A Love Surrendered (8 page)

Faith’s smile faded with a nibble of her lip. “Well, I haven’t exactly told him yet . . .”

“Good heavens, Faith,” Marcy said, “the man has lived for this moment. Why not?”

“Well . . .” Faith hesitated, inhaling sharply through a clenched smile. “Mostly because we’ve had so many false alarms I didn’t want to risk crushing him again.” She blew out a weary breath, smile tentative. “So this time, I decided to make good and sure.”

“Why don’t you just go to the doctor?” Katie said in a matter-of-fact tone. “There’s a new blood test where they inject your urine into a rabbit, and if it dies, bingo—you’re pregnant.”

“No!” Marcy whispered, her stomach queasy at the mere thought. “The rabbit dies?”

“Goodness,” Charity said, “and I thought homework with Henry was a sacrifice.”

Katie grinned. “Yes, Mother, the rabbit dies, but it’s for a good cause, I promise.”

“Actually, Katie, as tempting as that may be . . .” Faith paused, casting a nervous look around the table while a touch of guilt threaded her tone. “I actually
do
have another reason
for my silence right now. Remember how I had to beg Collin to let me teach the catechism class for Sister Bernice? Well, before he finally agreed, I prayed, pleaded, and plotted, using everything I could to get the man to say yes, but nothing worked.”

Charity sat straight up. “Nothing? Tears, tantrums, a new negligee?
Nothing?
”

“Nothing.” Faith’s smile went flat. “Claims his children would suffer if their mother was, and I quote, ‘out flitting one night a week.’ ”

Charity grunted in the grand fashion of her husband. “His children, my bucket. He’s the one who would suffer because you wouldn’t be under his thumb one measly evening a week.”

“So I decided to fight fire with fire.” Faith hiked her chin. “I’ve been praying nonstop about it for the last year.” A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “And it worked.”

Charity leaned in, her interest obviously piqued. “You mean the mule actually said yes? Spoke it out loud just like that donkey in the Bible?”

Faith grinned. “Uh-huh.” Her smile wilted. “But now you understand why I want to wait to tell him about the baby, at least until I start teaching, which is in two weeks.” She drew in a full breath, releasing it again in a wavering sigh. “If Collin knew I was pregnant right now, I just know he’d refuse to let me teach, and honestly, you guys, I think I would just die if I couldn’t do this.” She glanced around the table with a nip of her smile. “Do you think I’m awful?”

Charity frowned. “Yes, I do—awfully brilliant.”

“Me too,” Katie said with a gleam in her eye.

Marcy shook her head, a smile in place. “You girls . . .”

“Anyway,” Faith said, “I just couldn’t
not
tell you guys, so mum’s the word, okay?”

Crack!
The screen door slammed to the wall, vibrating Marcy’s kitchen. Her foster daughter Gabe skidded to a stop in front of Charity, freckled face flushed and a glass of lemonade in her hands. Small for her age, the O’Connors’ resident
tomboy could pass for eight instead of almost eleven, rich brown curls trailing overalls bearing telltale signs of mud pies gone awry. “Hey, Charity, Henry spit in my drink. Will you punish him, please? Mitch says you’re good at that.”

“Mmm . . . not as good as Henry.” Charity took Gabe’s glass and peered in with a wrinkle of her nose. Rising, she placed the defiled glass on the table and calmly poured another, handing it to Gabe with a quirk of her lips. “Here you go, honey. In the meantime, tell Henry we do not spit in our drinks. If he does it again, he’ll be ‘spit’-shining dirty dinner dishes for a month instead of the week he now has for drooling in yours.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Gabe stole Marcy’s heart with a pixie grin before flying out the door.

Charity glanced at Marcy with a nod in Gabe’s direction. “You haven’t mentioned adoption lately, Mother—are we any closer with Gabe?” She resumed her sewing with a twist of a smile. “Because frankly, with Henry, I think we could use her in the family.”

Just the mention of adoption caused Marcy’s stomach to churn, and her tongue made a quick pass over her lips. She peered out the screen door at her husband playing horseshoes with his sons and sons-in-law and took a quick sip of her tea, mouth suddenly parched.

Faith touched her arm. “You still haven’t asked him, have you?”

Marcy shook her head, the tea settling in her stomach like sludge.

“Why not?” Lizzie asked, her concern mirroring Faith’s. “We all love Gabe like a sister and we want her in this family as much as you do. Why put it off?”

A chill shivered through Marcy, and she absently buffed her arms. “I suppose I’m afraid,” she whispered. “Afraid he’ll say no.”

“Father loves you and he loves Gabe,” Faith said softly. “He’ll do what’s right—he always does—and it’s right to
adopt Gabe.” She squeezed Marcy’s hand. “You need to ask him.”

Marcy drew in a deep breath, taking solace from her daughter’s words. “I know you’re right, and I did try to bring it up last year as you know, but he was more than resistant to the idea, so I’ve been biding my time.” She forced a smile. “But as we all know, Gabe’s not the easiest of children to raise, as your father has pointed out on many an occasion, so I keep waiting for the right time to broach it again.” Her lip cocked in a rare show of sarcasm. “Like when the child has actually behaved for a full twenty-four-hour period, which, unfortunately, is about as rare as Henry.”

Charity sighed and commiserated with a smile. “We definitely have our work cut out for us with those two, don’t we, Mother? And I’m twenty years younger than you—I don’t know how you do it. Although heaven knows, you don’t look it. I laughed when Bruce McKenzie mistook me for you last week. Sweet saints, I hope and pray I look like you when I’m your age.”

“Goodness, Charity, Bruce McKenzie is blind as a bat and everyone knows it.” Marcy offered a dry smile, heart going out to the widower neighbor who always darted over to talk whenever Marcy wandered out front. “The poor man is just lonely.”

“Lonely, yes, but also taken with you, Mother,” Faith said, admiration brimming in her tone. “Which just proves Charity’s point. Why, in Sean and Emma’s wedding pictures, you could pass for our sister instead of our mother. Personally, I think the man is a little smitten.”

“Who’s smitten?” The screen door squealed open, ushering in the love of Marcy’s life. Patrick winked at his daughters. “Besides me, that is. And more importantly,” he said with a mock scowl, “will I get dinner before him?”

Marcy glanced up, a smile creasing her lips at the sight of her husband. Editor for the
Boston Herald
, Patrick’s usually meticulous shirt was now void of a tie and open at the collar,
revealing a peek of dark and silver hair on a chest just starting to tan. Sleeves rolled halfway up indicated muscled arms that could have easily belonged to a man younger than fifty-four, evidence of an exercise program ordered by his doctor after a heart-attack scare almost three years ago. Despite wisps of silver at his temples and threaded through curly dark hair, Patrick O’Connor still fluttered her pulse. Possibly more so now, with their children grown and almost gone. After thirty-six years of marriage, Marcy hadn’t believed she could love Patrick any more than she did, but every day their bond grew deeper and stronger, a gift from God that never failed to bring awe to her soul. Or a swirl to her stomach, apparently, given the warmth braising her cheeks now that her “change of life” had changed his—a man able to make love to his wife without the worry of more children. Her chest expanded with a sigh that withered on her lips. Except, that is, for one freckled sprite of an orphan who had yet to steal his heart.

Casting a glance at the clock on the wall, Marcy silently beseeched the Lord on Gabe’s behalf before imparting a patient smile. “Patrick O’Connor, you know we never eat before five. I have cakes to ice and a salad to finish, so I suggest you focus on horseshoes rather than dinner.”

His low chuckle caught her by surprise when he slipped sturdy arms to her waist and nuzzled her neck. “If you don’t mind, darlin’, I’d rather focus on something else,” he whispered.

“Patrick, stop . . . ,” she said softly, face on fire. She squirmed from his hold while her daughters chatted away, apparently oblivious to their overaffectionate father.

“What?” he asked, gray eyes wide in mock innocence. He snatched several oatmeal cookies before giving her a shuttered smile. “I was talking about the cookies, Marceline, what did you think I meant?”

More heat flooded as she slapped him away. “Oh, go toss horseshoes. We’ll be eating at five and not a moment before.” She glanced at his cookies. “That is,
if
you’re still hungry.”

He strolled to the door. “I wouldn’t worry about that, darlin’,” he said with a wink. “I’m the only one who’s beat Collin at horseshoes so far, and winning always whets my appetite.”

The screen door rattled closed and Faith rose from the table, chuckling as she washed her hands. “Collin losing doesn’t bode well for me,” she said, reaching for a knife from the drawer, “but it sure has put Father in a good mood. Maybe tonight’s the night to broach the subject of adoption. He and Gabe are getting along better these days, aren’t they?”

“Not that I can see,” Charity said, staring out the window. “Father just yelled at Gabe for putting a mud pie down Henry’s back.” She heaved a weighty sigh. “Fair payback, I suppose, for the time he put worms down his sister’s, but I’ll have a terror of a time cleaning that shirt.”

“Oh dear, no . . .” Marcy plopped in her chair and patted her damp brow with her apron. “For the life of me, I don’t know why Gabe persists in bullying little boys and aggravating your father. When she’s alone with me, she’s a perfect angel and nearly as sweet as the other girls, but with him or Henry or the boys at school?” A shiver coursed the back of her neck. “She’s like a different child.”

She sighed, a tender smile chasing the heaviness from her soul. “Do you know what she did just last week?” Marcy blinked to ward off a prick of tears. “When Luke first brought her to stay, she begged to visit her little friends at the Boston Society for the Care of Girls, so now it’s a monthly routine. Well, last week, she insisted on making cookies all by herself, frosting each one with the girls’ initials.” Moisture welled, despite Marcy’s best efforts. “Whenever we visit, she’s like a champion for those poor little things for goodness’ sake—encouraging them, loving on them, defending them from other girls who bully. I tell you, the child virtually glows, and of course they all but worship her.”

Katie handed her a Kleenex from her purse, and Marcy gave her a wobbly smile. “All except your father, of course,
who says she acts more like a street hellion than part of this family.” She blew her nose. “But losing her parents like she did, I suppose some of her behavior is understandable. Even so, I’d give anything to know why she acts the way that she does.”

Katie leaned forward, the sheen in her eyes matching that of her mother’s. “Because that’s how she feels inside,” she whispered.

Marcy glanced up, lips parted in surprise. “What? How do you know?”

Sucking in a deep breath, Katie scanned the faces around the table. Her gaze returned to her mother and she paused. “Because Luke told me what happened before her parents died.”

The air seized in Marcy’s lungs. “Good heavens, Katie,” she whispered, “what could possibly be worse than the death of one’s parents?”

Katie clutched her mother’s hands and leaned close, her eyes awash with tears. “Abandonment,” she said quietly, the very word sodden with grief. “Luke made me promise not to say, Mother, but it’s breaking my heart because you need to know.” She engaged the familiar jut of her jaw. “
No
, you have a
right
to know the heartbreak that little girl carries.”

“Oh, please, no . . .” Marcy’s eyes fluttered closed, no power over the wetness welling beneath her lids. Deep down inside she’d known God had called her to rescue that child, to nurture her, to bring the balm of love to an orphan’s heart and the wounds that she bore through the loss of family. To restore what the locust had eaten with hope and healing, laughter and joy.
And love.
Marcy pressed a quivering palm to her lips to silence a heave.
Oh, Lord, so very much love!

Katie’s voice continued, soothing and low. “Luke didn’t know either, Mother, not until last month when he ran into the social worker in charge of Gabe’s case. Somehow Gabe’s files were misfiled or lost, so he never knew Gabe’s parents abandoned her at the age of five.” Releasing Marcy’s hands,
Katie eased back in her chair. Her gaze flicked to the screen door and back, as if to make sure Gabe was nowhere in sight, then met those of her mother and sisters. “Luke was afraid it’d be too painful to hear, now that Gabe is one of our own.” She heaved a weighty sigh. “And frankly, he was worried about Father,” Katie said quietly. “Luke knows Gabe’s been a burden to him and he’s afraid if Father knew the emotional trauma of her past . . .” Katie paused, her voice fading to low. “It’ll be reason enough to think she could never change . . .” A muscle hitched in her throat. “And maybe reason to send her away.”

“For the love of decency, how can parents abandon a child?” Marcy felt faint.

Katie pierced her with a pained look in her eyes. “I don’t know, Mother, but they did.” Her tone hardened. “Apparently they were alcoholics and raising their own child was too much trouble. Once, they apparently ditched her at the city dump like so much trash, leaving her to fend for herself, but a neighbor found out and reported them.” Cheeks glazed with tears, Katie continued. “A year after Gabe went to live at the BSCG, they died in a fire, and never once did they try to see her or get her back before that.” Dabbing her face with a tissue, Katie shuddered, her eyes as glazed as Marcy’s mind. “Remember how Gabe never cried the first two years she was here, even when she cut her knee and needed stitches?”

Marcy nodded slowly, fear slithering in her stomach.

“The social worker told Luke that Gabe’s father was a nervous drunk who didn’t like a baby to cry, so he beat Gabe, which is why Luke thinks she’s so hostile to males today.”