A Heart Revealed (6 page)

She pressed a hand to the scruff of his jaw and smiled while a faint blush colored her cheeks. “And better ways to spend your sweet solitude, I suppose.”

“Mmm . . . ,” he whispered, taking her lips with his own. His mouth trailed to caress the lobe of her ear. “Sweet solitude, indeed.”

Emma unlatched the spiked wrought-iron gate and skittered up the red-cobblestoned steps of Mrs. Tunny’s stately, brick row house to see Alli, her adrenaline still coursing from the excitement of the day. She pressed her finger to the ornate buzzer beside the carved wooden door impressively flanked by graceful Greek columns and whispered her usual prayer of gratitude.
Thank you, God, for helping me find such a wonderful home for one of my dearest friends.
And on Beacon Hill, no less.

The door swung wide, and she was met by a tiny slip of a woman with warm brown eyes and snow-white hair perched atop her head in a tight little bun. “Emma—come in, come in! How was the wedding? Oh, I bet Katie was a beautiful bride, wasn’t she?” She steered her inside with a strength that belied the tiny, blue-veined wrist clamped to Emma’s arm like a vise.

“Oh, you should have seen her, Mrs. Tunny!” Emma breathed. “She was stunning—a sleek satin dress handmade by her mother, all studded with pearls at the neckline. Trust me, Luke couldn’t keep his eyes off her.” Emma grinned and wagged a sack in her hand, her tone playfully singsong. “And I have wedding cake . . .”

Mrs. Tunny giggled like a schoolgirl as she closed the front door. “Oh, I’m so sorry Alli had to miss it, but the good news is I think the worst of her flu is over. And your timing is perfect because she just finished her dinner.” The elderly woman snatched the bag from Emma’s hand and shooed her down the hall. “Now, you go on and see her, and I’ll serve up the cake. How about a cup of tea or coffee to go with it?”

“Oh, tea would be lovely, Mrs. Tunny, thank you.” Emma hurried to the end of the hall and peeked into the sunroom Mrs. Tunny had converted into a bedroom for Alli. Her lips lifted into a soft curve at the sight of the frail young woman asleep in the bed, barely a bump under the covers at the age of almost twenty. The last remnants of sunlight filtered into the room, casting an iridescent glow on the pale cheeks of one of Emma’s most cherished friends who slept propped up against the headboard with a Bible in her lap. Alli Moser was both an employee and a friend whose many trials in life had not diminished her innate joy one fraction of an inch. In fact, Alli’s faith seemed to grow daily, providing a constant source of delight and comfort for Emma herself. The young woman’s shoulder-length brown curls fanned across the pillow as she rested, an angel with porcelain skin and the innocence of a child.

“Alli . . . are you asleep?”

At Emma’s soft whisper, her friend’s eyelids flickered open to reveal large brown eyes brimming with a dozy welcome.

“Emma—how beautiful you look! Tell me, was the wedding wonderful?” Scooting over in the bed, Alli patted the mattress in joyous expectation, indicating for Emma to sit.

“More than wonderful. How are you feeling?” Emma asked, concern crinkling her brow.

A sleepy smile inched across Alli’s lips. “Much better, I think. No more fever, at least.”

“The saints be praised!” Emma sat on the edge and adjusted her friend’s pillow. “Oh, Alli, I have never seen a more glowing bride than Katie. I just know they’re going to be happy.”

Alli shimmied down into the bed with a dreamy sigh, resting her folded arms against the sheet on her chest. “Oh, I agree—they’re perfect for each other.” She hesitated, her gaze wandering into a faraway stare before she finally blinked up with a shimmer of hope in her eyes. “Emma . . . do you, you know . . . think something like that could ever happen for me?”

Emma smiled as she studied Alli Moser, a young woman who’d spent her life as an orphan at the Boston Society for the Care of Girls. Polio had left her with braces on her legs while epilepsy had given her an occasional stutter when she got nervous, a habit that made most assume she was slow. And Alli was anything but, possessing a mathematical ability Emma had seldom seen. Since Katie had asked her to give Alli a job two years ago, this gentle girl had not only become invaluable at the store, but a godsend to Mrs. Tunny as well, both as a bookkeeper and a companion. And now, Emma thought with a catch in her throat, a very dear friend.

Her heart softened at the look of hope on the young woman’s face. “I’m not sure what God has in store for you, Alli, but I do know one thing—it will be good. I’ve learned he doesn’t skimp with those who have a heart for him. After all, his Word says he honors those who honor him, and that’s certainly you, young lady. Besides, Katie and I prayed for a wonderful home for you, and lo and behold, I find out Mrs. Tunny was looking for a companion.” Emma hiked a brow while a smile tugged at her lips. “Do you know, Alli Moser, how many young women would love to be in your shoes, leg braces or no, living in the lap of luxury on Beacon Hill? With one of the kindest, godliest women no less, who provides for your every need?”

A soft giggle escaped Alli’s lips, and for the hundredth time, Emma thought that she had never seen a more transforming smile. There was nothing particularly beautiful about Alli Moser with her small, puggish nose set in a pale face, but no one noticed that when she smiled. Like shafts of sunlight bursting through an overcast sky, Alli had a smile that lit up the room as well as her face, making you glad to be alive.

“I do,” Alli whispered. “I will be forever grateful to both you and Katie. Mrs. Tunny is the mother I never had, and the family I’ve always wanted.” A sigh drifted from her lips.

Emma tugged one of Mrs. Tunny’s small boudoir chairs to the side of Alli’s bed and sank into its plump pillows, the satisfaction of Alli being taken care of as comfortable as the plush cushions beneath her. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better,” Emma said with a gentle stroke to her cheek.

“After my fever broke, I’ve been feeling much better. I plan to be at work on Monday.”

“Good.” Emma squeezed her hand. “Think you’re up to some wedding cake?”

The twinkle in Alli’s eyes made Emma laugh. “Oooo . . . I love wedding cake!” She hunkered down even farther in the bed and folded her hands in expectation. “Tell me all about the wedding.”

Emma kicked off her shoes and happily chatted about the day—from flower girl Gabe blowing bubbles with Dubble Bubble while walking the aisle, to Charity being buzzed by a bee during the vows. Much to Alli’s delight, Emma divulged every glorious detail of both the church ceremony at St. Stephen’s and the reception at Kearney’s Café, her smile dimming somewhat at the memory of Sean’s altercation with Martin. Halfway through, Mrs. Tunny brought in cake on china plates and her silver tea service, capping off the telling of a near-perfect day.

When the grandfather clock in the parlor chimed six, Emma rose with a stretch. “Well, I have plenty of paperwork waiting at home, so I better scoot. See you on Monday, I hope?”

“I’ll be there.” Alli sat straight up in the bed, a hand to Emma’s arm. “Wait—I know how you won the bouquet by accident, but you forgot to tell me who caught the garter?”

Emma blinked, the thought of Sean’s rage coming to mind. Her smile faltered. “Uh, Sean did—also by accident. You see, Luke rather tricked him by calling his name and tossing the garter before Sean realized what it was. But Sean insists he’ll never marry.” Emma quickly sniffed Katie’s bouquet to ward off a shiver, closing her eyes at the memory of Sean’s violent assault. A lump bobbed in her throat.
And perhaps for the better.

“Emma?” Alli hesitated for a moment and then tilted her head. “Do you . . . do you ever get sad?” Her throat shifted as if she were embarrassed to even pose such a question. “You know . . . regret that your marriage wasn’t like what Katie and Luke will have?”

Emma blinked as heat swarmed her cheeks.
Regret.
Yes, something she lived with every day of her life. But not over the loss of her marriage.

She looked away and caught her reflection in Alli’s dressing-table mirror, wincing as always at the woman whose beauty had been stolen by grease as blistering as the man who’d thrown it. Red welts on the left side of her heart-shaped face had long since faded, but they’d left pale scars that slightly disfigured one side of her lip and had stolen most of her left brow. Insistent that her friend’s scars were no longer noticeable, Charity often teased that Emma was a “trendsetter” with one bare brow in an era when eyebrows were now shaved and drawn on. In typical Charity mode, she had gently but firmly revamped Emma’s entire look—with a Joan Crawford haircut, ivory makeup that hid what was left of her scars, and eyelids and penciled brows dressed with petroleum jelly for that stylish, shiny look.

Rory had thought her beautiful once, as did the men who often sought her attention before Rory had spoiled that beauty, and yet for all the bold stares and brazen compliments, Emma had never once believed it. Despite men fawning over her from an early age on, her father had made sure that such compliments never changed the low opinion she had of herself, insisting that “any whore can turn a man’s head.”

Emotion shifted in Emma’s throat as she stared at her image in the mirror, noting the pain in green-gray eyes that Rory had once claimed a man could get lost in. Eyes that had once held so much promise, now filled with tragedy due to a man’s admiring gaze. Charity insisted she was “beautiful,” but mirrors didn’t lie. Rory had called her “a monster” in one of his drunken fits, and no matter how her scars had faded over the years or how Charity tried to encourage her, Emma could only see that he was right. She absently fingered the gold band on her left hand, grateful for the haven it offered from further rejection. It protected her from the humiliation of ever having to catch a man’s eye.

The thought flushed her cheeks with painful color. As if she could!
What man would ever find me beautiful now?
The only beauty she possessed was her love for God, and Emma knew that the human eye was often blind to such beauty. She inhaled deeply, infusing her lungs with the peace of acceptance. Fortunately for her, it was more than enough.

She cleared her throat and looked up, contemplating Alli’s question.
Do I ever get sad?
She was suddenly aware that her hands were clammy as she smoothed the skirt of her dress. “No, Alli, not anymore. Oh, I did in the beginning, of course, because I couldn’t understand how something that felt so right could turn out so wrong. But when God brought Charity and me from Dublin to Boston eleven years ago, well, I suddenly understood. I could have never had this in Ireland—dear friends who accept me for who I am, a wonderful store to manage, and a family like the O’Connors who love and support me. And most importantly, a faith in God that fulfills me more than any man ever could.” Serenity settled on her like a sigh. “Regret? No, Alli. I am a woman blessed by God, and contentment is my constant companion.” She leaned to give Alli a hug. “See you on Monday.”

“Emma . . .” With a gentle stay of her hand, Alli’s palm touched hers. “My heart rejoices to hear that, truly, but I hope you understand that I love you, and because of that, I can’t help but feel regret. Because if ever a woman was, Emma Malloy, you were meant to be loved.”

Against her will, hot tears sprang to her eyes, and she swallowed hard, managing a shaky smile. She squeezed Alli’s hand and then released it, exhaling a cleansing breath that, for the moment, banished all regret. “And so I am, my dear friend, so I am. By God and by you.”

“Steeeeeee-rike!” The umpire indicated an out with a hard punch of his fist.

Groans filled the muggy night air as soon as Bobby Dalton struck out, awarding the opposing St. Mary’s team their first victory all summer. Across the way, St. Mary’s shouts of joy rose while the ten-year-old’s shoulders slumped. He dropped the bat and trudged to the bench with defeat in his eyes, his confidence appearing to descend as quickly as the fading rays of sunlight edging toward dusk.

Empathy squeezed in Sean’s chest as he stared at Bobby, the only kid on the team who didn’t have a dad. His mother was supposedly a widow new to the neighborhood, or so Father Mac had said when he’d given Sean the signup roster. Ignoring the cheers and jeers, Sean met him midway and squatted. He patted the boy’s arm in a manner meant to assure him it was okay. “Hey, Bobby, you played a great game, but nobody wins ’em all, buddy. You had a lot of power in that swing, but sometimes we don’t always connect.” Sean’s lip crooked up. “Especially when life—or a pitcher—throws us a curve.” He slapped Bobby’s shoulder, as if man-to-man. “Don’t worry, bud—we’ll get ’em next time.”