A Passion Most Pure (41 page)

Slowly Collin rose from the dirt, astounded at the serenity he felt. He breathed in deeply to fill his lungs with the cool night air. He couldn't have her, but she would always be a part of him. He knew to the depth of his soul that it had been her prayers that had saved him. It was a debt for which he would always be grateful. He wished her well. No, he thought, there was no wishing to it. He would pray that God would bless her with the marriage she deserved. He owed her that. Quietly, he entered the billet and returned the Bible to Brady's side. He crawled into his own bunk, closed his eyes, and slept, finally, the slumber of a man with peace in his heart.

Faith stared at her friend's letter, absently toying with the ring on her finger as she thought about what Maisie had written. Maisie was, of course, overjoyed that Faith was engaged. Had they set a date yet, she wanted to know, and suggested, in not so subtle a manner, that the friendship would be dissolved if the wedding took place anywhere but Boston. Faith smiled, reminded of just how much she missed her friend.

Did Collin know? Maisie had inquired. The smile wilted on Faith's lips. She stared out the window into her grandmother's garden, which had burst from the soft colors of spring into the full-blown vibrancy of summer. She wondered how the news would affect Collin. She had purposely chosen not to let him know, specifically asking Mother and Charity to refrain from telling him in the newsy letters they both frequently wrote. She had been afraid. He was embroiled in the devastation of war; she didn't want to inflict further desolation, if he cared at all. If he didn't, well, he would find out soon enough anyway, and he and Charity could get on with their lives.

Faith gently touched the diamond shimmering on her finger and reflected on Collin fighting a war somewhere in the south of France. In a sense, she fought a war as well, and her heart ached for an armistice of her own. She believed she loved Mitch, more than she dreamed possible with Collin still in her heart. And yet, she knew he was, even now. Daily she wrestled with her own personal war within, wanting him gone but afraid to let him go. And she worried that somehow, some way, Mitch would sense it.

The thought of Mitch coaxed a smile to her lips. He was ... wonderful. Sometimes cantankerous, frequently impossible, but incredibly warm and caring, and Faith was grateful for him in her life. She thought of the kiss he'd given her the night he asked about Collin. In the months they'd been courting, he had never once crossed the line and been so passionate with her. Although she had been angry at the time, she was, in fact, almost grateful he had done so. It convinced her that once they were married, after they explored the depth of each other's love without restriction, it would, once and for all, extinguish any fire that still burned for Collin.

Faith picked up the pages of Maisie's letter and reread her question. Did Collin know? No, he did not. And she prayed that by the time he found out, she would be irreversibly in love with the man with whom she would spend the rest of her life.

She was, simply, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. It was, in fact, his depth ofgratitude for her love that had brought him so completely to his knees before God. Patrick watched from afar as Marcy glided around the dance floor in his arms. He never felt it strange at all that she could dance in his arms as he observed the scene distantly at the same time, as if in a dream. Her flaxen hair fell about her shoulders like shimmering gold glinting in the moonlight as he spun her around. His heart ached to hold her, even as he whirled her through the mist, his sturdy arms grasping her tightly.

All at once the music stopped, and against his will, his strong arms dropped limp at his sides. In the catch of his breath, a stranger stood beside her, taking her hand in his as the silence gave way to an eerie melody. He could see them dance in the moonlight, and the anguish was so brutal that the breath left his lungs ...

Patrick jolted up in his bed in a pool of sweat, his heart racing with fear greater than that extracted by the pain of war. God help him, he missed her to the point of excruciation, and it took all the strength of his soul to renounce the despair that washed over him. He couldn't lose her! No-never! She was his joy, his strength ...

He dropped back on his bunk and closed his eyes. No, she was not his strength. He had said that once to her. Now the very words mocked him as he himself lay in a bed of hopelessness, not far from men who were dying, in a country ravaged by war. She was ... the love of his life, but she was not his strength. Not since she introduced him so completely to her God, who now claimed him for his own. He would not fear, he told himself. "God has not given me the spirit of fear," he quoted, sweat dripping down his neck into the infested bed of hay beneath him, "but he has given me a spirit of power, love, and a sound mind."

Patrick opened his eyes once again and breathed deeply. He could feel God's presence around him as he stared at the rotting roof of the billet that provided respite from days of hell spent in trenches. Even in the trenches, in the midst of men's screams and decaying bodies, Patrick felt God's peace, as in the midst of a storm, or a war, or an unspeakable hell.

Whether from the fear of returning to the trenches in the morning, or from the coolness of the night air against his sweat-soaked skin, Patrick shivered. He thought of Marcy, and the aching returned, greater than the fear that barraged his soul. When would it be over? When would he see her again, hold her, love her ...

"Oh, God," he whispered, "help me ... it's been so long. When will it end?" Despair welled within him. How could he go on in the face of such terrifying loneliness and desolation?

"I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee. "

Patrick closed his eyes, and as before, weariness filled his soul until he drifted off, once again to dance in the night.

Mitch felt his fingers twitching as he ran up the steps to Bridget's front porch.

The message had been specific-Faith needed to see him as soon as possible. "Who left it? Faith?" Mitch had asked, but Bridie had just shaken her head. "I didn't take it, Kathleen did, and she didn't say. Do you think something's wrong? Is she sick?"

He grabbed his coat and glanced at his watch. "No, she's not sick. She took a day of vacation to attend a summer festival at her brother and sister's school. But I don't understand why she would want me to come over there, unless something was wrong." He looked back at Bridie as he headed for the door. "Tell Michael I took a late lunch, will ya?"

"Don't forget you've got a meeting with the board at two," Bridie reminded. "What'll I tell him if you're late?"

Mitch flashed her one of his famous smiles. "Tell him Faith called about something important. He'll understand. He's crazy about her too."

Now, as he stood before her door, his fist banged with a heavy thud that matched the pounding of his heart. Seconds passed, but it seemed like hours before the door finally swung open. Mitch stood there, face-to-face with Charity.

"Where's Faith? Is she all right?" he asked, his voice edged with concern. All at once, Charity came into focus, and he could see she'd been crying. He stepped inside the door. "Charity, are you all right? Has something happened?" He glanced into the parlor, his eyes searching for Faith or Marcy or Bridget, anyone but his fiancee's beautiful sister.

Charity shook her head and put her hand to her mouth, rivulets of tears streaming her cheeks. Mitch felt his heart twist. He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. "Charity, please tell me what's wrong. Is everyone okay?"

She pulled away and stepped back, wiping the tears from her face. She attempted a smile and failed miserably. "Yes, Mitch, everyone's okay. Nothing's wrong, at least not with Faith or Mother or anyone else. They're running late. Steven and Beth had a festival at their school today."

Mitch nodded. "I know. Why aren't you there?" He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

Charity took it, sniffed, and blew her nose, her tearstreaked face more like a little girl's than the sensuous beauty she always appeared to be. Mitch's heart softened.

"Someone had to stay with Mima..." she began, then blew her nose again, causing a smile to pull at his lips.

"Are you going to tell me what's breaking your heart like this, young lady, or will I have to coax it out of you?"

Charity looked up, her eyes wide and wet. She sniffed, then sighed, causing him to grin.

"That's an awfully big sigh for such a little girl," he teased, detecting a glimmer of a smile. "Aha! So it's not complete heartbreak. I do believe I see a semblance of a smile. What do you say you and I head into the parlor to tell old Mitch exactly what's bothering you?"

He put his arm around her shoulders and steered her to one end of the couch. She faced him and hovered on the edge of the seat. He sat on the other side and rested an arm on the back of the sofa. "So, come on, Charity, spill it. What's bad enough to ruin that pretty face of yours with a nasty bout of tears?"

She rubbed her face with her hands, then leaned back and closed her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mitch. I didn't mean to interrupt your work."

He bent forward. "You called?"

She looked at him with little-girl eyes and bit her lip. "You're not angry, are you, Mitch? I didn't mean to cause a problem at work."

He slumped back on the sofa, then looked up, a spasm working in his cheek. "Okay, Charity, what is so all-fired important that you call my office and pull me away from work?"

"Please don't be mad, Mitch," she pleaded. "I desperately needed to talk to someone."

His lips pressed to stone, like his jaw. "And you call me? Why? You can't talk to your mother ... or your sister? For pity's sake, Charity, I'm your sister's fiance, not your confidant."

"I know," she whispered. Her tears welled up, ripping his heart open. "Mitch?"

"What." His voice was terse, causing her to shiver slightly.

"I needed to talk to a man."

He glared out of the corner of his eye. "Why not call someone from your crowd of admirers?"

She faced him, and he perceived a spark of anger in those remarkable blue eyes. "I said a man, Mitch." She sank into the sofa once again and stared up at the ceiling.

He dropped back against the cushion and observed her. She was a study in sensuality-from the wet, doleful eyes to the sad, pouty lips-and he knew in his gut he shouldn't be here. It was playing with fire, being next to her like this, her hair untamed as it fanned over the back of the sofa and spilled down her shoulders. She had the body of a woman men dreamed about, and she used it to her advantage whenever possible. And never more so than now. She refixed her gaze straight ahead, as if in a daze.

When she finally spoke, her voice wavered, as if on the ." threshold of another onslaught of tears. "I was engaged. . she began.

"I know, Collin. Faith told me. I'm sorry."

She sighed, then dabbed at her eyes with the handkerchief. "So was I. But at least he agreed to think about us while he was away. He said maybe we could try again after the war."

Mitch nodded, never taking his eyes from her profile.

"He wrote me a letter." She looked at him then, her blue eyes tortured. "He's in love with someone else."

Mitch felt his heart constrict.

"He met her in Paris, and he's in love with her, not me."

The tightness in his chest relaxed, and a surge of relief flooded his brain. Suddenly, the relief turned to empathy as he realized how crushing this must be for her. Faith had said Charity was crazy about Collin. For a brief moment, he hesitated, then moved closer. His hand settled on her shoulder in an awkward attempt to comfort her.

"I'm so sorry, Charity," he whispered.

"What's wrong with me, Mitch? Why doesn't he love me?"

Sobs racked her body, and he was at a loss for words of comfort. "He's a fool, Charity, that's the only answer. He's gotta be."

She lunged away, her eyes wild. "No, Mitch, it's me! Why can't Collin love me? What's wrong with me?"

He couldn't stand what this was doing to her. He already hated Collin McGuire, but now the hate took on a dimension of rage at the toll taken on the girl before him. Mitch leaned close, taking Charity's tearstained face in his hands. His eyes locked on hers. "Listen to me. There is nothing wrong with you. Collin is a fool. It's his loss."

She was trembling in his hands. He wanted to hold her but didn't dare. She sniffed and pushed the wetness from her eyes. He handed her his handkerchief once again, then bent down to examine her face. "Are you okay?"

She nodded.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, feeling helpless to soothe her pain.

She looked at him from under a sweep of heavy lashes. "Will you hold me?"

His heart stopped before it started pounding again. He took a deep breath and nodded, slowly wrapping his arms around her. She inched closer until her head rested on his chest, and he knew she could hear the chaotic beating of his heart. The delicious scent of her hair assailed him as he rested his face against it. A sensation of warmth flooded as she pressed in close, hands wound around his back as if she were afraid he would let go.

Alarm curled in his stomach, and he tried to pull away. She raised her head to look up, and he read the desire in her eyes. She wanted him to kiss her.

Faith had been a master at boundaries-it had been all too long since he'd been this close to a woman. The touch of her, the smell of her suddenly overpowered his senses. No, he wasn't going to do this, he told himself. He was in love with Faith. This was wrong, and it wasn't going to happen. But it was as if she willed it, so strong was the pull. The fire inside him was slowly raging out of control. Push her away! his mind screamed, but his body refused to listen. It wanted to taste those lips just once, please God, just once ...

He jerked away and lunged to his feet, his jaw compressed in anger. "I have to get back to work. Cry on somebody else's shoulder." He turned to go, but she jumped up to stop him, her fingers clenching his shirt and her face contorted in pain.