A Passion Redeemed (56 page)

He'd had no choice. Not against her will of iron. No recourse but shame. And God willing, conviction. Tears stung his lids. God help her. He squeezed his eyes shut. God help him.

"Charity, please, come home with me." Emma stood in the door of the back room, purse in hand and her face strained with worry.

Charity glanced up, her tone lifeless. "No, Emma, I want to stay awhile and work on these books. Tell Grandmother not to wait supper."

Emma took a tentative step forward, wringing her coat in her hands. "You can't work late every night, Charity. You're not eating well and you're losing weight. You can't keep up with a thriving business if you don't take care of yourself."

She flipped a page over in the ledger and forced a smile. "You know, Emma, you become more of a mother every day. Go home. I'll be fine."

Her friend moved to the table and sat down, her fingers pinched tight on her wrap. "No, you're not fine. I don't know what's happened, but you've shut us all out. We're all sick with worry. You spend all your waking hours here, never talking to us, laughing with us. It's like you're dead inside. You can't go on like this, Charity. Talk to me, please!"

Charity sighed and sagged back in the chair. She put the pen down and closed her eyes to massage the bridge of her nose. "Okay, Emma, what do you want to talk about?"

"You. Why you've lost the spark in your eye, the bounce in your step. And why I've lost the only real friend I have ever had."

Charity opened her eyes, stunned to see tears in Emma's. Her heart squeezed in her chest. She leaned forward and pressed a hand to her arm. "You haven't lost me, Emma. I'm right here. Maybe in a bit of a funk, but always your friend."

"No, you're not here, that's just it. You go through the motions, but you're gone, empty inside. I want to know why, Charity, why you're closing out the people who love you the most."

Charity looked down at the table, her eyes drifting into a dead stare. She saw Mitch's face, rigid and cold, heard his voice, filled with disdain. She closed her eyes and felt the hard grip of his disgust for the way that he saw her. A whore. Not worth his respect, his love, his commitment. Only his lust. Pain slashed through her and she shivered. And all this time she'd thought he loved her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tears spilled down her face. She felt Emma's arms wrap around her, and she leaned into her embrace, sobs wrenching from her lips. Emma's voice was soft in her ear. "This is about Mitch, isn't it?"

Charity heaved against her chest and nodded.

Emma stroked her hair. "Did something happen?"

She nodded again. Her voice carried on a broken sob. "H-he ... d-doesn't love me. He's never 1-loved me."

Emma pulled away with shock in her eyes. "No, I don't believe that. I know better."

Charity sniffed and blew her nose on a handkerchief. "It's true. He as much as told me."

"When?"

"Last week."

"The night you left and didn't tell us where you were going? You went to see Mitch?"

Charity looked away, her chin trembling. "I hid in his car and waited for him."

Emma moaned. "But why? To seduce him? You promised Brady. You promised God."

Charity put her hand to her eyes. Her voice was barely audible. "I know, but I didn't go to seduce him, Emma, I'm telling the truth. I just went to talk. But things got out of hand and ..." Her voice cracked on a sob. "Mitch was right. I am a liar ... and a whore."

Emma gasped. "He said that?"

She nodded, the shame thick in her throat.

"But that's not true. We all lie ..."

"Don't defend me, Emma, I don't deserve it. I do lie, whenever it suits my purpose. And I have used my ... affections ... to get what I want. First with Rigan, then with Mitch." She faded off into another hard stare. "Let's face it, I'm a miserable human being."

"We're all miserable, Charity, that's why we need God's love and forgiveness."

"No! I especially don't deserve that. I turned on him, Emma. I told him I'd live for him, and then I went my own way. I lied-to him, to Brady, and to Mitch." A brittle laugh escaped her lips. "The fatal flaw in my personality, I'm afraid, as Mitch so brutally pointed out."

"You're being too hard. You forgave your father and Faith. It's time to forgive yourself."

Charity sighed and reached for her ledger. "I will, Emma, in time. But right now I'd like to get into these books. You better go. Grandmother will be worried."

"Can we pray first, before I go? Please?"

Charity shook her head, then looked away. "I'm not ready, Emma, but I will, I promise."

"Don't wait too long, Charity. You need God's love and grace. We all do."

Charity nodded. "See you tonight. Bolt the door, will you?"

She waited until she heard the click of the lock, then sighed and refocused on the books at hand. In the last week, she'd found that the store and the books were the only things that kept her mind from straying. At least days and early evenings. Nighttime was another matter. Those were the hours when her broken heart would fester with the realization she was in love with a man who would never love her back.

She dipped her pen in the inkwell and entered another figure, pushing the thought from her mind. The felt fedoras were selling nicely. She would have to reorder. She calculated the column and bit her lip. All of her inventories, as a matter of fact, were dwindling faster than she could tally. They'd have to hire another clerk soon, maybe two.

She looked up and cocked her head, listening. "Emma? Did you forget something?" Charity rose and walked to the curtain, pushing it aside to glance at the door. The shop was still and dark, lit only by the soft wash of the streetlamp. She moved to the front door to jostle the knob. Securely locked. She exhaled and returned to the back room, sweeping the curtain aside.

A cry lodged in her throat as someone grabbed her from behind and spun her around, plundering her mouth with his. Nausea curdled in her stomach as her eyes went wide.

Rigan!

He laughed and pushed her toward the table, a wicked grin distorting his face. "Burning the midnight oil, my dear? That's what I like to see in an employee."

She butted up against a chair. Her heart hammered in her throat. "How did you get in?"

He leaned close and hiked a boot up on the table, effectively blocking her in. The flash of white teeth chilled her. "Why, I have my own personal key, of course."

"You're not welcome here. It's no longer Mrs. Shaw's store, it's mine. Leave at once or I'll call the police."

His laughter echoed off the walls of the tiny back room. "And tell them what? That I broke into my own store?"

Shards of ice prickled her spine. "This is my store, mine and Mr. Horace Hargrove's."

Rigan traced a finger along the curve of her jaw, and she shivered. "You know, I've always liked Mr. Hargrove. Did you know that his wife used to teach my mother in school before she married Horace? It's true. Horace always liked me, you know. Of course, he was quite dismayed when he learned you broke our engagement. So you can imagine his relief when I told him it was back on again."

"What?"

His finger stroked along her collarbone. "Yes, he was bowled over too. So naturally when I told him I wanted to surprise you with the store as a wedding gift, well, he just couldn't resist. So there you have it-he sold it to me, lock, stock, and Charity."

She had trouble breathing. "You're lying."

"No, I assure you I'm not." He reached into his vest and pulled out a folded paper. He flipped it open, displaying his deed of trust.

She sagged against the table while the blood drained from her cheeks.

He smiled and returned the paper to his pocket. "So you see, darling, you now work for me. But don't worry. I have no qualms whatsoever about letting my wife work."

Revulsion clotted in her throat. She tried to move away. He jerked her back to the table, shoving her on top. "But before we get married and you begin paying your debt on the store, there is another wage I'm afraid you owe."

Fear glazed in her stomach. "Rigan, can we talk about this tomorrow, perhaps at dinner? I'm very tired tonight and need to go home."

He laughed, feathering her cheek with his thumb. "No, darling, I'm afraid this needs to be settled right here and now. As your future husband, I have a responsibility to keep you hon est. After all, if you told Mitch Dennehy that I raped you, well, naturally I have an obligation to make it right."

She screamed and lunged to the other side. He gripped her ankle and jerked her back, slamming her hard on the table. An unholy grin spread across his face as he pinned her arms and straddled her. "Go ahead and scream, darling, no one can hear. It's just you and me ... and a debt long overdue."

He crushed his mouth against hers and strangled her cry, cutting the breath from her throat. She gasped for air and lashed against him, but he only laughed and locked her in his hold. His lips plunged again and again, brutalizing her mouth. She coughed from lack of air. Her vision dimmed to a sickening blur. His hands gripped her shoulders and jerked, ripping her blouse down her arms. She gagged on the bile in her throat.

Whore.

Liar.

She moaned and darkness swept her away.

The wages of sin is death.

Her eyelids fluttered open. Comprehension strangled like a fist to her throat. She gasped for air, eyes unblinking as she stared at the stained ceiling of the back room, laced with cobwebs and jaundiced with age. She attempted to draw a full breath and felt a stab of pain. Shock droned in her brain, merging with her own shallow breathing to create a surreal symphony, violated only by the creak of the door as it banged in the wind.

She felt a chill and realized she still lay flat on the table, legs bare and clothing torn. Her limbs felt like deadweight as she tried to rise, her body stiff from the force of the wood beneath her. All at once, the memory flushed the bile from her throat and she heaved, spewing her revulsion onto the pitted floor. She gagged until nothing remained but the shame in her throat. If only she could dispel that as easily.

But she could not. She doubled over, clenching her sides.

Shame. Her face was branded by it. The painful legacy of Psalm 83, prophesied by Mitch that night in the car.

Make them like a whirling thing, like stubble before the wind. As fire burneth a forest, and as the flame setteth the mountains on fire, so pursue them with thy tempest, and terrify them with thy whirlwind. Fill their faces with shame, that they may seek thy name ...

She covered her eyes with her hand. Oh, God, he'd been right! Her faith had been nothing but chaff, whipped about by her own passions and desires, with little or no regard for others. Or God. And tonight, she had paid the price.

She shivered and tried to stand, seeing it clearly for the very first time. Her lust for Mitch had been a consuming fire, infecting her with sin, setting her passion ablaze. Misguided passion that had callously wounded her sister and Mitch and Rigan. And in the end, the very men she had strived to enflame had rejected her, despised her, degraded her. Until nothing was left. A raging fire to burn away the dross, a tempest to blow away the chaff. And a storm of shame so she would seek his name...

With a wrenching cry, she collapsed into a chair, arms strewn across the table and her body wracked by sobs. "Oh, God, forgive me. I've been so blind. So lost." She thought of what Rigan had done and wanted to hate him, but knew she could not. Her dance with sin was over. The choice was clear. Forgive or hate. Life or death. Peace or shame.

In the shudder of a single breath, she knew what her decision would be. A decision that would set her free from a life adrift. Bind her wounds and save her soul.

She looked up with swollen eyes and pushed the hair from her face. Tears of pain made way for tears of hope. Her heart surged with a rush of adrenaline as she bowed her head and committed her life. Totally. Completely. Devoid of ulterior motives.

The time had come. She would finally belong to him.

Not to Mitch. Not to Father. Not to herself.

To him. The apple of his eye.