A Heart Revealed (50 page)

Her pulse stalled as he studied her, his shuttered gaze unable to hide the cool anger in his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything, Charity, Emma being here. I’ll keep up appearances for her sake and the children’s, but for now, I have nothing to say.”

She flinched as if he had struck her, followed by a swell of anger so fierce, she thought she would faint. Inhaling deeply, she fought it off, determined to offer the love and forgiveness she so craved herself. He turned away, and she clutched his arm once again, her voice a painful plea. “Mitch, talk to me, please—I can’t bear this silence.”

Blue eyes that had once devoured her in a single glance now lanced her heart with a cold stare. “You should have thought of that before you made a fool of yourself—and me—at the
Herald
, little girl.” His hand removed hers as casually as if flicking away unwanted lint. Strong, capable hands that had once held her, stroked her, made her feel so safe and so loved. She caught her breath as those same hands now slammed the door in her face.

Her eyelids fluttered closed.

Charity suffereth long, and is kind . . . beareth all things . . . hopeth all things . . . endureth all things.

Sucking in a harsh breath, her body shuddered as she relinquished her anger in one halting expulsion of air. With a lift of her chin, she drew in another deep breath and opened eyes wet with pain, shaking off her hurt with a square of her shoulders.
Charity suffereth long
. The taut press of her mouth crooked up. “As long as it takes, Mitch Dennehy,” she vowed, ignoring the ache of once gentle hands that now pushed her away.

Just like the hand of God
, Emma had said. “Hardly,” Charity muttered with a swipe of her eyes, sweeping into her kitchen with all the command of a woman bent on getting her own way. “But I believe ‘the hand of God’ is about to change all that.” She tugged a clean apron from her drawer and moved to the window, eyes scanning the heavens with a holy resolve. Exhaling softly, she released Mitch’s rejection to the God who loved her more than her husband ever could, allowing his peace to ready her soul. “All it takes is a little faith, my love . . . ,” she whispered. Her lips curved as she tied the apron with a flourish. “In a God more bullheaded than you.”

God, forgive me.

Emma lay on the bed, gaze fused to the ceiling in a glazed stare, her throat as raw as her eyes from weeping for more than an hour. Weeping . . . praying . . . repenting. She blinked and a stray tear trickled her cheek, slithering cold and damp against her neck—like the guilt in her soul—chilling her skin. As if she wasn’t tarnished enough, now she had lured Sean into her ugly web of sin. Dear, sweet, kind Sean—in love with a woman bound to another through sins only an oath could forgive. A scarred and worthless woman who didn’t deserve God’s forgiveness, much less the love of a man like him.

God, forgive me, please . . . I never meant for it to happen.

And yet it had, and Emma knew deep in the mired recesses of her soul that she was to blame. She’d allowed them to get too close despite the seeds of attraction burgeoning beneath the soil of a friendship so deep, she would give her life for the man. Another tear trailed, causing her to shiver. And now God had given her the chance—to sacrifice her life for his. He deserved so much more than to love a woman like her, someone who could now add adultery to her long list of sins. Grief heaved in her chest. More than a human being whose soul was as marred as her face, undeserving of all marital love except that of a forgiving God.

The Bride of Christ—
perfect and spotless in God’s eyes.

Imperfect and ugly in her own.

If the Son therefore shall make you free, ye shall be free indeed.

Yes, she had believed that, and through the kindness of the O’Connors, God had given her a measure of freedom she never dreamed possible. A life devoted to him, where peace and forgiveness and joy flowed instead of tears from her eyes. Where love and acceptance as a woman was not tied to a gold band but to a God who loved her despite all of her sins. And God knows they were many. A silent groan stabbed in her throat.
And now there are more.

She flinched, her palm burning hot against the cool sheets of paper beneath her hand, tear-blotched and scattered across Charity’s quilt like the thoughts in her head. Letters she had read over and over, only to dismiss them each and every time she packed them away . . . out of sight and out of heart . . . like she’d done with her life as Mrs. Rory Malloy.

A knock at the door jolted her, and before she could answer, Charity peeked in. “Emma, the potatoes are call—” She stopped. Her gaze traveled from Emma’s tearstained face to the scattering of papers strewn across her bed. Shadows darkened her face, and without another word, she stepped in and closed the door while Emma fumbled letters into the nightstand drawer.

Jumping up, Emma adjusted her skirt and sweater, avoiding Charity’s eyes as her friend approached. “Goodness, I hope you didn’t let me sleep too long.”

“It doesn’t appear much sleeping was involved,” Charity said quietly, her face etched with worry as she squeezed Emma’s hand. She paused, her eyes a naked plea. “Talk to me, Emma.”

Emma attempted a smile. “We can talk while we make dinner, all right? I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to incur the wrath of Mitch Dennehy’s stomach.”

Charity sat down on the bed and tugged Emma alongside, her tone light but her countenance heavy. “A few loud and growling hunger pangs might do the man good. At least that way, he’ll be talking to me . . . even if it’s only with his stomach.”

Emma’s heart lurched. “He’s not still mad about the incident at the
Herald
, is he?” She studied her friend’s face and for the first time, noticed faint shadows beneath her eyes, as telling as the redness rimming her lids. “But I don’t understand—he seemed fine when we arrived.”

“Yes, well, apparently that’s one of the man’s many hidden talents—putting on a show when his pride is at stake. And, yes, you might say he’s still angry about what I did at the
Herald
.” She sighed. “He’s slept in the study the last two nights.”

Emma folded Charity in a tight hug. “I am so sorry, but he’ll come around.”

“I hope so,” Charity said with a trace of humor. “At least while I’m young enough to enjoy it.” She pulled away, hands locked on Emma’s arms. “But it’s not Mitch I’m worried about right now, Emma, it’s you.” Her smile diminished. “Something’s desperately wrong, and I have a gut feeling there’s more to it than Casey’s no-good boyfriend.”

Emma glanced away, focusing on mauve curtains looped over a double window where sheers fluttered from a radiator below. She swallowed to clear the emotion in her throat while her gaze wandered to pictures of pastoral scenes gracing pale green walls. “Please,” she whispered, striving for assurance she didn’t feel, “it’s nothing to concern yourself with. I’m fine, really.”

Charity cradled the side of Emma’s face. “Nothing to concern myself with?” she whispered sadly. “Even when the friend of my heart has fallen in love?”

Emma froze. “What . . . do you mean?” she said, her words as slow and thick as the bile rising in her throat.

Compassion glimmered in Charity’s eyes. Her voice was gentle, like the touch of her hand. “Emma . . . this is me, the friend who loves you like a sister, and the sister who knows you better than you know yourself.” She exhaled softly, gaze tender. “You’re in love with my brother . . . and he’s in love with you.”

Emma jerked away as heat scalded her cheeks. “No, don’t say that—ever! It’s not . . .” The weight of a near lie forced hot tears from her eyes.

“Not . . . true?” Charity finished, her tone barely audible.

Every fiber of Emma’s being wanted to deny it, but she was loath to add to her sins. She lowered her head, gaze glued to her hands now limp in her lap. “No . . . it’s not . . . right.” Her voice shuddered as she closed her eyes, reluctant to witness her best friend’s shock. “It’s against my vow to both Rory and God, Charity,” she whispered, “and a grievous sin before God.”

Charity clasped Emma’s hands, her voice intense. “Only if it’s acted upon in the flesh, Emma, which is something I know you would never do.”

Emma shot to her feet, the weight of her guilt suffocating her. “God, forgive me . . . I’m nothing more than an infidel, a harlot who bewitched your brother.” She gasped for air, a hand to her throat. “Rory was right—a worthless whore.”

Charity bolted up from the bed, shaking Emma hard. “Stop it, Emma—now! Rory was never right a day in his life, and you know it. I thought after all this time, you finally understood that—that everything he ever said to you was a lie.”

Emma collapsed into a sob, and Charity folded her in her arms, stroking her hair.

“I love you, Emma, and you are the dearest human being I have ever met. If my brother is in love with you, and he would be a fool not to be, then it’s because of who you are—a woman gentle and kind and so full of God’s love that you helped to save my very soul.” She pulled away to study Emma through tortured eyes. “You haven’t . . . acted on it, have you? You and Sean?”

Emma shook her head, lips quivering with every word she spoke. “No, not that w-way. And h-he’s only kissed me once, I swear.” She looked up, eyes haunted by the secrets of her soul. “But God help me, Charity, the m-moment his lips touched mine, I craved to b-belong to him in every possible way . . .”

“It was only one kiss, Emma,” Charity said quietly. “A simple mistake that doesn’t have to happen again.” She pushed Emma’s hair back with gentle hands. “You’re good friends, you and Sean—there’s no sin in loving him, you know.”

Emma closed her eyes, the memory of Sean’s kiss searing her conscience. “No, not in loving him,” she whispered, her throat shifting with grief, “. . . just in wanting him.” She put a shaky hand to her eyes as another heave rose in her throat. “I . . . don’t think I can do this . . . face the temptation day after day . . .”

With a heavy sigh, Charity hooked an arm to Emma’s waist and tugged her back to the bed, resting her head against hers as the two sat, shoulder to shoulder. “Well, my faith has come a long way from our days in Dublin, Mrs. Malloy, so I say we just put your friendship with Sean in God’s capable hands, and let him worry about it.”

Emma slid her a sideways glance. “You mean like you did with Mitch before you got married?”

Charity wrinkled her nose. “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that. That was pretty difficult, as I recall.” She chewed on her lip, then sighed and patted Emma’s leg. “No matter, you’re much stronger than I could ever hope to be, so I’m sure you can do this—with God’s help, of course.”

“You are, are you?” Emma said with a tug of a smile, her gloom dissipating somewhat.

“Absolutely,” Charity said with a straight face, right before she gave Emma a mischievous wink. “At least until Rory kicks the bucket.”

“Charity!” Emma’s shock echoed in the room, earning a broad grin from her friend.

“Come on, Emma, with Rory’s drinking, womanizing, and propensity for brawls, the man can’t be long for this world. Who knows? Maybe he’s already gone on to his great reward.”

Guilt pricked over Emma’s lack of shock at Charity’s remark. She sighed, shoulders slumping against her friend’s. “Not unless they post letters from wherever that is.”

Charity squinted, head cocked. “What do you mean?” All at once she sat straight up, eyes gaping along with her mouth. “You mean those letters I saw on the bed, they’re from Rory?”

Emma nodded, the gravity of her situation prompting more tears.

Charity fished two clean handkerchiefs from her pocket and handed one to Emma. “Here—Mitch hoards them, so you may as well keep it. I’ve cleaned out half his stash already, but the way I see it, if the man is going to make me cry, at least he can provide the handkerchiefs.” She blew her nose and sniffed, blue eyes narrowing to slits. “So that no-good louse has been writing you letters? For how long?”

“Almost two months now,” Emma said, dabbing her eyes.

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Emma squeezed her friend’s hand with a gentle slope of brows. “I didn’t want to upset you since I had no intention of responding.” She looked away, avoiding Charity’s eyes. “But that was before . . .” Her throat shifted. “Before I became a liability to your brother.”

“So help me, Emma Malloy, if I hear you tear yourself down one more time . . .” A loud exhale puffed from Charity’s lips as she shifted on the bed, staring Emma down. The heated glint in her eye issued fair warning. “So what does the browbeater want now? Your paycheck? Your peace of mind? Or just another pretty face to slap when he’s down in the bottle?”

Emma looked away, fighting the sting of tears.

“Emma?” Charity’s voice jumped an octave.

Taking in shaky air, Emma’s chest expanded as if drawing in strength to face Charity head-on. “He wants . . . ,” she swallowed hard, unable to stem the moisture in her eyes, “. . . me.”

“No!” Charity bounded to her feet, her shriek bouncing off the walls like a battle cry. “He can’t have you . . . you don’t belong to him anymore!”