A Passion Redeemed (59 page)

"What about me?" Sean asked, his tone wounded.

"You could use the humility." She propped her hands on her hips. "But I do have a favor to ask. Emma's in there trying to help with dishes, despite Faith's best efforts to shoo her away. Would you mind dragging her out and keeping her company while Brady and I take a walk?"

Sean smiled and stood, pushing his shirtsleeves up. "With pleasure. She seems like a gentle soul, Charity. I like her."

"She is, Sean, one of the best. She's been wounded more than any human being I know, but it never seems to touch her or harden her. She's a true gift from God." She clamped a hand on Brady's arm and yanked him up. "And speaking of 'true gifts from God,' get a move on, Brady; you're taking me for a walk."

"I don't suppose I have a choice?" He lumbered toward the hall to get her sweater.

Charity snatched it off the rack first. "Nope. I need a shoulder to cry on."

Sean sailed by. "Better wear a raincoat, Brady."

Charity stepped outside and clutched her sweater tightly around her, lifting her face to the cool of the night. She sucked in a deep breath and let it out again, grateful for her family and the love they supplied. And the diversion.

"Where to?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft and low.

She nodded toward the swing on the porch.

He cocked a hip. "Not much of a walk."

She tugged him over. "All of a sudden I'm too tired to walk. Do you mind?"

Did he mind? Sitting with her in the shadows, the scent of her hair as fresh and inviting as the smell of summer rain? Not likely.

He sat down beside her, giving her plenty of room. She edged closer and put her head on his shoulder, warming him more than he liked. With a sigh of resignation, he slipped an arm around her and pulled her close. "So how are you? Really?"

Her sigh was heavy, and he tightened his hold. "Fine, now that I'm home. Or almost fine."

"Almost?"

"Yeah. Coming home again has been like balm to my battered soul, Brady. Thanks to you and your prayers, I'm a different person inside."

He shifted, uncomfortable with her praise. "I just finished the job that Mitch started. He got you thinking about God, pursuing him. I just tied up the loose ends."

She listed against him a bit more. "I need you to do it again."

He looked down at her with a sideways glance. "What?"

She closed her eyes, pain etched in her features. "Tie up the loose ends that Mitch left unraveled. He wounded me, Brady, to the core. Not that I didn't deserve it. I did. But he plucked my heart out and stomped on it for good measure." She grunted a hollow laugh. "Then Rigan finished me off."

His muscles tensed. "Charity, Collin told me. God help me, if I could, I would kill him."

She looked up, her eyes wet in the moonlight. "That's the miracle in all of this, Brady. God did help me. He opened my eyes to the sin in my heart like nothing has ever been able to do. Rigan stole my virtue on a kitchen table in Shaw's back room, but God gave me his in its place. In the midst of Rigan's sin, I saw my own as clearly as the depravity in his eyes. When he left that night, for the first time in my life, I repented. Really and truly repented. Not only for all the lies and deceptions, but for all the people I've hurt. You once told me that people are attached to our obedience. You were right. And because of my lifelong rebellion against God, I have hurt the people I love most in life, as surely as Rigan hurt me. I love Mitch with all of my heart, but I didn't act like it. I lied, I deceived, and I seduced him until he had no choice but to turn me away. In the process, I discovered that sin is a cold blade that slices to the heart, wounding all in its grasp. But my God has delivered me."

Her voice cracked on a sob and Brady pulled her into his embrace, resting his cheek against her hair. "Charity O'Connor, angels are leaping before the throne of God over you." Like my heart. He closed his eyes, drinking in the heady scent of her.

She sniffed and he handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her nose and leaned back against his arm, her face somber. "But the wages of sin is death, Brady, and I now have a terrifying knowledge of exactly what that means."

He stiffened. "Why do you say that?"

She closed her eyes. "Because when Rigan ... did what he did ... something inside of me died. Trust and confidence, replaced by fear and loathing. Loathing of who I am, what I did."

"We're all sinners, Charity."

She shook her head vehemently, dispelling the pool of tears in her eyes till they streamed down her face. "No, Brady, don't soften what I did. What Rigan did was wrong, but I had a hand in it. From the moment I met him, I used him and led him on for my own purposes with no regard for him or his feelings. He was in love with me and I knew it, and I played it for all it was worth." She pressed a shaky hand to her mouth. "I struck a deal with him as surely as I did with the devil himself. I sold my body and my soul, just like Mitch said."

Brady's heart pounded in his chest. "You mean ... you slept with Rigan before the rape?"

"No, nothing like that, but I gave him my lips freely, whenever and wherever, letting him believe he could have more down the road. I used him to make Mitch jealous, never caring that every kiss stoked the fire inside of him. I led him on, Brady, tempting him with my body. Until he finally took it ..." She turned her face away, her throat working in the moonlight. "And my womanhood along with it."

Brady touched her cheek with his finger, softly turning her to face him. "I don't understand. What are you saying, Charity?"

She shivered and looked away, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'm saying I have no desire to ... be with a man, to be pretty for one or let one touch me. I just feel afraid ... inside."

He held her face in his hand and gently stroked her chin with his thumb. His voice was tender. "I'm touching you, Charity. Does this make you afraid?"

She looked up, her eyes wide and wet. "Oh, no, Brady. You're my friend. I trust you."

He smiled. "It will be the same with the man you fall in love with."

She shuddered. "Do you really think so?"

"With God's help, I do. You just have to heal and learn to trust again."

She pressed her cheek to his chest, clutching him with shaky fingers. "But the old Charity, the tease and the temptress, is gone, Brady. I have no desire to fix my face or my hair or dress up and be pretty. I feel so ... dead inside. So worthless. God opened my eyes and gave me his forgiveness, but as a woman, I feel so lost, so imperfect."

Brady held her tightly, resting his head on top of hers. "We don't have to be perfect, Charity, because God is. In time, he'll heal the woman in you as surely as he healed your soul."

She shuddered and wept against his chest, every quiver of her body wrenching his. After a few moments, she pulled away to blow her nose with his handkerchief, then gave him a shaky smile.

He cupped her chin with the palm of his hand. "I'll say it again, Charity O'Connor, the heavens are rejoicing over you. You bring a smile to God's face ... and mine."

She blew her nose again and laughed at the same time. "I'm sure both you and God thought nothing would ever get through this thick head of mine." She sighed. "And speaking of thick heads ..."

Brady's heart stopped.

"That's where the rest of 'almost fine' comes in."

He pulled away and took a deep breath. "Mitch?"

She nodded and plunked back down on his shoulder. "I can't get him out of my head, Brady, much less my heart. I pray and I plead and seem to make strides, and then, boom! I turn a corner or blink an eye and I see his face ... his smile ... his unbelievably annoying stubbornness." She glanced up. "What am I gonna do?"

He swallowed hard, wondering the very same thing. "You just need time, time to heal and move on. You will, you know, with God's help and your family's."

She crooked a brow. "And yours?"

He smiled. "That goes without saying. But it's going to entail a strict regimen of Bible study and prayer. None of this fly in, fly out on a whim, asking me questions and looking for prayer when you need it the most. You up to that?"

She flung her arms around his neck. "0 Brady, try me!"

Lord, help me. He peeled her arms off his neck. "Good, then we start Monday. You can either come to the shop early or with Beth after school. Your choice."

She scrunched her nose in thought. "I think I'll come early. That way I'll have you all to myself and Beth doesn't have to know, okay?"

Lord, help me. He stood and rolled his neck. "Ready to go in? I think there was pie left."

Her mouth gaped open. "You can't possibly be hungry!"

He grinned and latched a gentle hand behind her neck and firmly steered her to the door. Charity O'Connor, you have no idea.

Marcy eyed her husband stretched out on their bed, eyes closed and arms propped behind his head. "Patrick, you're not going to sleep without me, are you? I still have a hundred strokes to do."

A semblance of a smile shadowed his lips. "No, Marcy, take your time. I'll be right here when you're done."

She turned in shock, brush in hand. "Take my time? You want me to take my time? Are you talking in your sleep?"

A low chuckle rumbled from the bed. One eyelid lifted, along with the curve of his lips. "No, darlin', I'm just lying here, enjoying the memory of the evening."

She sighed, laid the brush on her wardrobe, and blew out the lamp. She padded over to the bed and crept in beside him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"So, what happened to the hundred strokes?"

"I'd rather be next to you." She snuggled close. "It's good having Charity home, isn't it?"

His arm scooped her to him, tucking her head against his chest. "More than I can say. I've missed that girl."

"Me too. I want her right here, where we can love on her and protect her. She's been through a lot in the last year."

"Some of it her own doing, I'm afraid, but I sense a change. I think she's growing up."

Marcy shivered. "Has she said anything to you ... about..."

"No."

"Me, either. I'm worried, Patrick. Worried about the longterm effect ..."

He shifted to face her. "You mean pregnancy?"

She nodded. "And her feelings about men, her trust. She has a lot of wounds to heal."

Patrick sighed and closed his eyes. "We all do, Marcy. When one of us is wounded, we all hurt. But God has seen us through more than one crisis, as you've reminded me many a time."

"He has at that." She touched a hand to his cheek, skimming across the serious set of his jaw. "I've gone and robbed you of your good mood, now haven't I?"

"No. Nothing can daunt the joy of having my girl home." He leaned to brush his mouth to hers. "And you by my side."

She responded with a force that opened his eyes. He chuckled and tugged her closer. "You can, however, make it up if you like."

She clutched him fiercely, squeezing her eyes tight. "Oh, Patrick, why is it that when trouble comes, I need you close to me more than ever?"

He stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Because we're one, my love. Man and wife reveling in that wonderful and warm, incredibly safe place that God has given us. Where we can be one with him and one with each other, shutting out all the hurt and the pain."

Tears stung her eyes. "I love you, Patrick. So much."

His lips caressed hers for several seconds before his mouth strayed to the curve of her jaw, nibbling her ear. His low laugh ter vibrated against her cheek. "I believe I'd like to see some proof."

She giggled and ran a hand down the length of his thigh. "Gladly."

"Mother? Father? Are you asleep?"

Marcy's hand froze on Patrick's leg. The heat of his embrace suddenly rushed to her cheeks. She sat up, blinking in the dark. "Charity? Is that you?"

Charity stood in the doorway of the darkened room, feeling the pull of her parents' love. "Yes. I couldn't sleep. Would it be all right if I snuggled with you for a while? Emma's long gone, I'm afraid, and I ... well, I'm feeling a bit lonely."

"Of course you can. Get over here and hop in." Marcy pushed the covers aside and scooted over to make room.

"I didn't waken you, did I?"

"No, your father and I were just talking."

Relief flooded as she slipped in the bed and turned on her side. Her mother cuddled close, wrapping an arm around her waist. Her father hooked his arm around them both, spooning. "Why so lonely, darlin'? You couldn't be surrounded by more love than you are here."

Charity swallowed hard, fighting a tremor in her voice. "I know, Father. And that's what's getting me through. That and God."

Marcy squeezed her. "You miss Mima and Mother, don't you?"

Wetness stung her eyes. "Terribly."

"And Mitch?" Marcy's tone was hesitant.

Charity shivered. "With all my heart."

"Darlin', I know this is hard to believe," Patrick whispered, "but you will get over him. We'll all see to that."

"I believe that, Father, but right now, it seems so impossible. My heart is sick with grief, and not just over missing Mitch, Mima, and Grandmother. Over the shame I've caused. To myself, to you ... and to God. I know he's forgiven me, but I'm not sure I can forgive myself."