A Passion Redeemed

  "You're sleeping with me?" Katie jumped up in her chair, eyes wide with excitement.

  Faith leveled her with a threatening look. "Yes, Katie Rose, but only if you don't kick me like you used to at Grandmother's."

  "I promise, Faith, I'll be still as a mouse."

  Faith smiled. "Then I'll be waiting for you after you trim the tree, okay?" She rounded the table to kiss her mother and father good night, then stopped to hug Charity and smile at Mitch. "Good night, you two lovebirds. I'm glad you're home, Charity. I'm looking forward to spending time with you before the wedding."

  Charity smiled. "Good night, Faith. Thanks for giving up your bed."

  She gave Mitch a smirk. "Well, I suppose it's for a good cause. Good night, everyone."

  Faith felt like an old woman as she trudged up the steps, her exhaustion warring with an uneasy feeling inside. She dismissed it and entered her room, lighting the lamp on the bureau. In a near-numb state, she moved to the linen closet in the hall and pulled out a fresh set of sheets, then returned and tossed them on Charity's bed. With a huge yawn, she stripped the sheets off her own bed and replaced them, smoothing the comforter just right. She sighed and turned around, noting the rumpled covers on Charity's bed. She reached for the edge of the blanket and pulled it back, ready to tuck it in. She gasped.

  Blood on the sheets.

  Faith froze. The edge of the cover slipped from her hand. With shaky fingers, she pulled it back to stare. Either Charity was miscarrying ... or she wasn't pregnant at all ...

  She dropped on the bed and closed her eyes, her thoughts buzzing in her brain. What was going on? Or more true to form, what was Charity up to? She thought of Mitch and groaned. He deserved so much more. A woman he could trust. A woman who wasn't tricking him to marry her, if that's what Charity was doing. She pressed her hand to her head, exhaustion overpowering her. "Dear Lord, what should I do? I need your help, please."

  Faith stood to her feet. Resolve suddenly buoyed her energy. She flipped the covers back and marched downstairs, where her family was just finishing dessert.

  Marcy looked up in surprise. "I thought you were going to bed?"

  Faith forced a smile. "I am, but I'd like to talk to Charity first. In private, if I could." She glanced at Mitch. "Would you mind carrying her up to our bedroom? Just for a few moments?"

  "Can't it wait?" Charity looked up in surprise.

  "I'm sorry, but I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink until I get this off my chest. It won't take long."

  Patrick's eyes reflected concern as he tapped his pipe. "It's a little late in the evening for resolving differences, Faith. Are you sure it can't wait until morning?"

  Faith glanced at Mitch, and her heart twisted in her chest. "No, Father, it can't."

  Mitch stood and gathered Charity in his arms. His eyes trained on Faith as she moved to the door. Charity peeked over his shoulder. "We'll be right back. Don't trim without us."

  Mitch followed her up the stairs, his tone gruff while Charity sat mute in his arms. "What's this all about, Faith?"

  "Just clearing the air so I can sleep. Nothing more." She held the bedroom door open.

  He set Charity on the bed with a quick kiss to her cheek. "Call me when you're done."

  She nodded. He closed the door, leaving an uneasy silence between them. Charity hiked a brow. "So. What's important enough that you have to drag me upstairs?"

  Faith sat on the other bed. Her nerves were raw under her skin. She took a deep breath. "Mitch told me that you and he aren't married."

  Charity paled. "Why would he tell you that?"

  "Because he's worried about you. So am I." Faith lifted her chin. "And about him."

  Charity's jaw hardened. "There's nothing to worry about."

  "There is if you're lying to him."

  Anger glinted in Charity's eyes. "Worrying about him is my job now, not yours."

  "I loved him way before you did, and I still do. He's one of the dearest friends I've ever had. I don't want to see him hurt."

  "You didn't worry about that a year ago when you walked out on him."

  Faith stood to her feet. A spasm flickered her cheek. "At least I told him the truth."

  Charity cocked her head. "And I'm not? Is that it? I love him. And he loves me. And that's the hard, cold truth, Faith. Get used to it."

  "You aren't pregnant, are you, Charity?"

  The blood drained from her sister's cheeks. "What?"

  "And I have a suspicion the rape was a lie too."

  Charity closed her eyes, pain streaking her face. "He told you? Why would he do that?"

  "Because the man is worried! Worried he's marrying a woman he can't trust."

  Charity's eyes shot open, blazing with anger. "He needs a woman like you, is that it, Faith? What, Collin and Father aren't enough? You want Mitch's heart too?"

  "This has nothing to do with me, Charity. It has everything to do with Mitch and you. I want it to work between you, I do. But it never will if you lie to get him to marry you."

  Charity shuddered and wrapped her arms around her stomach. "I'm not lying."

  Faith's anger flared. She reached across the bed and jerked the blanket back to reveal the bloody sheet. "Either you're lying or you're losing your baby. Which is it?"

  Charity stared at the sheet. She looked up, her eyes wet with fear. "I didn't lie to him, I swear. He just jumped to his own conclusions."

  "And you let him."

  "Faith, I love him. I didn't intend to mislead him, but he assumed my nausea had to do with pregnancy. And I let him believe it. He asked if I was late, and I was!" She looked away. "And then my time of the month came the very next morning." She looked back up, her eyes frantic. "I panicked when he said he was going back to Ireland. I knew I would lose him to Kathleen. I couldn't let that happen."

  Faith drew in a deep breath and sat down next to her sister. She took her hand. "You weren't raped, were you?"

  Charity looked away. She shook her head.

  "I'm glad. But you have to tell him. He loves you. He'll forgive you. But not if you lie."

  Charity squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I can't, Faith. I'm afraid I'll lose him. I'll tell him tomorrow, after we're married, I promise."

  Faith pressed her hand to Charity's cheek, smoothing away the tears. "No, tonight. I'm begging you-give him the choice. He's been betrayed by too many women he's loved. He will never trust you if you deceive him."

  Charity began to sob, and Faith pulled her into her arms. She closed her eyes and stroked Charity's hair. "Lord, give my sister the courage and grace to do the right thing, please. Help her to tell the truth. And show her how much you love her." Faith ducked her head, giving Charity a tired smile. "It's going to work out. Just do the right thing and trust God. Mitch loves you. He told me so." Faith gave her a tight hug, then stood to her feet. "Should I call him?"

  Charity wiped her face with her sleeve. "No, not yet. Would you mind getting me a wet washrag to blot my face?"

  Faith smiled. "Sure." She headed for the door.

  "And Faith?"

  She turned.

  "You won't say anything, will you? To Mitch or the family? It needs to come from me."

  "No, not if you promise to tell him tonight."

  Charity stared, her eyes steeped in fear. "I promise."

  Faith smiled. "Good girl. I'll get that cold rag." She padded down the hall, stifling a yawn. Opening the linen closet, she grabbed a clean washcloth and soaked it good under the tap. She paused and stared in the mirror, barely seeing the exhaustion in her face for the barrage of thoughts in her head. So many lies: married but not; raped but not; pregnant but not. Faith sighed and twisted the wet rag in her hands. But at least she admitted the truth to her. Now she just had to tell Mitch.

  Tonight.

  Faith closed her eyes and leaned hard against the sink, the rag limp in her hands. "Oh, God, help her to do the right thing. Please." She sighed and wrung out the cloth one last time.
Her lips tilted in a tired smile. Limp and wrung out. Funny. She felt exactly the same way.

  "So? How do you think it went?"

  Patrick looked up as he unbuttoned his shirt. "What, trimming the tree?"

  Marcy pursed her lips in a wry smile. "No, you goose, the evening. You know-Charity, you, Faith. Having Mitch as a son-in-law, the whole thing. How do you feel it went?"

  Patrick smiled and stepped out of his trousers. He hung them in the wardrobe, then peeled off his shirt and tossed it toward the hamper. It skimmed across the top and landed on the floor. "Fine, I suppose. It's good having her home, although I didn't get a chance to talk to her alone."

  Marcy wiggled up against the headboard and bunched her knees to her chin. She tucked her flannel nightgown tightly around her feet, then pulled the covers up. There was a buzz of excitement in her manner. "Well, what about Mitch? You like him, don't you?"

  He smiled and tugged his pajama bottoms up, then jerked the cord tight. "Of course I like him. He's a newspaper man, isn't he? And a smart one, judging from the little we talked." He reached for his pajama shirt and slipped it on. His mouth zagged into a droll smile. "He's perfect for Charity-no nonsense and too big to push around."

  She giggled and slid down into the bed, a look of contentment on her face. "I know. I absolutely love him. He was such a godsend after the army said you were dead."

  Patrick arched a brow. He leaned down and planted a kiss on her cheek. "I hope I've convinced you I'm very much alive, Mrs. O'Connor."

  She rolled on her side and propped her head against her hand. She teased him with a smile and patted the bed. "I might need just a wee bit more convincing."

  His hands settled loosely on his hips. "Must be all the romance in the air that's putting ideas in your head, woman. And I'll be more than glad to oblige. When I come back." He bent to brush his lips against hers, then headed for the door. "Keep the bed warm."

  She sat up. "Where are you going?"

  He snatched his robe off the hook on the door. He slipped it on and tied the sash. "To talk to Charity."

  "Now?"

  He scrounged around in the closet for his slippers. "Yes, now. She's alone."

  "How do you know?"

  He returned to the bed and sat, dropping his slippers on the floor with a thud. He put them on, one at a time, then turned to look Marcy in the eye. "Because that son-in-law of ours is still downstairs reading the paper. Claims he's a night owl. Tell me, does that strike you as odd?"

  She blinked. "Well, maybe just a little."

  He angled a brow. "A little? The man is on his honeymoon, married to a woman who has turned every male head since she was five. And he'd rather be downstairs reading the paper than in there with her?" He grunted, adjusting his shoe. "The Boston Herald is a good paper, if I say so myself, but no paper is that good. Something's not right."

  Marcy wrinkled her brow. "What do you mean? Things seemed all right to me."

  He turned to face her. "You were too busy with dinner and decorating the tree to notice, but there's a tension in Mitch's manner, an unease. Charity's too, for that matter."

  "That seems inevitable with Mitch seeing Faith again, and then Charity with Collin too."

  He pressed his lips and shook his head. "No, I watched the interplay between Mitch and Faith tonight-it was warm and comfortable. The tension's with Mitch and Charity." He stood.

  "You're not going to try and broach all that tonight, are you?"

  He sighed and ran his hands over his face. "No, I don't have enough energy for both that and you." He grinned. "I'll reserve my strength and save that for another time. Right now I just want to tell her I love her. And that I'm glad she's home."

  Marcy snuggled in the bed with a big yawn. "Hope I'm still up when you get back."

  He flashed a grin over his shoulder on the way to the door. "Doesn't matter, darlin'. You're already committed."

  Patrick moved down the hall, pausing at the top of the steps. A soft stream of lamplight still shone from the parlor. He shook his head. Night owl, my foot.

  He stood in front of Charity's closed door and drew in a deep breath. He knocked, then pushed it ajar. "Charity?"

  "Mitch? Is that you?"

  "No, darlin', it's your father. May I come in?"

  "Yes."

  A shaft of moonlight lit the room, allowing him to see her form sitting up in the dark, blanket pressed to her chest. He moved close. "I noticed Mitch hasn't come up yet, so I thought I'd come in to say good night. Like I used to. Do you mind if I sit down?"

  She shook her head and scooted over.

  He reached to put his arm around her shoulder, then removed it when he felt her stiffen. He clasped his hands in his lap, suddenly feeling awkward. "Charity, I just wanted to tell you how glad I am that you're home."

  "We probably won't stay, Father."

  He shifted to stare at her, hurt by the indifference in her tone. "I know that, darlin', but I'm happy to see you, nonetheless. I missed you. We all did."

  She turned away, and he saw a glimmer of wetness in her eyes. "I can't imagine Faith missed me all that much."

  Her words weighted his head down. "Well, she did. She loves you. And so do I."

  She blinked quickly, and her smile seemed to harden in the moonlight. "That's difficult to believe, Father, after what Idid. ..,,

  He released a heavy breath. "Faith isn't one to hold a grudge, Charity, you know that. She's forgiven you long ago."

  Her chin trembled. "Have you?"

  He stared at this fragile daughter of his, and his heart clutched in his chest. "No need, darlin'. I've done nothing but fiercely love you since the day you were born."

  "I wish I could believe that." She turned away, but not before he saw a trail of tears.

  He drew in a deep breath and reached out to pull her close, collecting her in his arms. Her body was stiff, but he clutched her anyway, squeezing his eyes tight. "I wish you could too, darlin'. My heart's not the same without your love."

  Her laugh was muffled and harsh. "There's always Faith."

  He groaned and held her away, his eyes searching her face. "It's time to forgive your sister, Charity. It wasn't her fault that Hope died nor that she developed polio and needed our attention. Faith has forgiven you and moved on. I suggest you do the same."

  She jerked away and shielded herself with the blanket. "Yes, she has. But then I've never been as good as Faith, have I, Father?"

  He expelled a frustrated sigh. "Stop it, Charity. Now! I won't have lies uttered to my face, and that's all they are. Lies you've believed your whole life. You are my daughter, and I love you deeply. But all that love doesn't mean a thing if you won't accept it."

  "Lies? Was it a lie when you deserted our family for a year to attend to Faith?"

  Heat fused up the back of his neck. "She was sick. I know you were only six at the time, but you have to understand. A parent's heart is crushed when they lose a child, and I was close to losing another. Faith needed me. A true father doesn't desert a child in their time of need."

  She shivered, the curve of her chin rigid as she lifted her head. "Yes, I know."

  Her telling whisper sucked the life out of him. His shoulders slumped as he put a hand to his eyes. "I'm sorry, darlin'. Sorry for all the hurt I obviously caused. I want to make it up to you, I do. I want to make it right, but I can't until you forgive me. And Faith." He stood to his feet, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. "I'll leave you be for now, but this is not over, because I need your forgiveness and I need your love. Good night, darlin'."

  He turned and left the room, his exhaustion complete.

  She sat, still as a statue, covers still clutched to her throat. She blinked at the door, the blood rushing in her ears. Pressing a hand to her mouth, she stifled a sob that threatened the silence. Why had she done that? Why had she turned him away? She loved him! What was wrong with her heart that made it withdraw whenever her father reached out?

  She slid down into the cool sheets,
shivering from the absence of his love. She needed him to hold her, to love her, to tell her she was his girl. But he couldn't.

  Her heart wouldn't let him.

  A creak sounded at the door, and she froze in the bed. She held her breath as a large form eclipsed against the light in the hall. It faded into shadows when the door closed with a click.

  "Mitch?"

  The shadow stilled. "Charity? What are you doing up?"

  She glanced at the clock on the nightstand, lit by a stream of moonlight. Midnight. She shuddered. "I couldn't sleep."

  He moved toward her bed. "Are you all right? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

  She shook her head and sniffed.

  He sat down and bent to study her face. "Are you crying?"

  She nodded and leaned into him with a sob.

  His arms swallowed her up. "What's wrong? Are you sick again?"

  "No. It's my father. He came to see me."

  Mitch pulled away to look in her eyes. "What? Why?"

  "To tell me he loved me, that he was glad I was home."

  "That's good news, isn't it?"

  "Not if I turned him away."

  "Did you?"

  She nodded, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her nightgown.

  "Why?"

  She put her hand over her mouth as a shiver traveled her body. "I don't know. Something's wrong with me. I need his love so badly, but I can't seem to accept it." She collapsed against his chest with a broken sob. "Oh, Mitch, I need to be held and loved. It's like I'm starved inside, empty. The feeling ... it's so awful."

  He stroked her hair with his hand, and his voice was tender. "Charity, I love you. Your father loves you, and most importantly, God loves you. The more you draw close to God, the more you will realize that and be free from this emptiness."

  She clutched at his shirt. "Will you hold me? Lay beside me till I fall asleep?"

  He hesitated for a long time, then slowly laid her back on the bed. He reached down to take off his shoes, then tucked the covers tightly around her. He stretched out his legs as he sat back against the headboard and scooped her close to his side.