A Passion Redeemed (53 page)

He swallowed hard, gazing at the face he saw every night in his dreams. "Goodbye, Charity. Stay in touch."

She nodded and slipped through the door.

Kathleen glanced up and twined his fingers with her own. "Are you all right?"

He pulled her into his arms and rested his head against hers. "Yeah."

"Is she?"

He hesitated, his gaze traveling to the door. He exhaled. "God help her, I hope so."

The front door flew open with a resounding thwack. Charity blew in and vaulted up the stairs, the sound of the door banging behind her. Bridget's knitting needles froze in the air. Another door slammed upstairs. She looked at Mima. "Dear me, what on earth happened? Did you see her face? Blotchy and swollen, eyes red and raw."

"Well, don't just stand there, Bridget, put those blasted needles down and find out."

Bridget nodded and jumped up, tossing the needles on the sofa before running from the room. Her heart pounded as she raced up the steps. "Charity?"

She hurried down the hall and knocked, opening Charity's door to peek in. Her granddaughter lay on her bed, her form still as death.

"Charity? What happened? Are you all right?"

She heard a muffled cry from the bed and ran to her granddaughter's side. She sat and touched her shoulder. "Charity?"

With a moan, Charity turned and caved in her arms, sobs wrenching from her throat. "Oh, Grandmother, I ... 1-love him so, and he's ... marrying Kathleen. Even though he loves me."

Bridget stared in shock. "He told you that?"

She nodded, heaving uncontrollably.

"Did he tell you why?"

"Be ... cause he com ... mitted to her, g-gave her a ring, just last n-night. He says w-we're not right for each other."

"Why, that's balderdash. If the man's in love with you, he needs to get his head on straight and marry you, not some other woman."

Charity continued to sob, wiping her nose with her arm. Bridget yanked a handkerchief from her sleeve and handed it to her. A dangerous frown hardened on her face. "So help me, I have a good mind to unleash Margaret on that boy. She would set him straight."

"No, sh-she wouldn't. H-he's made up his m-mind, Grandmother, and that's how he is. Too stubborn and th-thickheaded to see we belong together."

Bridget held her close, doing her best to soothe. "Then you don't want to marry him anyway. He'd be nothing but grief, a bullhead like that, always demanding his own way."

Another jag of weeping swelled in Charity's chest. She jerked away and languished on the bed, her sobs breaking Bridget's heart.

"Oh, Grandmother, w-what am I g-going to do?"

"I'll tell you what you're going to do, young lady. You're going to cry your heart out and get it all out of your system. Then you're going to say good riddance to a man who doesn't have the sense that God gave a goat to know that he's just turned away the best thing he's ever had. Then you're going to blow your nose, wash your face and stand up tall, and never look back. You've got the store, you've got us, and you've got God. To the devil with Mitch Dennehy!"

Charity sat up and sniffed, her eyes wide and wet. Her mouth formed a soft "oh." "D-did you say to the devil with Mitch Dennehy'?"

Bridget hiked her chin and pursed her lips. "I most certainly did, and I'll say it again."

"Grandmother, you'd wash my mouth out with soap if I said that."

She huffed and folded her arms across her chest. "Not today I wouldn't. The man's obviously an idiot when it comes to love. When you tamper with the feelings of my favorite granddaughter, you tamper with me."

A soft chuckle bubbled from Charity's lips, followed by another wrenching sob. She hurtled herself into her grandmother's arms. "Oh, Grandmother, I love you so much. What would I do without you?"

She stroked Charity's head, her eyes welling with tears. "You would survive, granddaughter of my heart, because that's what you are. A fighter, a survivor. Not a coward in love like Mitch Dennehy."

Charity's lips trembled into a smile. "Really, Grandmother, he's not a coward, just pig-headed and a bit obnoxious. I suppose we should pray for him. And the poor woman he's marrying. Brady says prayers are more powerful when they're attached to our obedience."

Bridget pulled back and angled a brow. "And who, pray tell, is Brady?"

Charity sat up and leaned against the headboard, scrunching her knees to her chest. She wrapped her arms around her legs and gave Bridget a wobbly smile. "You remember, Grandmother, Collin's friend, from the war?"

Bridget squinted. "You mean the religious soldier Collin always complained about?"

Charity nodded. "He's Collin's partner now in Boston. They have a printing business."

"Oh, that Brady." She cocked her head, giving Charity a curious smile. "Is he handsome?"

"Oh, Grandmother, for pity's sake, he's in Boston and I'm here."

"But if you weren't, here I mean, if you were in Boston instead, would he be handsome?"

Charity hesitated, giving it thought. "Yes, I suppose so, although not in an obvious way like Collin or Mitch. Brady doesn't have their roguish good looks, or maybe it's just he's not aware of it so he doesn't exude it. His attraction is more understated, quiet, almost as if it sneaks up on you. I suspect it's because he's more concerned with things of the spirit than the flesh. There's definitely something very appealing about him, something very gentle and kind." She looked up. "And very, very strong."

"All wonderful qualities, my dear."

"Yes, they are. But more than anything, Grandmother, Brady's a wonderful friend. I have to say I was a bit put off in the beginning because he didn't swoon over me like men often do. He was actually rather detached. But the more he talked about the Bible and prayed-"

"You talked about the Bible together? And prayed?"

Charity laughed and nodded. "For several months. The fact that he had no romantic interest in me sort of freed me up, helped me to let down my barriers and really listen. Brady's the one who finally opened my eyes to God. He says when you pray for someone who's hurt you, you unleash powerful blessings. Not only in that person's life, but in yours as well. Brady's convinced that if two people are praying for the same person, and one's been hurt by them and the other hasn't, well, Brady thinks the prayers of the person who's been hurt are more powerful."

Bridget nodded slowly. "Because they're attached to obedience-saying no to your flesh and yes to God. I think I would agree with that."

"He claims it has something to do with two Scriptures, in particular-'pray for those who persecute you' and'the prayers of the righteous availeth much."'

"Well, your Brady certainly sounds like an amazing young man."

Charity smiled. "Well, he's not'my' Brady, Grandmother, but he is amazing. I miss him a lot. I guess I miss his friendship."

"Perhaps you better write him a letter and tell him so. Just channel that grief over Mitch into gratitude for Brady."

"I will, Grandmother. But first, I'd like to apply his advice and pray for that pitiful excuse of a man."

Bridget hiked her chin. "If you insist, but don't expect me to like it."

With a plaintive sigh, Charity took her grandmother's hand. "That's okay, Grandmother, I don't like it either. Right now I'd rather spit in his eye. But the irony is that Mitch once told me that obedience is a decision, not a feeling. And it's all that God requires."

Bridget gummed her lips. "That's good, because it's all he's going to get. You go ahead and start because I have a few more names I'd like to call him in my mind."

A smile flickered on Charity's lips as she closed her eyes. "Well get 'em out, Grandmother, because the heavens are about to open and we're going in."

"Goodness, I'm betting Mr. Quinlan will be love-struck in no time." Emma stepped back from pinning Charity's last curl in place. She smoothed the folds from her friend's new dress.

Charity laughed and spun around in front of the mirror, her cheeks aglow for the first time in three months. "It does feel rather good to dress up and go out once again. Even if Ryan doesn't put a skip in my pulse."

"Nobody would put a skip in your pulse right now except for he who shall remain nameless." Emma settled back on her bed and tucked her legs to her chest.

"You can say his name, Emma. I do-every time I pray." She folded her hands and reverently gazed at the ceiling. "Dear God, please bless that mule of a man, Mitch Dennehy, and help me to forget he ever existed. Amen."

Emma giggled. "Has it worked yet?"

Charity sighed and adjusted the feathery silk of her new ice-blue dress. "A little. But with the shop doing as well as it has, and the flurry of new customers flocking to our store, I don't have much time to think about him. Except the nights. Those are the worst."

"Well, you're on the mend, and that's all that really matters. Did you know that Mr. Hargrove said the store did almost twice as much business this month as the same time last year?"

Charity put on her matching pumps. "So he says. I think he's quite pleased with his return on his investment, especially the new merchandise we've brought in. Particularly the knickerbockers and felt fedoras." She grinned as she swept her hair over her shoulders, admiring Emma's handiwork. She felt pretty again, rather chic with her hair pulled up on the sides, pinned into loose curls at the back of her head. She turned, pleased with the way the rest tumbled down her back in soft, gleaming waves. "He actually bought a dozen before I even put them out."

"So that's where our profits are coming from. I thought Mr. Ryan Quinlan might be responsible for the surge. Did he even miss a day last week?"

Charity rolled her eyes and applied some pink to her cheeks. "Not that I know. Honestly, the man couldn't be more obvious."

"He is smitten. Do you like him?"

Eyes pensive, Charity reached for her silk evening wrap and fingered the soft material while she thought about Emma's question. "I do. He treats me like a goddess, of course. But he's a bit overeager, which bothers me. I guess I like a challenge."

Emma laughed. "Well, think of his money as the challenge. Straining your brain over all the wonderful ways to spend it once you become Mrs. Ryan Quinlan."

"I'm not interested in marriage right now, no matter how handsome or wealthy the suitor. I just want to heal and move on."

"Well, this is a step in the right direction. Your first date since you know who. What are you seeing at the theater tonight?"

"A new play by George Bernard Shaw called Heartbreak House."

"How appropriate."

She grinned. "It is, rather, isn't it?"

"Charity? Mr. Quinlan is here." Grandmother's voice drifted up from the foyer.

She stole one final glance in the mirror, then turned to Emma. "Tell me again, Emma. I need to hear it."

"You look beautiful, my friend. Ryan Quinlan is a dead man."

Charity gave her a droll smile. "Well, that would certainly tone him down a bit. Good night. Love you."

"Love you, too. Have fun, okay?"

Charity nodded and sailed out the bedroom door, excitement in her step for the first time in months. She scampered down the stairs to greet Ryan in the parlor and watched from the door as he chatted with Bridget and Mima. She smiled. He appeared as comfortable as if he'd known them all of his life. He was so different from Mitch, for which she was grateful. Not nearly as tall, he was a comfortable height at close to six feet, with thick, dark hair as straight as Mitch's was blond and cropped. He turned, suddenly aware she was in the room. His dark eyes seemed to glaze as he stared.

She grinned. "Hello, Ryan."

He swallowed hard. "Hello, Charity. You look incredible tonight." A faint ruddiness colored his cheeks. "Of course, you look incredible all the time, but especially tonight." He held out his arm. "Ready?"

She nodded and leaned to kiss Mima good night and then Bridget, who patted her on the cheek. "Have a good time, and don't be too late."

"I'll have her home at a decent hour, Mrs. Murphy. Good meeting you both. Good night."

The drive to the theater seemed to settle her nerves. Charity glanced at Ryan as he talked about his family, noting the warmth in his tone. She sighed. It would be a good evening, she hoped. She desperately needed one.