A Passion Redeemed (47 page)

Mitch spun around. "Don't threaten me, Mr. O'Connor. Your daughter has bigger problems than me. And if you're looking to solve them, I'd suggest you look in the mirror."

Patrick's face blanched white. "What are you talking about?"

"Let's just say of Uncle Paul left a lasting impression. I'll let Charity fill you in on the gory details. It's about time you heard the whole story."

Patrick clamped his arm. His eyes were glazed with shock. "What are you saying?"

Mitch's gaze swept past Patrick. Katie's eyes were wide as she huddled in her mother's arms. Sean burrowed Beth close to his side, then slid an arm around Faith's shoulder. Steven was making his way down the steps, a puzzled look on his face.

Mitch looked back at Patrick, sick at the sorrow he saw. He exhaled a heavy breath. "I can't say, Mr. O'Connor, not in front of your children."

Patrick closed his eyes. His fingers gouged white on the door. "Sean, take the others into the kitchen and get them something to eat. Faith, go check on Charity, please. Now."

They silently dispersed, each to their assigned duty, leaving Marcy in a near stupor and Patrick leaning limp against the wall. He hung his head and gripped the door for support. His voice was barely a whisper. "I'll ask you again. What are you saying?"

Mitch drew in a deep breath and shifted his valise from one hand to the other, avoiding Patrick's eyes. On the ship, Charity had a nightmare. It triggered memories. She claims your brother sexually abused her ... apparently a number of times ... when he stayed that summer."

Patrick sagged against the door with a low groan. "Please, God, no ..."

Marcy clutched him from behind with a feeble cry, her shoulders heaving into a sob.

"Did he ..." Patrick couldn't go on.

"She doesn't remember the details, just that it hurt."

Patrick turned and slumped into Marcy's arms with a violent sob.

Mitch stared for several seconds, a wave of compassion dousing his anger. He finally spoke. "Mr. O'Connor, Charity is desperate for your love. She needs to heal. And only your love and God's can accomplish that."

Patrick nodded, trying to compose himself. He wiped his face with his sleeve. When he looked up, his eyes were raw. "Is there more?"

"Only the reason I'm leaving."

Patrick lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders, then clutched Marcy tightly to his side. He pushed the storm door open. "Care to come in and discuss it?"

Mitch switched the suitcase to his other hand. "I don't think so, Mr. O'Connor. I need to be away from Charity. If I go inside, I'm afraid the warmth and love of your family will wear me down. Charity's a lucky girl, you know. She just doesn't realize it."

Patrick nodded. "All right. Why are you leaving, then?"

Mitch released a deep breath. "Because your daughter lied to me. Over and over. But this time was the worst. Before Bridget asked me to bring her home, I was practically engaged back in Ireland. But Charity's convinced that she loves me-"

"And you love her?" Marcy's eyes were hopeful.

Mitch set the suitcase on the floor. He plunged his hands deep in his pockets and bent his head. "I do, Mrs. O'Connor, but I can't marry a woman I don't trust."

Patrick cleared his throat. "How did she lie to you?"

"She led me to believe Rigan Gallagher had raped her and that she was pregnant."

Marcy blinked and turned her face into Patrick's shoulder. "Oh, Charity ..."

Patrick absently rubbed Marcy's back. "You mean the man who attacked her?"

Mitch nodded.

"How do you know he didn't?"

"Because Faith confronted her and she confessed. On the ship, when she realized I was intent on returning to Ireland to marry someone else, she started getting sick toward the end of the sailing. Throwing up and leading me to believe she was pregnant." Mitch rubbed his fingers to the side of his head. "I was worried. I thought she might try to harm herself." He sighed. "So I proposed."

"And the rings?" Marcy looked at him expectantly.

"Bridget thought it would be a good idea. One, because she knew Charity didn't want to leave Ireland and would fight it, which she did. Bridget said it would give me leeway if people thought I was Charity's husband. And two, because it would protect Charity's reputation while we traveled together. The weather was nasty when we left the ship, so with our gloves on, we simply forgot to take the rings off before we arrived here."

Marcy shook her head. "Mother and Charity-they're a lot alike, you know."

He attempted a half smile. "They're very close, Mrs. O'Connor. It about tore Bridget's heart out to send Charity home."

Patrick looked up. "How did Faith find out in the first place, to confront her?"

"When we arrived, I confided in her that Charity and I weren't married, telling her about the rape and pregnancy." Mitch looked down at his feet, suddenly conscious of Marcy's gaze. His cheeks grew warm. "Apparently Charity was having her time of the month, and Faith put two and two together. She made Charity promise to tell me the truth before we went to City Hall."

"City Hall?" Marcy repeated.

He nodded. "Yesterday, to get married. Only we found out they don't perform marriages on the second and fourth weekends. At any rate, Charity was supposed to tell me before we went. Only she didn't. It was Collin who dropped the bomb. By accident."

Patrick rubbed his hand over his face. "God, forgive us."

"I swear to you, Mr. O'Connor, I slept on the couch both nights."

Patrick eyed him. "So nothing happened?"

Blood flooded Mitch's cheeks. He looked away. "No."

"Thank you for your honesty. It appears we've got our work cut out with this wayward daughter of ours." He sighed. "I'm sorry for the grief she's caused you."

He picked up his luggage. "I love her a lot, Mr. O'Connor. I'd give anything if she were like Faith, a woman with deep faith. But she's not. She's Charity. And because of my own problems, I can't get past the distrust and her lack of regard for God."

"I understand." Patrick opened the storm door and held out his hand.

Mitch shook it and then nodded at Marcy. "Mrs. O'Connor, I'm sorry I lied. I never should have allowed it. I thought I was stronger than that, but your daughter can be a very persuasive woman."

Marcy pushed past her husband and put her arms around Mitch, hugging him fiercely. "You're quite a loss for us, Mitch Dennehy. My heart grieves for my daughter and all of us."

Mitch cleared his throat. "Me too, Mrs. O'Connor." He turned to go.

Patrick stepped out on the porch and put a hand on his shoulder. "Where are you headed? Can I call you a cab?"

Mitch shook his head. "No, thanks, I'll call for one at the confectionary on the corner. I'll get a room in town and then take the first ship that sails."

"Mitch?"

Patrick and Marcy turned to see Faith at the door, her face wet with tears. "Father, may I speak with Mitch before he leaves? Please?"

Patrick patted Marcy's shoulder and steered her inside, rubbing her arms to ward off the cold. "Don't be long, Faith. Mitch needs to go, and we need to get ready for church."

Faith tugged a jacket from the coatrack and eased past her parents to stand beside Mitch on the porch.

Mitch set his suitcase down and helped her on with her coat. "Thanks again, Mr. and Mrs. O'Connor, for your hospitality. And your understanding."

They nodded and closed the door, leaving him alone with Faith. He blew out a weary breath and picked up his valise, continuing down the steps to the front gate. They walked in silence down the sidewalk for several yards. The cool air was a welcome change from the tension at the house. He gave her a sideways glance. "It's cold. Why don't you go back?"

She looked up at him, and her face was swollen from crying. With a small heave, she launched herself against his chest, squeezing tightly. "Oh, Mitch, I'm so sorry. My heart is sick. For you and for Charity."

He set his bag down and embraced her, pressing his head to her hair. "I'm going to miss you, Faith O'Connor." He swallowed hard. "For the rest of my life."

She pulled away and sniffed, swabbing her face with the back of her hand. "I love you, Mitch. I always will. I pray that God blesses you more than you ever dreamed possible."

He grazed her chin with his thumb. "He already did. With you. Wife or friend, you're the best there is."

"Charity has potential too. As a wife and a friend. She begged me to ask you for a second chance."

His smile was sad. "A very wise woman once told me that the man she married would have to love God with the same intensity as she did. In fact, she told me she turned away the man she loved because he cared more for his own lust than for her. More for himself than her God. You were right then, Faith, and your words are right now."

She shivered. "I know."

He hugged her one last time. "Go home and love on your sister. She's starved for it."

Faith nodded and pulled away. "I'll never forget you, Mitch."

"Nor I, you, my friend." He hoisted his suitcase in his hand. "Now, Collin McGuire?" He grinned. "Him I'd like to forget."

The glow of Christmas Eve was everywhere except in the gloom of Charity's room. The distant sound of clatter from the kitchen and Katie's giggles filtered in beneath her closed door, along with the smell of roast turkey and fresh-baked pies. Charity rolled over and curled one leg into a ball, the other still hard in the cast. She stared aimlessly across the room, oblivious to the beauty of dusk as it streamed across Faith's bed in pale lavender hues.

With great effort, she lifted her head to glance at the clock. When she did, a fresh wash of tears invaded her eyes. There on the nightstand stood a miniature balsam tree, snipped from the top of one of her father's fir trees. A strand of cranberries draped it with care, along with shimmering strands of tinsel. Tiny lace snowflake doilies, the kind Faith and Hope used to soak in Marcy's sugar solution to make them stiff, perched on the branches like stars in a verdant sky.

Charity's hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob. She remembered-Faith remembered! She touched the tip of her finger to one of the snowflakes, and forgotten memories flooded her mind. From the age of two until six, she had awakened to her own personal tree, provided by twin sisters who'd shamelessly doted on her. Whether Hope's idea or Faith's, she didn't know. But they'd found a way to make sure she'd sleep in her own bed and not under the tree, with nary a tear shed in the process. A sad smile curved her lips.

Precious memories.

She laid back on the pillow, knowing they'd be coming for her soon. It was almost five, the time when the doorbell would ring and Collin and their neighbor, Mrs. Gerson, would arrive, joining in on the laughter and love. Her father or Sean would carry her to the table where her mother and Faith would display a feast for the senses. Wassail would be poured and candles lit while heads bowed and her father prayed, rejoicing in the celebration of Christ.

Charity squeezed her eyes shut, forcing rivulets of tears to soak her face. Dear Lord, when would the weeping stop? Ten days had passed since Mitch walked out that door, and the waterworks showed no sign of relenting. Nor the lonely pain of missing him.

Not that she'd been alone. No, her family hadn't allowed that. Especially her father and Faith. Sitting by her bed whenever she was awake, reading to her, talking to her, loving her. Once, when she'd jolted with a nightmare in the middle of the night, Faith had crawled in beside her and rocked her in her arms. It was sustenance to her battered soul. She cried and they soothed. She hurt and they loved.

The door creaked open and a shaft of light split the room. The smell of musk soap and pipe tobacco drifted in along with it, stirring her heart. Her father loomed large in the light, reminding her of Mitch, and she was struck at how much she craved both men's love.

He closed the door to a crack, reducing his form to a shadow as he moved to her bed. He sat in the chair and leaned forward, his eyes searching hers in the dark. "You awake, darlin'?"

She rolled on her side to look up. "Is it time?"

His chuckle echoed rich and husky in the small room, filling it with his presence. "It's Christmas Eve, darlin', not a funeral. It will do you good. Get your mind off things."

She sniffed. "I won't be much fun."

He stroked her hair. "Broken hearts have a way of doing that, I'm afraid. But they always heal."

His touch brought tears to her eyes. "I don't know if I'll ever heal. Mitch is a part of my soul, my heart. When he left, it felt like something inside of me died."

He sat beside her and cradled her in his arms. His voice was thick with emotion and tinged with resolve. "You'll heal, darlin', if it takes the rest of my life to see to it. My heart grieves with you, Charity, broken just like yours for the loss you've sustained. But there's a part of me that's glad I can hold you and comfort you, love you like I've wanted to for so many years."

Charity laid her head on his chest, the salt of her tears mixing with the scent of her childhood. She wound her fingers tightly around his neck, soaking in his love. She shuddered in his arms, her voice a broken whisper. "I need you, Daddy."