A Passion Most Pure (4 page)

"Saints almighty, Marcy, she's a child with the look of a woman, and I can tell you sure as I'm standing here what that young bloke sees in her." He swore out loud as he kneaded the back of his neck, then stopped when he saw the shock on her face.

The soft blue of Marcy's eyes turned flinty. "Patrick O'Connor, there is no call for profanity, and I am just as well aware of what that boy may be thinking as you. But severe discipline taken against a lovesick girl will accomplish nothing more than ushering her into harm's way. She's much too old for the strap, and this is far too delicate a matter."

He stormed to the cupboard and pulled out a glass, slamming the cabinet closed. After filling it with water, he drained it in one long gulp. He plunked the glass on the counter and turned to face her.

"Marcy, I just don't think that-" He stopped when he saw the firm lift of her chin, then released a heavy sigh and scrubbed the back of his neck. He took a deep breath and exhaled to force the frustration from his lungs. Walking to where she stood, he drew her close and cleared his throat. "You're right. We have to be calm but firm in our insistence that she stay away from him." He lifted her chin to gaze in her eyes. "I'll talk to her privately after dinner, when my belly is full and I'm not so prone to growl. You'll see, I'll handle it calmly and rationally." He cupped her face with his hand. An impish smile tugged at his lips. "And if that doesn't work, sure as St. Patrick is Irish, I'll just lock her in her room."

Marcy blinked, then smiled and shook her head. He folded her in his arms. Burrowing his face in her hair, he laughed-a rich, throaty sound that echoed through the still of the house.

Faith nipped at the nail on her pinky and paced the room. Why did it always have to be this way with her sister? Surely with her strong faith in God, she could overcome this urge to ... what? Disengage a fistful of golden curls from her sister's head? Apply a bit of blackening around those luminous blue eyes?

She groaned and dropped on the bed. She supposed it wasn't Charity's fault she'd been born to turn heads at such an alarming rate. But this jealousy was not an easy thing to conquer. Even so, she believed she'd been making progress. Praying for God to bless Charity, just as Mrs. Gerson had taught her from Matthew 5:44. Pray for those who persecute you. And she'd done it-over and over again.

She vaulted from the bed to study herself in the glass that hung on the wardrobe. Resting her hands on her hips, she tilted her face as if she were one of the ravishing models peering from the pages of Harper's Bazaar. I'm not completely unattractive, she thought as she piled her auburn hair on top of her head. She struck a dramatic pose. True, some might call her pretty, one or two might consider her beautiful, but few would ever admit she was as striking as her sister.

She turned sideways to survey her slight figure. Even at almost nineteen, she was a mere shadow of a woman next to Charity. Her brow furrowed as she assessed her slight frame, a stark contrast to Charity's ample bosom and shapely hips. "I hope she gets fat!" She collapsed on her bed and closed her eyes to relish the thought.

Fury is cruel, and anger is outrageous; but who is able to stand before jealousy? Her eyes blinked open. A sick feeling crawled in her stomach. The words of her blind neighbor, Mrs. Gerson, came back to haunt her.

"My dear, anger is a natural human emotion we all experience, " Mrs. Gerson had told her. "The Bible says to be slow to anger and sin not, making it clear anger in itself is not a sin. It's what we do with it that's right or wrong. Do we become bitter or do we forgive? Ah, but jealousy, now that's a horse of quite a different color. Jealousy is a condition of the heart involving so many things that stem the flow of God's blessings-self-pity, an ungrateful heart, bitterness, and a lack of faith that God knows what's best for you. Understand me, Faith, few people can stand before jealousy. "

Puffing out a sigh, Faith reached for her pillow and jabbed it a few times. She curled into a ball. As usual, Mrs. Gerson was right. "Forgive me, Lord," she whispered. "Help me fight this jealousy, please. I have so much to be grateful for."

She sat up and stared wide-eyed at the girl in the mirror, suddenly feeling much lighter. She took a deep breath and released it again, a look of amazement on her face. How could it be that within several shallow breaths, her whole world could shift so dramatically? Only seconds ago, she was sick with self-pity and weighted with jealousy. Now, the girl in the mirror blinked back, peace flooding her soul. His peace.

She closed her eyes and lifted her chin to the ceiling. "Okay, God, it's me and you. We're going to slay this dragon of jealousy if it takes sewing my mouth shut to do it! I'm counting on you to keep me steady and strong no matter how long it takes." Her lips quirked into a crooked smile. "And Lord, don't fail me, please-we both know I can't sew to save my soul."

"Marcy, darlin', I've been dreaming of your Irish stew the whole day long. It's a birthday feast fit for a king, I can tell you that. So, how is my family today?" Patrick doled out stew and smiles around the festive table set with Marcy's china and Irish lace tablecloth reserved for special occasions. He surveyed his wife and children, and a profound sense of gratitude swelled in his chest. His gaze flitted to Faith and Charity. Both looked rather sullen. And well they should. His smile tightened on his lips.

"I learned to spell cat today, Daddy. Do you want to hear? Cat, c-a-t, cat. What do you think of that?" Katie was quite pleased with herself. Her blue eyes sparkled as she pursed her rosebud mouth into a satisfied smile.

"Well, I think you may be ready for school before too long. What a bright young thing you are, Katie girl! And how is your bear today?"

"He has a cold, and I'm afraid he's quite a bother when he's sick."

Patrick laughed as he chomped on a piece of bread. "Ah, but I'm quite sure he'll recover nicely with such a wonderful mama taking care of him." He took a gulp of his coffee before turning his attention to his youngest son. "And how are your vocabulary words coming along, Steven? Ready for that spelling bee next week?"

"That's all he does is write his words, Daddy. He won't even play with me." Katie's sigh was as long as her face as she poked at the food on her plate.

Patrick eyed his daughter with a degree of tolerance. "Now, Katie, Steven's a big boy who goes to school. He has to work hard if he wants to be the best he can be. Soon you'll be in school, and you'll have to work hard too."

"But I work hard now," she reasoned. "I take care of my bear all day long."

Patrick's brow arched slightly. "I suggest you work hard on that stew, young lady, while I have a conversation with your brother." He turned back to his son. "How have you been doing in the trial bees, Steven?"

Steven's blue eyes lit with excitement. He was slight for his eight years, with a generous spray of freckles that imparted an elfin quality to his delicate face. "I've won every one, Father, and Mrs. Broyles says I'm the best speller in three years! I do hope you'll be able to come to the spelling bee next Thursday after school."

"Steven, your father will be working," Marcy reminded him gently.

Patrick saw disappointment in his son's eyes.

"How about I come in Father's place?" Sean asked, eyeing his younger brother.

Patrick glanced at his eldest. At the age of twenty, Sean was a stabilizing force among the O'Connor siblings. Tall and lean of stature with a shock of blond hair neatly combed back, Sean possessed Marcy's blue eyes, infused with the playful twinkle of his own.

"Thanks, Sean, but I have every intention of being there." Patrick reached to tousle Steven's red hair until it stood up on his head.

Marcy started to object, but Patrick gave her a look of warning. "I'll simply tell Ben I have a personal matter of great importance to attend to-case closed." Patrick pushed his empty plate away and stretched comfortably back in the chair.

Marcy stood up from the table with a noticeable sigh and headed to the kitchen. "Charity, I need your help with dessert, please. Faith, your night to clear the table, I believe?"

Charity jumped up in a rush, bumping her elbow into her sister's arm as Faith guzzled the last of her milk. Faith groaned when a spray of milk sloshed up her nose.

"Oops, sorry," Charity muttered.

"Sorry, my eye, you did it on pur-" Faith stopped midsentence, her gaze meeting her father's. She clamped her lips shut while milk dribbled from her chin. She swiped it with the sleeve of her blouse and rose from the table. In stoic silence, she collected dirty dishes and piled them high until Patrick could no longer see the scowl on her face.

He shook his head and turned his attention to Elizabeth, his shy daughter with the violet eyes that often held a faraway look. An avid student of literature, Beth reminded him of how Marcy might have been as a child. For that reason, among others, he fostered a great affection for this soft-spoken daughter of his. Leaning across the table, he stroked her cheek with his hand and was rewarded with a gentle smile.

"And where have you been today, Beth, in your great world of literature?"

All shyness vanished as Beth shared the adventures of Miss Jane Eyre. Patrick listened attentively while Katie sat with hands folded on the table and eyes rolling upward.

"All she does is read, read, read!" Katie complained. "When I grow up, I won't just read about things, I'll do them!"

"Don't be precocious, Katie," Patrick reprimanded.

"I already am, Daddy, there's nothing I can do about it." Katie's tone was matter-of-fact.

Patrick bit back a smile before turning to his eldest son. "Tell me, Sean, how is business down at Kelley's?"

A conversation ensued about the nuts and bolts of the hardware store where Sean worked. Suddenly the lights dimmed, and Marcy reappeared carrying a cake aglow with candles. Faith and Charity followed, plates and utensils in hand.

"Happy birthday, Father!" the family chimed in unison as Patrick made great show of extinguishing the candles that lit up the room.

"Did you make a wish, Daddy?" Katie demanded. "'Cause you have to make a wish."

"Yes, Katie, I did indeed. But it's hard to believe any wish I could make would be better than this-breaking bread with the woman I love"-Patrick winked at Marcy"surrounded by the children born of that love."

"Daddy," Katie said with no small exasperation, "it's cake, not bread, and why on earth would you want to break it? Mama and I worked very hard to make it."

Laughter filled the room, and Katie was clearly annoyed. "What? What'd I say?"

"Katie, love, it's from sheer delight of your adorable ways that we laugh, I can assure you. Now get over here, little girl, and give your daddy a birthday kiss." Patrick held out his arms. In a squeal, Katie was wrapped inside them, giggling and laughing with the others.

"Mother, you've outdone yourself-this cake's delicious!" Faith said after taking a bite. She licked icing from her finger. "If only I could bake like you."

"Goodness knows you'll need something to catch a husband," Charity muttered.

Patrick looked up from his dessert. The smile faded on his face.

"You're just jealous 'cause I can eat whatever I want," Faith whispered back.

"Eat as much as you like. Maybe it'll find its way into a figure-"

Patrick slapped his napkin on the table. "What the devil is going on over there? Faith, Charity, I'll have none of your squabbling on my birthday, do you understand?"

"Sorry, Father," Faith said.

"Sorry, Father," Charity echoed. "But she started it."

"I did not!"

"Enough! I'll see you both in the parlor after your chores. Go on now, get busy."

Charity rose and bolted for the kitchen while Faith began clearing the dessert plates from the table. She brushed past Patrick, gently touching his shoulder. "Sorry, Daddy," she mouthed, reverting to her childhood name for him.

Patrick grabbed her in a sideways hug. "I love my girl."

"I love you too, Daddy," she whispered back.

Patrick pushed his chair back from the table. "Katie Rose, where's that picture you promised me?" he bellowed.

His inquiry sent the five-year-old scurrying into the parlor in search of her present.

"Sean, are you up for a game of chess tonight? I'm feeling a bit like an old man. I sure could use a victory."

Sean rose to the bait with a lopsided grin. "I'll tell you what, I'll let you win as a birthday present. How's that?"

"I said old, my boy, not dead!" Patrick said. He laughed as he made his way to the parlor with the younger children close behind.

For the first time in her life, Charity took her time doing the dishes. There was no need to hurry through this, the most hated of household chores. She had no visits to the library planned, no clandestine meetings with a forbidden beau to rush off to. Not tonight. No, tonight-despite the fact it was her father's birthday and a most joyous occasion-would not be a good night for Charity Katherine O'Connor.

Charity had no doubt her mother had already shared with her father the news of the kiss. Everyone in the house had heard his shouted profanity, a completely infrequent occurrence, which only further underscored the true seriousness of his anger. Over a kiss!

Charity closed her eyes to recapture the sweetness of the memory. Oh, but what a kiss! The soft touch of Collin's lips caressing her neck had sent shivers down her back. Was there any man on the face of the earth so handsome and wonderful as Collin McGuire? Charity doubted it. She sighed and opened her eyes to a sink full of dirty dishes.

She washed and dried them slowly, wondering what she could possibly say or do to convince her father that Collin McGuire wasn't the rogue they both knew he was.

If I were Faith, she thought to herself coldly, I could get Father to do whatever I wanted. Charity blew a strand of hair from her eyes and tackled the dirty stew pot. She scrubbed ferociously, wondering for the thousandth time why things had turned out as they had. Why had God allowed polio to take the life of her older sister, Hope-Faith's twinand then cripple Faith too? Charity felt sorry for Faith, to be sure. Losing her best friend and twin at the age of nine was certainly awful, and then to be forced to live in a strange hospital for over a year. But it wasn't like Faith hadn't been loved through it all. Why, Father and Mother had traipsed to the hospital every chance they'd gotten, focusing only on her.