“Not necessarily,” Marcy said, her tone dangerously quiet.
Faith’s head jerked up. “No! I don’t want to ruin what Charity has. Collin loves her. It’s not his fault I have feelings for him.”
Marcy’s eyebrow slashed up. “Oh, really? And he had nothing to do with it, I suppose?”
Faith blushed. “Yes, he did, but he belongs to Charity now. He wants to marry her, and he should. She loves him. I don’t want to cause any problem, Mother. I just want to be free from this. Will you help me? Please?”
For a moment, Marcy stewed, angry with Collin and heartbroken for her daughter. Then all at once, she folded Faith in her arms. “That young man is really something,” she said, her tone as irritable as her frame of mind.
Faith leaned hard against her mother’s chest. “He is at that,” she said, gulping a shaky breath. “But for me, I pray he goes from something to nothing in record time.”
Marcy tried to smile, but all she could think about was one thing: what in the world was she going to tell Patrick?
“How is she feeling?” Patrick inquired when Marcy reappeared. She noticed how quickly Collin glanced up from the chess game he was playing with Sean. Oh, how she wanted to shake him! He fit in so well, just like family, and now it hurt that she couldn’t quite trust him.
She smiled weakly at her husband. “She’s fine—just coming down with something, I think. I told her to sleep in through breakfast, and maybe even church.” Marcy looked at the clock on the mantel. “Goodness, speaking of breakfast, I better start; you all must be starved. Charity, Elizabeth, I’ll need your help.”
“Mine too, Mama?” Katie was already up, bounding toward the kitchen when Marcy scooped her up and deposited her into Patrick’s lap.
“No, darling, Daddy’s wanting to read that new book to you. Will you let him?”
Katie giggled and burrowed into Patrick’s lap as Marcy handed him the book. She kissed Katie on the head and Patrick on the cheek. He smiled.
The morning passed in a blur of activity. They enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, followed by more time in the parlor, talking, playing games, and admiring presents before Sean escorted Mrs. Gerson home and the family headed off to St. Stephen’s.
The clock chimed 1:30 p.m. as they returned. Marcy checked on Faith, who had actually managed to doze. Although she seemed some better, Marcy was sure she was in no condition to face Collin quite so soon. She kissed her on the cheek and headed downstairs. On the landing, she spotted Collin and Charity standing in the foyer, putting their coats on while Patrick stood at the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked. Her high-pitched tone caused all three to turn in apparent surprise.
“Collin wants Charity to meet his mother,” Patrick explained, his eyes puzzled.
“Oh! When will you be bringing her back, Collin?”
Collin appeared uncomfortable at Marcy’s tense tone. He managed a nervous smile. “Mrs. O’Connor, I promise I’ll have her home right after dinner, safe and sound.”
“And what time will that be?”
He blinked, clearly taken aback.
Charity shot her mother a pleading look. “Mother, really! We’re engaged. Doesn’t that change anything? Father, doesn’t it?”
Confusion knitted Patrick’s brow as he stared from Marcy’s tense face to Charity’s irked expression. Collin watched Marcy closely, not saying a word.
“Marcy, I told Collin since they’re engaged, I would allow Charity to go out with him,” Patrick said. “You don’t have any objections, do you?”
Collin could feel his hands sweating. Surely Faith hadn’t said anything …
“Marcy?”
She swallowed hard and shook her head. “No … I suppose not … as long as we take it very slow.”
“Oh, Mother!” Charity groaned.
Collin gently touched her arm. “Charity, it’s all right. You’re lucky to have parents who care about you. And I’m lucky too, that they’ve been so gracious to me.” He looked up at Marcy, his eyes intent. “But, it’s their trust I want more than anything. If your mother’s not comfortable …”
Their eyes locked, and Collin knew. Knew that Marcy was fully aware he was the reason for Faith’s fainting spell. His heart constricted.
“Not completely, but I do want to trust you, Collin. I’ve grown quite fond of you; we all have. I would like to believe nothing would jeopardize that.”
She spoke of Faith, and they both knew it. Collin nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on hers. “I understand, Mrs. O’Connor. Please believe me—I would never hurt your daughter.”
“Mother, please!” Charity was on the verge of tears. Patrick stood holding the door, the bridge of his nose creased in unspoken question.
“I believe you, Collin. We’ll see you after supper, then.”
Collin took a deep breath and nodded. Turning, he shook hands with Patrick and quickly steered Charity through the door. Patrick closed it behind them and leaned back, his hand dangling over the knob as his brow quirked high. “And now, would you mind telling me, darlin’, what was that all about?”
Marcy descended the steps to stand in front of Patrick. “Oh, I’ll tell you, my love, but I’m not too sure you’ll want to hear it.” Taking his hand in hers, she led him upstairs to their room and shut the door behind.
Barely beyond the front yard, Charity grabbed Collin’s arm and dragged him toward Mrs. Ellis’s overgrown holly bush. In the process, he almost tripped, and Charity’s giggle was pure mischief.
“What are you doing?” he asked, laughing.
She pulled him close, throwing her arms around his neck. “Kiss me, Collin. It’s all I’ve been thinking about!”
For a split second, the breath stilled on his lips, and then slowly he brushed her mouth with his own. Thrusting herself against him, she returned his kiss with passion long overdue, and Collin’s stomach rolled as he lunged away. “Charity, I made a promise to your parents. I need to win their trust …”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder with the degree of defiance he’d always found so attractive. The look in her eyes was hard to miss. “What about my trust, Collin? Win mine!”
He hesitated and then slowly wrapped his arms around her waist. Her lips were warm and moist as he caressed them with his own, and their soft touch should have ignited a fire in him. Instead, a cold wave of fear crawled in his belly as he found himself aching for her sister. He could hear Charity’s breathing, rapid and intense, the way his should have been, and the fear exploded into anger. No! This was not happening! She was not going to do this to him. He was in control of his destiny. He would choose whom he’d love, not some make-believe god, and certainly not the woman who blindly gave her soul to him. Roughly he drew Charity in, kissing her with enough force to take her breath away. He felt a fire stir deep inside, and he kissed her again, pressing her close until his thoughts were consumed only with her.
Breathless, she leaned against his chest and gazed up. “I love you, Collin,” she said, her eyes aglow with passion.
“I love you too, Charity,” he lied and kissed her again, putting to rest for the moment any doubts she might have had.
The level of control Patrick maintained following a bout of rage never ceased to amaze his wife. She sat on the edge of their bed, hands folded quietly in her lap, watching as he calmly paced the floor. With his shoulders slightly hunched and his brow crimped, he seemed older than his thirty-nine years. Marcy sighed and patted the bed beside her. “Patrick, you’ve been pacing for twenty minutes now. Come, sit down.”
Nodding, he settled beside her, and the two of them stared straight ahead into nothing. “How could this have happened, Marcy?” he whispered. “Our Faith—Collin hardly seemed like the type of man she’d be interested in.”
“I don’t know, my love. I think Faith has always seen in Collin what we’ve just begun to see. He’s an incredible young man with great potential, just one who happened to get off track. He’ll make a fine husband
for Charity, I think. But I am very worried about Faith where he’s concerned.” Marcy idly rubbed her husband’s hand. “Not just her feelings for him, understand, but perhaps that Collin may have feelings for her as well.”
The folds on Patrick’s brow deepened as he dropped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as if it held the answers they so desperately needed. “It’s a mystery, for sure. He’s been after Charity so long, it seems certain she’s the one he wants. If I didn’t like that boy so much, I’d throttle him for toying with Faith’s affections as he has. But it’s been his nature up to now, I’m afraid, and I suspect that’s exactly what he was doing—toying with her. I’ve got to believe it was before he made his commitment to Charity, before he asked her to be his wife. Surely that states his intentions clearly enough.”
Patrick sat up. “Well, I will speak to him nonetheless, privately, of course. I will make certain he understands he’s to stay as far away from Faith as possible. Not so much as an uttered word or casual glance, nothing that will make it any more difficult for her to get over her feelings for him. And she will—we’ll see to that.”
“How?”
Patrick’s sigh was heavy. “I’ve been wanting to break Faith into copywriting at the Herald, but I must admit, I hadn’t planned on doing it quite this soon. But now, I think I need to. It’s important she occupies her mind with other things, and she’s always loved writing. I’ll talk to Ben about giving her some harmless stories to get her started.”
“What about here at home, when Collin’s over? He’ll be around more than ever.”
“We’ll just have to limit him to Saturday evenings and Sundays. I don’t think our trust factor should allow any more time with Charity than that. And as much as possible, for the time being, we’ll make sure Faith has other places to be. Perhaps she can spend a few Saturday nights at Maisie’s, and then switch her Bible-reading sessions with Mrs. Gerson to Sunday afternoons. We’ll manage somehow.”
“Patrick, do you think we need to talk to Maisie?”
Patrick’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Whatever for?”
“Oh, something Maisie mentioned awhile back about a young man at the Herald interested in Faith. Perhaps … well, perhaps she needs a little push in that direction. It certainly couldn’t hurt, could it? She is nineteen, after all.”
Patrick blinked, his stare going blank at the mention of Faith growing up, growing away. With Charity, he’d always expected it. But with Faith, well, she’d always been his little girl. Any thought to the contrary never even crossed his mind. Patrick shook himself out of his reverie and patted Marcy’s hand.
“You’re right, darlin’. I’ll talk to Maisie as well. We’ll get through this, I promise. And we’ll get Faith through it too.” He sighed again. “Now, dear Lord above, if you would be kind enough—please show us how.”
11
For Faith, New Year’s Eve came and went with minimal fanfare; she spent the evening with Maisie and her parents and Aunt Edna, sipping cider and playing pinochle until the stroke of midnight sent them to their beds.
Faith missed being with her family. In addition to a feast of wonderful dishes Mother always prepared, there would be traditional servings of red cabbage for good luck, pickled herring, and ham, of course, because her mother always said “the pig roots out the money.” They would have greeted the New Year with a toast of hot cocoa for the children and spiced cider for her parents. It would have been an evening filled with games and music and memories of New Years past, and Faith ached at the thought of it. But her father had been right. She needed time to heal. Time away from Collin and Charity.
It had only been a week since she’d seen him on bended knee, offering her sister the life she had always dreamed of for herself. Now she berated herself for the child she’d been, wasting years on dreams devoid of anything but delusion. She vowed to put her schoolgirl fantasy behind and start anew. True, she couldn’t avoid Collin forever. Within the year he would be married to her sister. But she could avoid him until then. Her faith was strong. She hoped that with the help of God and family, his hold over her would eventually be broken.
The days of January flew swiftly. More than ever, Faith struggled to immerse herself in her work at the Herald. The day the editor called her to his office had been a turning point. “Your father tells me you love to write,” he began in a gruff tone. “Says you did quite a bit for the St. Mary’s Gazette. Is it true you were editor your senior year?”
“Yes, sir,” she whispered, her stomach aflutter.
“Well, then, I’d like to see what you can do in the way of feature writing, young lady.” He tossed her a piece of paper. “Here’s the name and address of a church parishioner experiencing miraculous luck at the weekly bingo meetings. Let’s see how you handle this as a special-interest story. On your own time, of course.”
Her hand had shaken as she’d taken the piece of paper. Her very own story! She could hardly believe it. Few women penetrated the ranks of copywriter at the Herald. She would, of course, he had emphasized, remain in the typing pool for the foreseeable future. And he could make no guarantees her story would even be published. But Faith had been elated, nonetheless. True, it was no more than a filler piece, an innocuous little story that would be lost, no doubt, somewhere between the store ads and the obituaries. But it was hers—all hers—and the realization certainly helped to put a new spring in her step.
Maisie had been elated. “I knew it wouldn’t take long!” she said, beaming. “It’s perfect timing. What better way to …” She hesitated as Faith threatened her with a look. “Get over things,” she finished sweetly. “Of course, there are other ways.”
Faith shot a look more menacing than the last. “Don’t start with me, Maisie. Men don’t hold any appeal for me right now.”
“Only because you won’t let them. I’ll bet Danny O’Leary has asked me at least three times if I thought you would allow him to call on you. He’s a great catch. Why don’t you give him a chance?”
“If he’s such a great catch, why don’t you go out with him?”
“Believe me, I would if I could, but he doesn’t want to go out with me. He wants to go out with you! He’s from a very devout family—your parents would love him. Come on, he’s lots of fun.”
“And how would you know that?”
Maisie’s eyes twinkled. “I’ve tangled with him once or twice, and trust me, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t be setting him up with you. But alas, he wants a good Catholic girl, not a Protestant, and let me tell you, I considered converting!”
Faith had to laugh. Maisie had a way of disarming her from the foulest mood and the most determined intentions. “Okay, you win. I’ll go out with Danny O’Leary. Are you happy?”
Maisie frowned. “Not particularly. I really want him for myself.”
“You are so crazy. So what are you going to tell him?”
“That you’ve been dying for him to ask—”
“I’ll wring your neck if you do.”
“Don’t get your knickers in a knot. I’ll tell him the truth. You’re trying to get over someone, so you’re not really interested in anything serious, but doing a few things together might be fun. How’s that?”
“As good as it gets, I guess. Hey, Maisie, you’ll come along, won’t you? I mean, we’ll do things in a group, won’t we? I … I really don’t want to be alone with him.”
“You are such a chicken. You have to grow up sometime, Faith, and I’m afraid men are part of that process. I suspect they’ve always been interested in you, but you’ve had your nose buried so deep in a book or your journal, you haven’t noticed.”
The strain on Faith’s face caused Maisie to roll her eyes. “Yes, Faith, I will tell him only group outings, all right?”
Faith nodded, her face relaxing into relief.
“When?” Maisie demanded.
Faith chewed her lip. “Give me a little time, will you?”
Maisie cocked a brow. “He won’t wait
a year, you know.”
Faith gave her a playful swat and made a beeline for the door, hoping to buy time. It didn’t work. Within the week, Maisie had arranged an outing.
Amazingly enough, Danny O’Leary turned out to be much better than Faith believed he would be. She had noticed his stares from time to time when she walked through the newsroom, but thought little of it. She wasn’t used to the attention of men, and it hadn’t occurred to her he might be interested.
Their first group activity had been skating in the park in late January. Faith was surprised at how much she enjoyed it. Danny wasted no time whisking her onto the pond, hand firmly in hers, his easy chatter dispelling any shyness she felt. Maisie was right—Danny was fun to be with, and it felt good reveling in the attention he lavished on her.
At twenty-three, he was the youngest copywriter at the Herald, a fact he mentioned no less than three times as they spun on the ice. He was tall and thin in a somewhat bookish way, with a shock of brown hair that fell across his forehead in disarray. He could have easily been mistaken for a poet or an intellectual, so studious was his manner—until he smiled. Never had Faith seen a smile transform anyone quite so much. It was a bit of a crooked grin that lit his face with a mischievous light, like a little boy about to misbehave. It was his smile Faith loved best, and it was his smile that eventually charmed her into seeing him again.
Each time they’d meet, they’d lose themselves in lengthy conversations about everything from Keats and Milton to what the Germans would do next. Before long, Faith found herself completely at ease in his presence. They laughed a lot, often at Maisie’s antics or the droll looks she’d give them. In a matter of weeks, Danny had become as much a part of Faith’s life as Maisie and Briana, and the four often ate lunch together and chatted away like lifelong friends. Friends who would prove to be a godsend, she prayed. And friends who would usher her into a new season of her life, hopefully keeping her mind from straying too far in the direction of her heart …
A Passion Most Pure (The Daughters of Boston Book #1): A Novel Page 16
