A Passion Most Pure (The Daughters of Boston Book #1): A Novel

by Julie Lessman

  He pressed her to him, holding her so tightly she couldn’t move. “I can’t tell you that, Marcy. I wish I could, but I can’t, darlin’. I didn’t want to worry you. But Marcy, the chance remains I may have to go.”

  She jerked away, her eyes crazed. “No! You’re too old! Tell me, Patrick, you’re too old!”

  “Marcy, they’re desperate for soldiers, so desperate they’ve extended the draft to forty-five. Marcy, if they call me, I have to go.”

  She screamed as she lunged, her fists striking his chest with a fury he’d seldom seen in this woman he loved. He grabbed her hands and pinned her flat on the bed, his breathing labored from the effort. She was like a mad woman, thrashing beneath his grip, and he found himself crying out to God to impart peace to her soul. Seconds lapsed into minutes before stillness came. When it did, she was limp in his arms, emotionally ravaged by the fear that possessed her. She was spent, and so was he. All that was left was a numbness buzzing in his brain as they lay side by side in a room filled with darkness, despite the sunlight of a summer day. They lay like that for hours, it seemed, while Faith, Sean, and Charity tended to the others downstairs.

  When Marcy finally spoke, her voice was more like the woman he knew, despite a nasal tone from hours of crying. “Pray with me, Patrick. Pray I can do this. Pray God will heal Mima … and that he’ll keep you safe, along with Collin and Sean.”

  And so he had, invoking the name of the God they served. His voice was calmer as he finished, and he pulled her close. “You can do this, Marcy. He’s your strength, not me. He promised we could do all things through Christ who strengthens us, even this. If I go, and we still don’t know if I’ll be called, you won’t be alone. He said he would never leave us nor forsake us. We’ve lived our whole lives believing that. Now we’ll learn how very true it is.”

  He lifted his head from the pillow to peer into her face. “Are you hungry?”

  She shook her head against his chest before looking up, a faint smile creasing her lips. “No, but I bet you are, aren’t you?”

  “Not that holding you in my arms isn’t sustenance enough, mind you,” he began, a note of levity in his tone, “but it would seem if you don’t want to lose me, you’d feed me before I fade away into nothingness on this bed.”

  “Worried about your stomach at a time like this, are you?”

  “Worried I’ll not have the strength for you at a time like this, my love.”

  “I love you, Patrick,” she whispered. She leaned to kiss him gently on the lips.

  With an energy that belied the emptiness of his stomach, he pulled her to him, his lips pressed hard against hers with a passion that had little to do with desire. It had everything to do with his heartfelt gratitude for this woman who shared his life, and to the God who had led him to her. “Woman, I love you … to the depths of my soul, I do.”

  She laid her head on his chest, clinging as if it were the last time, while fresh tears spilled onto his shirt. It was a bittersweet moment and one neither wanted to lose. And so they lingered, content to lie a few moments more while the shadows of dusk slowly stole away the light of day.

  “I can’t believe you’re leaving! I’m going to miss you so much,” Maisie cried.

  Crying was the last thing Faith wanted to do as they stood in the middle of the newsroom, wrapped in a tight hug. But there was little either could do as the tears streamed freely with no regard for their weak attempt at composure.

  “I can’t believe your father is letting you go. It’s just plain crazy, Faith, to even attempt ship travel right now. What about the German U-boat warfare? Isn’t he afraid?”

  Faith pulled back and took a deep breath. “Yes, he’s afraid, but he’s more afraid that Mother will have a breakdown while he’s gone. With Mima near death and Father drafted, Mother begged to go to Ireland. She simply wouldn’t relent, and I think she just wore Father down. He contacted his cousin, Thomas, who owns a freighting company. Although all passenger-ship travel has been suspended, apparently freight shipping is going strong, especially in convoys. Thomas convinced Father that losses for ships sailing in convoys have fallen dramatically.” Faith sucked in another heavy breath and lifted her chin. “So he agreed to take us. With God watching over us, we’ll be fine.”

  “But Ireland—it’s so far! Why couldn’t your grandmother live in Dubuque? At least then I could take a train.”

  Faith laughed as she pushed the tears from her eyes. “Dubuque! You’d wish me destined to be a farmer’s wife? Working the fields from sunup to sundown? Some friend.”

  “Well, at least we’d still be friends …”

  “Maisie, we’ll always be friends. Distance is not going to change that. I’ll write you every chance I get, I promise. Who else can I brag to when I start my new job at the Times?”

  “You realize, of course, you won’t have me around when some little hussy gets her Irish up because your daddy got you the job?”

  Faith gave her a smirk. “I can handle myself. You forget I’ve spent the last year learning from the best. Besides, it won’t be forever. As soon as the war is over, we’re coming back. Father finally agreed that it would do Mother a world of good to be back in Ireland while he’s gone. My grandmother could really use my mother’s help, especially now. Somehow, in my heart, I feel that it’s the best thing for her. It’ll do her good to get away from Boston where everything reminds her of Father.”

  “And you? I suppose getting away wouldn’t hurt you either, would it?”

  Faith looked up and didn’t answer, but they both knew she was right. Maisie tried to lighten the conversation. “Well, I’m sure I don’t have to tell you who it is going to hurt. Have you said your good-byes yet?”

  Faith shook her head, suddenly very uneasy at the prospect of telling Danny good-bye. She had tried several times to end their relationship months prior, but he’d insisted on friendship, a friendship she feared still harbored deeper feelings on his part. “No, he didn’t want to say good-bye at the paper. He’s coming over this evening, although I have a lot of packing yet to do.”

  “Are you going to miss him?” Maisie asked.

  Faith laughed. “Yes, of course I’ll miss him. Not as much as I’ll miss you, but close.”

  Maisie seemed uneasy. “No, I mean really miss him, you know, pining-away missing?”

  Faith grinned, and Maisie’s spray of freckles disappeared into a sea of pink. “You mean, do I love him, or are you asking if you can have him?”

  Maisie went scarlet. Faith laughed out loud and hugged her again. “Oh, Maisie, I’m gonna miss you something fierce! Who’s gonna make me laugh like you? No, I’ve told you before—I don’t love Danny, hard as I’ve tried. I’ve told him over and over again, even though he doesn’t seem to want to hear it. And believe me, I have. It’s much closer to friendship than love. Blame it on Collin McGuire, I suppose. But either way, dear friend, he’s all yours. I know you want him. And I have a feeling with me out of the way …”

  “Stop it! You know he’s crazy about you. He only sees me as a friend.”

  “A friend whose shoulder he’s sure to cry on, right? All you have to do is convert! Believe me, Maisie, my money’s on that shoulder of yours.”

  Maisie started to cry again. “I love you, you goose,” she whispered, swiping at her eyes. She picked up her purse. “You better write, or so help me …”

  “Oh, I’ll write, you can count on that. Can’t wait to tell you all about the tall, handsome stranger I meet in Dublin. And, I expect progress reports as well, young lady.”

  “Done!” Maisie said as she blew her a kiss. “Till the war’s over,” she cried, escaping out the door as Faith spied a fresh wave of tears. She returned to the typing pool to collect her things. “Till the war’s over,” she whispered. “And may it end before our lives change forever.”

  The summer had been little more than a blur, and now here they were on a freighter on the Atlantic Ocean, embarking on a new life in a distant land. It hardly
seemed possible Sean had left in August with Patrick following in October, both stationed in remote places in the French countryside. Before his departure, Patrick handled the details, so reluctant was Marcy to even acknowledge his leaving. Now their home on Donovan Street was comfortably occupied by the new interim associate editor, who paid quite handsomely to rent a furnished house within the Southie neighborhood.

  It had been difficult for Faith to say good-bye to Mrs. Gerson, but the old woman had insisted she would only be “a prayer away.” “God has something special for you in Ireland, Faith. Just delight in him while you’re there, and he’ll give you the desires of your heart. I can’t wait to see what he does in your life, my dear. You must promise to write.”

  And so she had, and to Danny as well, although she knew for his sake, her communications would be brief. He had taken the news of her departure hard. Faith was shocked at the degree of affection he had developed for her, even though they were just friends. She regretted now ever allowing him to kiss her in the beginning, for every kiss had apparently led him to believe she would eventually be his. It had certainly seemed, for a while at least, as if he would win her heart. But the futility of that became evident as the tension between Collin and her had escalated over the last few months. Soon, it became quite clear to Faith that her depth of feeling for Collin, no matter how unfortunate, only served to extinguish any romantic feeling she may have had for Danny. The reality all but crushed him at the time, but they had remained good friends. Faith was grateful Danny had also developed a close friendship with Maisie. He would need a good friend, and there was none better.

  She leaned against the railing of the freighter, the wind whipping her hair as she stared into the endless sea separating her from the life she had once known. On the day they had sailed, her mother worked at hiding her true feelings. But as she had ushered what was left of her family onto the boat, Faith suspected that underneath the forced smile and excited tone was an apprehension she seldom saw in her mother. Yet Faith knew even if Marcy herself did not feel strong, her faith in God was, which brought some semblance of comfort throughout the long journey to Ireland.

  The week aboard the freighter had been shrouded in dreariness, from the endless raging of the waves to the damp sea mist that hovered in the air like a harbinger of gloom—a gloom only deepened by an underlying dread. In addition to the very real threat of German U-boats, Faith couldn’t help but think of the “unsinkable” luxury liner, Titanic, that had fatally plunged into these same icy depths five years earlier. The memory weighed heavily on Faith as the convoy of freighters plowed an endless surge of whitecaps. Over 1,500 lives were entombed in the same gray, bleak waters now battering the hull of the ship, and Faith couldn’t shake the uneasiness that hung heavily in the pungent sea air.

  The day they finally sighted Ireland, it was as if the gloom lifted, allowing shafts of sunlight to peek through like the fingers of God directing them home. Faith had never seen anything so beautiful as Ireland drenched in sunlight, a vibrant patchwork of blinding green hills and fields rolling across the landscape into the restless sea. In the midst of it all rose Dublin, a warm and welcoming port, which each of them hoped held the promise of better days.

  For the first time since her father had left, her mother’s eyes shone with excitement as she gazed across the water at her homeland. Even Charity seemed enthralled with Ireland’s beauty as the family stood side by side on the deck to catch a glimpse of their new home.

  “Mother, it’s so beautiful, it almost doesn’t seem real!” Charity exclaimed, her blue eyes wide as she clutched her mother’s arm. Marcy smiled and took a deep breath, her hands positioned tightly on Katie’s shoulders as the six-year-old attempted to better her view by hoisting up on the railing.

  “I can’t see … I can’t see! Mama, lift me up!”

  Marcy boosted Katie in her arms and pointed toward the southern outskirts of the city. “Your grandmother lives over there, in a little cottage on Ambrose Lane.” She turned to look at Faith, her eyes as excited as Katie’s at Christmas. “Faith, do you have the brooch with you?”

  Faith nodded and reached into her purse to produce the treasured keepsake her mother had given her on the first day at the Herald. Marcy lifted it to show Katie. “Look, little chicken, this is our new home. This is where your grandmother lives and your great-grandmother. So, what do you think?”

  Katie frowned as she fingered the brooch, then grinned. “It’s awfully small, Mama … are you sure we’ll all fit?”

  Her mother laughed out loud, and hope surged in Faith at the glorious sound. It had been too long since she’d heard the ring of her mother’s laughter. Ireland would be good for her, as she hoped it would be for them all.

  “No, silly, this is just a tiny picture of what the house looks like. Actually, it’s quite a good size, I believe. I think we’ll be most comfortable there.” She turned to Charity. “It’s in walking distance of several charming shops, Charity, and Father thought you might enjoy working in one. You’re so bright and lovely to look at, you’d be a natural, I think.”

  Charity smiled and nodded, fairly glowing with the praise of her mother.

  “Beth and Steven, you’ll be attending St. Patrick’s School, also within walking distance. Your grandmother went there, and I would have too, had we stayed in Ireland.”

  “Where will I go to school, Mama?” Katie asked.

  “Next year, little one. This year you’ll stay home to help us care for Mima.”

  “Mother, do you have any idea where the Irish Times is located?” Faith squinted hard at the city skyline, her heart fluttering at the prospect of a new job in a strange city.

  “I think your father told me it was on Lower Abbey Street, in the business district. It’s not within walking distance, I know, but it shouldn’t be too far. Even so, public transportation is available, I believe.” She glanced quickly at her daughter. “Are you nervous?”

  Faith shivered as she nodded, and her mother squeezed her arm. “There’s nothing to worry about, Faith—God’s in control. That’s what I have to remind myself every day, and you do too. He’ll be right there with you, every step of the way. Aren’t we the lucky ones, though, to know him like we do?” Her eyes were suddenly misty.

  “We are, Mother. How do people do it without him?” Faith whispered. Sadness settled in at the thought of Collin. Shaking the feeling off, she smiled into her mother’s eyes. “We’re going to be fine, you know.”

  Her mother brushed a stray tear aside and nodded. “I know,” she whispered, turning to gaze at the city. “Fine enough, at least, until the war is over. And then, when I finally have my husband by my side, and my son and prospective son-in-law home safe and sound, well, now, that will certainly be the true definition of ‘fine.’”

  When the door swung open and she looked into the face of her mother for the first time in nine years, Marcy knew it would be a moment etched in her memory forever. A moment of destiny, she thought, as she ushered her family onto the street where she had lived as a little girl.

  Ambrose Lane was as charming as it sounded—a quiet street shaded by massive oaks arched over a narrow lane of cottage homes, each more inviting than the next. There was a distinctive scent in the air, a heady fragrance that Marcy identified as viburnum. The sweet smell of it would, from that moment on, forever remind them of Ireland. They stood, the six of them, on a somewhat rickety porch. It was thick with coats of white paint long since given way to the peeling and cracking so inevitable on the Irish seaboard. The large wooden door had not fared much better, speckled as it was with bits of the original white peeking through the most recent coat of green, which looked anything but recent.

  Marcy knocked on the door timidly, holding her breath until it opened. When it did, she exhaled with a faint cry of joy as she beheld the face of her mother.

  Bridget Murphy was still a handsome woman, by anyone’s definition. She was slight of stature and strong of character, like her daughter. Sh
e looked at them now through the same clear blue eyes that seemed youthful despite an abundance of delicate lines and creases. At first sight of her family, her hand flew to her mouth, and the blue eyes pooled with tears as she echoed the faint cry of her daughter.

  Marcy dropped her bags at her side and flew into her mother’s arms. The two cried and laughed at the same time while the rest of the O’Connors grinned and looked on.

  “Oh, Mother, I’ve missed you so much! I can’t believe we’re together again at last. Let me look at you.” Marcy stepped back, her hands still clutching her mother’s arms. She laughed from the sheer joy of touching her again.

  Bridget’s trembling smile was wet with tears as she squeezed Marcy’s hands. “Marcy, I’d forgotten how beautiful you are.” Her smile faded into a look of concern. “Tell me, have you heard anything from Patrick or Sean?”

  Marcy shook her head. “I don’t expect to for a while. Patrick only left a little over three weeks ago, and I’m sure he would have waited to write me here. I heard from Sean not long after he arrived in France back in August, but nothing since.”

  Bridget hugged her daughter again. “Now, you have nothing to worry about, Marcy. Patrick and Sean will come home to you again, safe and none the worse for the wear, you’ll see. God wouldn’t dare allow otherwise with all the candles I’ve been lighting, now would he?”

  Marcy smiled, and Bridget turned to greet her grandchildren with a twinkle in her eyes. “Sure, it’s expected for these grandchildren of mine to be so handsome, what with the comeliness of both you and Patrick, now isn’t it so? Saints alive, Faith, I’d recognize that auburn hair anywhere! You’re all grown up and quite the beauty. Why, you were just a shy little girl not ten years old when I saw you last.” Bridget reached to stroke Faith’s cheek, her eyes sobering. “My goodness, you were such a strong little thing, as I recall. First, losing your sister, then losing the use of your legs … and never once did I hear you complain.” Bridget sighed, shaking off her melancholy. “And look at you now! No braces in sight and as robust as you please. And, Marcy tells me you’re to start a job at the Times?”