A Passion Redeemed (60 page)

"Have you prayed about it?" Marcy's tone was quiet.

Charity hesitated. Had she? Her lips parted in surprise. "No, I don't think I have."

Marcy stroked her hair. "Well, then, I'd say that's a good place to start, wouldn't you?"

Charity smiled. How in the world had she been blessed with such parents? "Yes."

"Good. Then we'll do that. But first, I want you to know something. Never in one breath of your life have we ever been ashamed of you, Charity O'Connor. Befuddled, perhaps, sometimes angry, and occasionally frustrated, but never-I repeat, never-have you brought shame to your father's heart or mine. You have been a joy to our souls, and I don't think that deep down you ever really knew that. Know it now, daughter, and know it well. God isn't the only one who loves you with a depth beyond your comprehension."

Charity clutched her mother in a joyous sob. She felt Marcy's gentle stroking while her father's strong hand kneaded her back.

"Please forgive me for all the hurt I've caused. I don't deserve you."

"We forgive you, darlin', but it's time you forgive yourself."

Charity sniffed and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her gown. "I know. Will you pray, Father? Pray that I can?"

"No, darlin', that prayer belongs to your mother. She's the woman who taught me, and quite frankly, I never thought I deserved her either. But then none of us really deserve the blessings of God, do we? But he gives them nonetheless ... to those who seek him."

Charity felt joy rise within her spirit. Yes! To those who seek him! She drew in a deep breath and lay back on the pillow, reaching for her mother's hand. She squeezed it and smiled. "To those who seek him. Well, Mother, we better give it a go, because there's no doubt in my mind-that would be me."

Collin put his sack lunch under his arm and butted the door with his knee, turning the key in the lock at the same time. It wheeled open with a high-pitched squeak that harmonized with his off-key whistling. He tossed his lunch on the delivery table and glanced toward the back of the shop. "You here?"

Brady rolled into the doorway on a low-wheeled dolly, his face already streaked with ink. "Yeah."

"Good Lord, Brady, it's barely six in the morning. How in the sweet name of heaven did you get ink on your face already? What d'ya do, roll around in that stuff?"

He wheeled back out of sight. "Yeah, Collin, it makes me feel like a man."

Collin chuckled and sauntered into the back room. He snatched the pot off the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee, then turned to lean against the counter while he sipped. "So ... anything else making you feel like a man this morning?"

No answer.

Collin grinned. Nothing tight-lipped about John Brady unless you wanted to talk about Charity. Sweet justice after all those times during the war when Brady had grilled him about Faith. "So ... where do you two stand?" He cleared his throat. "Faith's dying to know."

Brady rolled out to give Collinthe benefit of a scowl. "Friends, Collin, just like before. Nothing more."

Collin took another sip. "Your decision ... or hers?"

Brady leapt to his feet, dusting off his workpants to no avail. He grabbed his coffee and took a swig. "God's. She's not ready." His scowl deepened. "This coffee is awful."

"You made it." Collin shrugged and took another drink. "I just thought it was me."

Brady strode to the sink to make a new pot. His voice sounded annoyed. "Don't you have business to attend to?"

Collin gave him a sideways glance. "I am. You're my partner and best friend. Your happiness or lack thereof is my business."

Brady muscled him out of the way to fill the pot with water. "Well, my happiness or lack thereof doesn't bother me, so why should it bother you? I can assure you Mrs. Tabor needs her daughter's wedding invitations far more than I need your help."

Collin faced him, his smile fading. "I'm worried about you, Brady. So sue me."

Brady sighed and closed his eyes. The pot hung limp in his hands. He clunked it on the boil plate and turned. "Sorry, Collin, I know you only want what's best for me. I'm just not sure what that is right now."

Collin studied him with concern. The bad coffee started to curdle in his gut. "You're falling for her, aren't you?"

Brady looked up, the answer in his eyes as plain as the ink on his face. He shuffled to the table and slumped in a chair.

Collin followed him. "So? What's the big deal? She could use your love right now. And hard as it might be for me to believe, she could be the woman God has for you."

Brady seemed lost in a stare, his eyes fixed on the floor. He stayed that way, hand limp upon the table.

"Brady?"

He looked up, and Collin's stomach constricted. No, this wasn't right. Brady was always the strong one, the one gripped tightly to the hand of God.

Brady exhaled slowly, his tall frame sinking deeper into the chair. "I'm worried, Collin. Before she left, I was fine. God protected my heart. We were friends. She was going to marry Mitch and live happily ever after and raise a houseful of kids. Suddenly she's back, free as a bird, and God's called me to be her friend." He clenched his hand on the table, flexing several times. "And only a friend ... at least for the moment."

"So, be her friend."

His put his head in his hand. "I don't know if I can."

Collin took a deep breath and stretched out in the chair, scratching his head. "Yeah, I see your dilemma. Charity's a beautiful woman with a powerful pull. Loving her can be like playing with fire. But I can do for you what you did for me many a night. All those times when I was passed out in my bunk, drunk with grief over Faith marrying Mitch ..." Collin looked up, giving him a sheepish grin. "Never did like that guy. Now you know what I mean."

A half smile flickered on Brady's lips. "Yeah, I guess I do."

"You prayed me through. I plan to do the same. Especially if I find you drunk in bed."

Brady smiled. "Thanks, Collin. I'm going to need all the prayers I can get."

Collin stood and moved to sit beside him, clamping a hand to his shoulder. "Well, you have them, my friend. Now, and for the rest of your life." He leaned in and closed his eyes while Brady did the same. And in the sacred confines of a ramshackle back room, they bowed their heads and prayed, invoking God to do what he does best: pull their feet from the fire.

Charity lay there with eyes weighted closed, wondering why she had no desire to get up. She squinted at Emma in the other bed, fast asleep despite shafts of winter sunlight filtering across her face. With a low groan, Charity slumped back on her pillow, suddenly remembering.

December 12. Mitch and Kathleen's six-month wedding anniversary.

A sharp pain sliced through her as intense as the day he had called her a whore. She caught her breath and turned on her side, her eyes welling with tears. No, God, why?

She shoved the covers aside and slipped out of bed, careful not to waken Emma. She needed to see Brady-now. She bit her lip and glanced at the clock. 7:30. They'd leave for church at ten. If she hurried and dressed, she'd have almost two hours for him to talk with her, pray with her. Hold her.

She tiptoed to the closet and pulled out her favorite blue dress, hooking the hanger on the knob. With a soft grunt, she stripped off her nightgown and put on her chemise, then bent to shimmy into her stockings. In a split second, she had the dress lifted over her head. Her fingers shook as she fumbled with the buttons. Holding her breath, she glanced at Emma and smiled. That woman could sleep through a cyclone if it whirled her away, bed and all. Charity slipped her shoes on and made her way to the door. She stopped in the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face, barely running a comb through her hair. She blinked in the mirror, wondering if she should take the time to apply some makeup, then decided against it. This was Brady. He didn't care. And neither did she. She hesitated, then touched a bit of lilac water to her temple and sighed. He was a man, after all.

The house was quiet as she hurried down the steps, her parents' muted conversation drifting from the kitchen. She started for the front door, then stopped with her hand on the knob. As much as she didn't want to, they needed to know where she was going. She sighed and walked toward the kitchen, pushing through the swinging door.

Her father looked up from the table with the paper propped in his lap. His brows lifted in surprise. "Was there a blue moon last night, darlin'? I haven't seen you up this early in a while."

Marcy turned at the sink. "Are you all right, Charity? You look ... anxious."

Charity rolled her tongue over her teeth and suddenly thought of Bridget. Her mind leap-frogged to Mitch, and the pain was immediate. Her mouth parted to release shallow breaths.

Patrick put the paper down. "Charity, what's wrong?"

She glanced up and lifted her chin. "Nothing. I just need to see Brady, that's all."

"At this hour?" Patrick checked his watch.

She nodded and looked to Marcy, her eyes appealing for help.

Marcy took a step forward. "Are you down again, Charity? Is that it? Thinking about ..."

Charity nodded quickly, blinking her eyes to keep them clear. "I just need to talk to Brady, to pray with him."

Marcy put her hand on Patrick's shoulder. "Of course, darling. You've got plenty of time before we leave. Just be back by ten, okay?"

I will." She whirled around and rushed out the door, barely slowing as she snatched her coat from the rack. Once outside, she sprinted down the sidewalk as if the devil himself were on her heels. Several blocks away, she vaulted the steps of Brady's apartment, her heart hammering in her chest. She leaned against his door and pounded hard. Her breath came in jagged gasps.

The door swung wide and there he stood, clad only in a sleeveless undershirt and a pair of trousers with bare feet. She would have smiled at the shock on his face if not for his hard-muscled chest straining his scoop-neck T-shirt. Her eyes traveled the thick line of his arms, sculpted with muscles and propped loose on his hips.

She swallowed hard and looked away, a warm flush creeping up her face. "Sorry, Brady, I didn't mean to barge in."

He didn't seem the least bit concerned about his attire, but pulled her inside and took off her coat, tossing it on the table. He pushed her into a chair and squatted beside her, searching her face. "What is it, Charity? Is something wrong?"

Her eyes roamed the tiny apartment, desperate to avoid looking at him, then widened in surprise at how neat and clean it was. She had never been inside before. Though sparse with decor, it exuded a definite masculine air with heavy but simple wood pieces arranged in a practical manner. A mahogany desk was laden with books wedged between brass book ends, leaving just enough room for a wood and brass lamp in the shape of a sailing vessel. Her eyes scanned a dark burgundy sofa where his Bible lay open, splayed in a sea of papers. Overhead, framed prints of ships added a decidedly nautical feel. She smiled and looked up, noting for the first time the cinnamon color of his hair and how it curled at the back of his neck. Before she knew it, her eyes lighted on his powerfully built arms as he hunkered beside her. She swallowed.

He followed her gaze and glanced down at his T-shirt, as if suddenly aware of his state of undress. With a haze of color up the back of his neck, he jumped up and strode into another room, returning with a shirt in his hand. He slipped it on, then sat in the chair beside her and leaned forward, forgetting to button it up. "Okay, Charity. Why are you here?"

She drew in a deep breath, suddenly remembering the reason she came. The painful realization sapped her strength once again, and tears sprang to her eyes. "Brady, I've been fine, haven't I? Wonderful even, for the last six months?"

He nodded.

"Yes, I've had my moments when I was blue and thought I'd never get past this, but they've been fewer and fewer." She searched his eyes. "Haven't they?"

He nodded again.

"And then this morning, before I even open my eyes, I feel this gloom, this malaise crawling on me like a hundred thousand spiders." She shivered and pushed the hair from her eyes. "And then it came to me-Mitch's six-month anniversary, and Brady, so help me God, it sucked the air right out of my throat. This awful pain ripped right across my chest till I couldn't breathe." She grabbed ahold of his arms. "Brady, this has got to stop. God has got to do something, anything, to get me over this."