A Passion Most Pure (17 page)

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?"

He squeezed his wife. "That, my dear, goes without saying."

Charity was far too excited to sleep. And why should she when she could dream so happily wide awake? Her wish had come true-he loved her! She had seen it in his eyes, and he had professed it openly to her entire family. She heard Faith rustling in the bed across the room and knew her sister's reasons for not sleeping were far different than her own. The glow diminished slightly as she thought how Faith must be feeling tonight, knowing Collin would never belong to her. She would get over it quickly enough, Charity reasoned, and the glow returned once again. She would have to. Collin was going to be part of the family, and there was nothing Faith could do but accept it. Charity stretched beneath the cool sheets. Birthdays just didn't get any better than this. Unless, perhaps, you were celebrating them as Mrs. Collin McGuire! The mere thought silently took her away to sweet sleep with a smile on her lips.

Across the room, Faith lay quietly, listening to the even rhythm of Charity's breathing, which, at last, was regular and calm. She was dreaming, no doubt, about Collin. Faith blinked away the wetness forming in her eyes as she lay there, lifeless. Never had she felt so depressed. A shaft of moonlight split the room in two, flooding it with a soft glow, but to her it seemed darker than any abyss. How could it be all her dreams and hopes had come to this? She had tried to do the right thing, to seek God's way, but it had only inflicted the most excruciating heartbreak she had ever known. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She was supposed to have peace and joy-Mrs. Gerson had said so. But she didn't. All she had was despair, while her sister, once again, was blessed with the desire of her heart ... and Faith's.

A surge of anger rose within. It could all be different, she thought. Collin could belong to her. The night on the porch, he'd implied that, hadn't he? They had both felt something, hadn't they? If she had relented to his kiss, things might be different tonight. He might belong to her and not Charity. But no, she had chosen to do what was right. But right for whom, she wanted to know. If this was God's best, as Mrs. Gerson was fond of saying, maybe she didn't want God's best!

Her mind began to race. Abruptly she sat up, pushing the hair from her face. She would tell him! She would let him know she wanted him, that it didn't matter if he believed in God or not. She would embrace his affections and allow the wonderful feelings to carry her away. Her heart rocketed at the mere thought of his arms around her, his hungry kisses ...

And then all at once, beneath the warmth that thoughts of him always produced, a cold heaviness settled in. The hopelessness she'd felt only moments before now paled before the overpowering blackness that crept into her soul. It would never work. She would never be happy, and she knew it to the core of her being. She was trapped-cornered by a God who had taken her from the shadows into his glorious light. Yes, she had tasted the sweetness of Collin's kiss, but also the peace and joy of an intimate relationship with God, and it had ruined her for anything else. Faith sobbed into her pillow. She could never go back. Where was the free will in all this? How can I choose to turn from you, God, when I know I will never be happy apart from you? Where is the choice?

Faith wept until limp in her bed, and when her anger subsided, heartbreak returned with a vengeance. Never had she felt so incredibly lost.

The Lord is close to the brokenhearted ...

Faith grasped her prayer book from the nightstand and frantically flipped its pages. Suddenly, she stopped and leaned forward to allow the moonlight to shine upon the passage from Psalm 34 that she had jotted down at Mrs. Gerson's.

The eyes of Jehovah are toward the righteous, And his ears are open unto their cry ... The righteous cried, and Jehovah heard, and delivered them out of all their troubles. Jehovah is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart, and saveth such as are of a contrite spirit. Many are the afflictions of the righteous; but Jehovah delivereth him out of them all.

She fell upon the open pages with a broken sob. "Save me, oh Lord, for my spirit is crushed, and I am so brokenhearted." Faith's prayer poured from the depths of her soul, and the peace she'd become so dependent upon did not fail her. He would not fail her, she knew. Just as she knew in her heart she would let Collin go. She fell back on the bed, closing her eyes. With a purpose in her heart and a prayer on her lips, she finally drifted into a weary slumber.

It was Christmas Eve, and the O'Connor household was abuzz with holiday activity bordering on bedlam. In the kitchen, Marcy was dangerously close to the breaking point as she pulled another tray of cookies from the oven just as Katie knocked a bowl of icing onto the floor.

"Ooops!" Katie giggled as Blarney pounced on the gooey mess, tail wagging furiously at his good fortune. Marcy stood in the center of the kitchen, dumbfounded, a hot tray of cookies still in her hands. She cried out in pain as the heat penetrated the pot holders she held, and slammed the tray onto the counter. Tears stung her eyes when several cookies flipped in the air and crashed to the floor.

"Mama, are you okay? Did you burn yourself?" Katie's concern sounded genuine.

Marcy looked at her tiny daughter, who was covered from head to toe in flour and icing, then stared at her kitchen, which looked even worse, and wanted to cry. Christmas shouldn't be like this, she thought, nursing her burnt fingers.

In the next room, Faith grinned, watching her father point to a tree bough that needed decorating. The tree he'd cut down that morning from Holper's farm stood proud and tall in the far corner of the parlor while the rest of the family arrayed it with ornaments and cranberry garland. Pipe in hand, her father supervised from his favorite chair, and Faith shook her head and smiled, absently turning a page in the book on her lap.

Wonderful smells of Christmas filled the house, cookies and pine needles and orange-spice wassail. Everywhere you looked, homemade decorations hung, lending a festive air to rooms aglow with anticipation. Tonight, as O'Connor tradition would have it, they would concentrate on the birth of the Christ child, leaving the impending threat of war to another day.

"It's going to be another wonderful Christmas," her father announced as he bit into one of her mother's oatmeal cookies.

Faith wasn't so sure. She watched as Charity stood on tiptoe and giggled while reaching to hang a patchwork angel as high as she could. Behind her Collin hoisted Katie-now banished from the kitchen-well above Charity's shoulders to claim the honor of hanging the highest ornament. Elizabeth laughed as Sean offered a challenge, heaving Steven to his shoulders armed with a delicate glass dove, which Steven promptly placed on the highest bough. It was a joyful scene to all but Faith, who worked diligently at smiling along with the rest.

It had been over a month since Patrick had agreed to allow Collin to see Charity. The dictates had been strictone visit a week, on Sundays, for lunch following church and staying through dinner. He was never to be alone with Charity, and under no circumstances could she go anywhere with him. And if either Collin or Charity broke any of the established rules, the relationship was over. Although her father had never suggested Collin join them at church each Sunday, he was always there nonetheless, standing in the back of the vestibule in his best suit, freshshaven and hair neatly combed. And so it went, Sunday after Sunday; Collin slowly became a part of their lives, a fact that suited almost everyone in the family.

Faith watched him out of the corner of her eye, pretending total absorption in her book. Collin had such a natural way with people when he put his mind to it, much like her father. He instinctively knew when to jump up and lend a hand to Marcy or tease Katie out of a near-tantrum. Sean seemed to enjoy his company, as Collin was always a ready and challenging partner at chess. He wrestled with Steven and talked poetry with Elizabeth, and yet somehow always managed to keep his eyes on Charity. Even her father had to admit that perhaps he'd been wrong about this man so intent on loving his daughter.

Through it all Faith remained in the background, never speaking to Collin, seldom looking his way, and more often than not, sitting up in her room or burying herself in a book. She noticed that he, too, seemed to avoid her, conveniently preoccupying himself with Katie, Steven, or the dog whenever she spoke. The first few weeks had been almost unbearable, but she found her faith seemed to grow to meet her need. Little by little, the dread that set in on Saturdays began to diminish, and steadily Faith could feel her enthusiasm for Sundays returning once again.

Collin was beginning to speak to her now, a word here, a question there, and she even found him watching her upon rare occasion. She could feel herself starting to relax when he was in the room, and it occurred to her that he had been right. She was getting used to it. And so was he, apparently. But there were times, she was reluctant to admit, when she would see him gaze into her sister's eyes and suspected it would be a long while before her feelings would wane. A very long while-and a lot of prayer-she realized as she got up to leave the room.

Her mother was finishing up the last of the dishes as Faith entered the kitchen. She seemed so tired. Faith walked up behind and put her arms around her shoulders. "Why didn't you say you needed help, Mother? I would have been in here in a heartbeat."

Marcy turned, her smile weary. "I know, Faith, but actually it was rather nice having a few moments alone. I don't know what's wrong lately. I seem to be much more impatient with Katie than I ever was with you and the others. It's just getting older, I suppose. I seem to wear out so easily these days."

Faith took her mother's arm and steered her into a chair. "Here, you sit down, and I'll finish up. Or better yet, why don't you go in and sit with the others?"

"Oh, that sounds so nice! I will, I think. Thank you, Faith. I love you."

Faith smiled over her shoulder. "I love you too, Mother. Now scoot. Go sit with that husband of yours."

"I'll be asleep within ten minutes, fifteen minutes at the most," she said, laughing as she headed through the door.

Faith shook her head and smiled as she reached for the mixing bowl. The kitchen door swung open again, and she lowered her voice to a threatening tone. "I'm warning you-don't make me carry you out of this kitchen. . ."

"I'd like to see you try," Collin said with that teasing tone of his. Faith's heart tumbled in her chest. She turned as Collin stood at the door, an empty glass in his hand, and a swell of the old familiar feelings tripped through her. Why is this happening again? I've been fine for weeks, and now my stomach chooses this moment to do flip-flops? She attempted a laugh, then turned to the sink, hoping he wouldn't notice that her hands were shaking.

"Oh, I thought you were Mother. You have to force that woman to take a break, you know." She put the shaking to good use by scrubbing a bowl with relentless determination.

She heard him walk to the icebox, open it, and pour himself a glass of something. Without a word, he leaned against the counter and sipped. She sensed his eyes and felt a blush warming her cheeks. What in blazes does he think he's doing? She attacked the next mixing bowl with even fiercer intensity, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her curiosity.

He drained the glass and ambled to the sink where he stood, glass in hand. Faith ignored him-and the flutters in her stomach-and reached for more soap. She put it in the water and swished with her fingers until bubbles puffed high.

"How are you at whist?" he asked.

"Excuse me?"

"Whist," he repeated. "Charity's convinced she can trounce me, and I need a partner." He handed her his dirty glass. "Wanna play?"

She snatched it from his hand and scrubbed as she had never scrubbed before.

"You may want to sterilize it," he said with a hint of a smile.

The heat in her face fanned to hot as she ceased her scouring. "I've got dishes to do."

"We'll wait," he said. "That is, if you're any good."

She turned to face him, eyebrow cocked. "Good? You want good? How do I know you can even keep up with me?"

He grinned. "My, we're a bit full of ourselves tonight, aren't we now?"

Her lips curved into a smile. "You should know." She dismissed him with a sweep of her hair and heard him laugh as her hands dove into the suds.

"I'll try not to disappoint you," he drawled.