to retrieve bits of torn paper and bows.
Marcy grinned at Patrick, then rose from the chair. “Not quite.” Pulling a tiny box from her pocket, she placed it in front of her daughter. “Happy birthday, darling,” Marcy whispered. She stepped back to view the surprise on Charity’s face.
Charity tore the paper off and lifted the lid, gasping when she saw its contents. In the box lay two delicate silver earrings. Slowly she lifted one to her ear, her face luminous. “Mother, they’re beautiful … so beautiful!”
“They were your grandmother’s. She gave them to me when I was your age. I’ve given her brooch to Faith and wanted you to have these. I hope you like them.”
Charity bounced from the chair to fling herself into her mother’s arms. “I love them, Mother, almost as much as I love you.” Sniffing, she swabbed her face with her hands and approached Patrick. He seemed surprised as she hugged him at length. When she pulled away, his eyes were moist. “Thank you so much, Father. I love you too,” she said in a husky voice.
Patrick squeezed her hand. “I love my girl,” he whispered. Charity smiled at him shyly.
“Did you get your wish?” Katie asked.
“Not yet, but I have faith.”
Patrick stood and stretched. “Okay, Katie, Steven, Beth—time for bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed,” Katie announced, clearly annoyed the festivities had come to an end. “I want to celebrate Charity’s birthday some more.”
Patrick heaved his youngest daughter to his shoulders. “You’ll just have to celebrate in bed, young lady. Steven, don’t forget your shoes.”
“Up for a game of chess tonight, Father?” Sean asked.
Patrick hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. “No, better not, Sean. It was a tiring day at the paper. I think I’ll call it a day. But maybe Faith will play.”
Faith yawned. “Well, it’s no fun beating him all the time, but I suppose I could give him a chance to redeem his pride.”
Sean laughed and threw a pillow at her face. A knock sounded at the door. Charity looked up in surprise as Marcy hurried to answer it. Patrick stopped and turned on the steps while Katie dug her heels into his chest. “Giddyup, Daddy!”
“For mercy’s sake, who do you suppose it could be at this late hour?” Marcy asked with a smile. She opened the door. Her fingers went cold on the knob, and a rush of air lodged in her throat. Collin McGuire stood on the stoop, polite expression in place and present in hand. Marcy’s smile stiffened. Without a word, she turned to look up at her husband. Patrick slowly put Katie down on the steps, appearing oblivious that she squealed into the parlor once again. His eyes were flecked with granite as he stared, first at Collin, then at Charity to gauge her reaction.
Faith stood like stone, her face and fingers chilled. In her brain, the room stilled to a dreamlike state, words and movement coagulating into slow motion. She fixed her gaze on her sister, unable to shift it to where Collin stood at the door.
The look on Charity’s face was truly a sight to behold. The glow was back in full force, and her eyes were glittering like diamonds. Her beauty seemed intensified as she gazed at the man who held both of their hearts. Charity’s lips quivered into a shy smile, and her fingers floated to the collar of her dress.
Clearing his throat, Collin addressed her father with a rare note of humility in his voice. “Mr. O’Connor, I apologize for barging in like this, I really do. But I couldn’t let Charity’s birthday pass without letting her know how much she means to me.”
His
words drew a gasp from Charity. Faith’s gaze darted to her father, who appeared unflinching as his lips flattened in a hard line.
“Who is he, Mama?” Katie asked. Elizabeth watched the whole scenario with great fascination while Steven yawned. Faith forced herself to breathe.
“My name is Collin McGuire,” he said to Katie, “and I’m in love with your sister.”
Charity’s fingers fluttered to her lips while the wind hitched in Faith’s throat. She began to cough, her eyes watering as she glanced at Collin.
“Which one?” Katie wanted to know. A smile flickered on Collin’s face.
“I thought I told you to leave my daughter alone,” her father hissed. The gray of his eyes eclipsed to black. His mouth slashed into a scowl.
Collin turned to him without a trace of sarcasm. “Yes, sir, you did. And I’ve tried. I haven’t seen Charity for close to two months now, and it’s made me realize I don’t want to go on without her. I know you don’t like me, Mr. O’Connor, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes to win your respect.”
“Whatever it takes?” Her father’s tone was scathing.
“Yes, sir. I don’t expect you to let me waltz right back into her life, but I do want you to know I’ve been working double shifts for a while now, and I’m saving real hard. I’m trying to be the kind of man you’d want for your daughter. I’ll do whatever you want, Mr. O’Connor—follow any rules you set down—only please give me a chance. I love your daughter, sir.”
Her mother stepped forward and gently touched her father’s sleeve. “It is her birthday, Patrick,” she said quietly. “At the very least, shouldn’t we allow him to give her his present?”
Her father glared and waved him into the parlor, causing Charity to weep louder.
Collin grinned sheepishly. “Charity, don’t cry, please. I’m not here to make you cry.”
Charity laughed and pushed the tears across her face. Collin handed her a handkerchief. Like a little girl, Charity blew her nose loudly and laughed again, taking the gift from Collin’s hand. Trembling, she opened the box and uttered a cry of delight as she held a beautiful mother-of-pearl comb to the light. The tears reappeared. This time, Collin grabbed the handkerchief and wiped the wetness from her cheeks. “It’s not a lot, Charity, but someday I hope to give you much more.”
Her father cleared his throat, and her mother shot him a pleading look. Faith, desperate to convey an air of calm, quietly moved to the love seat, where she sat ramrod straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Charity looked radiant, clutching the comb to her chest. “I love it, Collin, more than anything in the world!”
Her father exhaled a hiss of air through clenched teeth.
“Mother, will you help me? I want Collin to see it in my hair. Please?” Charity turned to her father, her eyes entreating his permission. “Father, may I try it on … please?”
The breath stilled in Faith’s throat. Her father finally nodded, causing Charity to squeal and snatch her mother’s hand. The two skittered upstairs while her father sighed and picked Katie up in his arms.
Slowly, absently, Faith pressed a hand to her stomach to quell the nausea that was rising in her throat.
“Faith, would you be kind enough to get our guest a drink while I take Katie upstairs?” her father asked. “Beth, you too. Where’s Steven?” His eyes scanned the room and spotted Steven asleep on the floor. “Sean, would you carry him up for me, please?” He turned to Collin. “You’re welcome to take a seat. We’ll talk after I put Katie to bed.”
Collin nodded and perched on the arm of the sofa. Faith felt the heat of his stare as she rushed from the room. Inside the sanctuary of the kitchen, her mind hazed to a near stupor, her oxygen supply greatly impaired. How could this be happening? She leaned hard against the kitchen table, hands pressed white and knees teetering, then flinched when the kitchen door creaked open. She jerked and spun around too quickly. Her discomfort lured a smile to his lips.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked, her breath thick in her throat.
Collin’s eyes never left hers as he sauntered within inches of where she stood. “Getting a drink.”
She stepped back and stumbled against a chair. He laughed.
“You’re crazy!” she whispered.
He laughed again. Sliding a chair out, he sat and straddled it, arms relaxed as they hung loosely over the back. “You’ve called me that before, but now … well, now I think it’s probably true.” He cocked his head, his eyes dark pools of heat as he studied her. “I am crazy—about your sister. I’m going to marry her.”
His statement found its mark, coldcocking her like an electric shock. She sank into the chair, her breath cleaving to her tongue. She licked the dryness from her lips and closed her eyes.
She heard him shift in the seat before he suddenly leaped to his feet. She opened her eyes to see him glaring at her, his eyes glinting like jagged quartz. He took a deep breath and bent over the chair, fingers bloodless as they gripped its back. “So help me, Faith, you provoke me—more than any woman I’ve ever met. I find myself wanting to hurt you, then end up getting hurt instead. Well, there’s nothing you can do about Charity and me. She cares for me, just as I am. And I don’t have to change one bit for her. That’s more than I can say for you.” He started for the door.
She looked up. Her voice was barely a whisper. “I’ve always cared for you—just as you are.”
Collin stopped and turned, the color leeching from his face. “What? What did you say?”
It was an effort to stand, but she did, hand propped on the table for support. In hypnotic motion, her gaze lifted to his. “I said, I’ve always cared for you … since I was a little girl. You’re everything I ever wanted, except …”
Collin looked as if she had spat in his face. His lips steeled into a slit. “Except I don’t believe in your God,” he hissed. The statement seemed to suck the air from the room. He took a deep breath and braced his hand against the door. “That doesn’t matter to Charity.”
“My father will never allow you to marry her, you know.” Her tone was listless as she stared at the floor.
“Yes, he will. You underestimate the power of my charm. I’ll become a changed man. You’ll see, I’ll win him over.”
Faith looked at the man who owned her heart. A sad smile shadowed her lips. “You’re willing to change. Just not for me.”
The hard line of his chin angled as his gray eyes seared hers. “I’ll change on the outside to suit your father. I’d have to change my soul to suit you.”
She nodded and stood. “It’s going to be difficult, you know. I’ll never get used to it.”
His voice gentled. “You will, and so will I. I do care for your sister.”
She tried to smile. “What do you want to drink?” she asked.
“What do you have?” he responded, and Faith walked to the icebox.
“Nothing strong enough to suit you.” Her voice was flat, with just an edge.
Collin smiled. “That’s okay. I’m thinking of giving it up.”
Patrick watched from the bed while Marcy rigorously brushed her hair with the routine one hundred strokes, but it was one of the rare moments when his mind was not on his wife. It had been a very disturbing evening, to say the least. He cuffed his pillow then turned on his side to get comfortable, but it was useless. Sleep would not come easily tonight, not while he had the complexities of his daughter’s love life weighing so heavily on his mind.
Marcy completed her regimen, turned out the light, and hurried to slip into the warmth of their bed. She leaned over to kiss him softly on the cheek. Instinctively, his arm reached to pull her to him, and she snuggled into the warmth of his embrace. “She looked happy, didn’t she?” Marcy’s tone sounded hopeful but cautious.
“Mmm,” he responded, certain Charity’s happiness over Collin was not a good thing.
“What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know, darlin’.”
“He’s a man, Marcy. Charity’s a child.”
“She’s seventeen, Patrick—she’ll be graduating in May. We have to face the fact she’s become a young woman.” Marcy hesitated, obviously waiting for a response, but this time none came. She continued. “She loves him, Patrick, and he seems to care for her.”
Patrick shifted away from his wife to punch at his pillow again. He turned to lie flat on his back. “She doesn’t know the first thing about love, Marcy, and as far as Collin McGuire goes, it’s not love on his mind.”
Marcy sat up in the bed and reached for his hand. “Patrick, maybe if we took it really slow. You know, allowed him to come over to spend an evening with the entire family occasionally, maybe then we would get to know him, trust him …”
“There’s no trusting a man like that.”
Marcy lifted a hand to gently stroke his face. “You know, you were a man like that once, my love. Tonight when Collin walked through the door with steel in his eyes, he reminded me so much of you. My father didn’t trust you either, if you recall. But you won him over—and me.”
Patrick sighed and tugged her close. He buried his face in her hair, wondering for the thousandth time how he’d been so blessed to find her. Was it the same with Collin? Should he go against his better judgment and allow Collin to see his daughter? “I’m not comfortable with it, Marcy, not at all. But maybe you’re right; perhaps we need to know him better. I promise I’ll give it much thought.”
“And prayer?”
A Passion Most Pure (The Daughters of Boston Book #1): A Novel Page 12
