A Passion Denied (57 page)

Helena caught her breath. “What?”

“He said he met ‘Helena,’ and that she confirmed the fears he had about his past.”

Helena’s lips parted as comprehension flickered in her eyes. “No, Michael wouldn’t . . .”

Father Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, apparently he did. I have a hunch that Michael was well aware of John’s inner struggles over his love for Lizzie and knew that his brother’s deep-seated shame kept him from pursuing it. I think he wanted to keep them apart and used John’s shame and guilt over his past to do just that.”

Father Mac leveled a sober gaze on Lizzie. “But John and I had counseled for months before the trip to New York, and again the day after he returned. He had reconciled with God over his attraction to his stepmother at the age of seventeen and his affinity for alcohol at the age of fourteen . . .” Father Mac hesitated and turned back to Helena. “But he never could tell me for sure what happened that night with your mother. He said he remembered the two of them talking and drinking in your mother’s room, and he admitted thinking—feeling things . . . he knew he shouldn’t. They were both drunk and apparently intimacies took place, but he swears he told her no and fled for his room. He remembers nothing from that moment on . . . until your mother’s screams woke him in the night and you stood there crying. He said she accused him of . . . seducing her . . . using her, and he simply didn’t know the truth. That is, not until New York, when his supposed stepsister told him that he slept with your mother.”

Helena gasped.

Father Mac shifted his gaze from Helena to Lizzie. “But even then, although he was bruised and battered from what he believed to be true, after a lot of prayer and soul-searching, he was finally ready to pursue the love he longed to have with you, Lizzie.”

A hand flew to Lizzie’s mouth, and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

Father Mac returned his gaze to Helena. “So, we need to know, Helena . . . Lizzie, me, and especially John . . . what happened that night?” His voice lowered to barely audible. “Did John have relations with your mother?”

Helena’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh no, Father, never! And I swear I thought he knew that. My mother woke me with her screaming that night, and I ran to John’s room, sobbing when I saw their terrible row. And, yes, she accused him of that, but I thought he knew the truth! Years later—before she died—she told me she regretted that night because it ruined everything that she and John had had. They had been so close, the best of friends, but in a moment of weakness, she had tried to become more, and his rejection had enraged her. It all happened so fast—one moment they were screaming, and then the next, John was gone.”

“Did you believe your mother’s story—that John had seduced her?”

Helena put her head in her hands. When she spoke, her tone was thick with shame. “Yes—until I learned the truth before she died.”

Father Mac stood and pulled Helena to her feet. He enfolded her in a protective embrace, his jaw taut with tension. “It’s all right, Helena. It’s over. You’ve done the right thing, and now you’re free from your past.”

Her body shuddered as she wept against his chest. “But John . . . I thought he knew . . . knew it was all a lie. That the only demon he wrestled with was bitterness.”

Father Mac sighed. “No, the devil wasn’t about to let him off that easily. Not a man like John.” His eyes flicked to Lizzie as she sat in a daze, shoulders slumped and eyes lost in a vacant stare. He sat Helena back in her chair, then squatted in front of Lizzie. He took her limp hand in his. “Don’t blame yourself, please. John doesn’t blame you.”

She shook her head, and the motion dislodged rivulets of tears from her eyes. “No, John wouldn’t. But I do. I’ve known from the age of thirteen the caliber of man he was, Father, but I blamed him anyway, for a past I was all too willing to believe.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “How could I do that?”

Father Mac gently took her face in the palm of his hand. His heart twisted at the guilt he saw when she opened her eyes. “It’s called humanity, Lizzie,” he whispered, “and by its very nature, we are drawn close to the breast of a forgiving God.”

Her chin trembled. “But I love him, Father, and yet I condemned him.”

“As he condemned himself, Elizabeth. Consider yourself in good company.”

She sniffed and pushed a tear from her eye. “In good company. Oh, Father, how I wish that were true—now and in the future.”

He stood to his feet and smiled. “Then I suggest you stop wishing and start praying, young lady. Has John Brady taught you nothing?”

Her eyes misted as she rose to give him a hug. “No, Father, he’s taught me everything.”

Lizzie went through the motions of getting ready for bed, but her heart wasn’t in it. What was the use, she wondered? She wouldn’t sleep anyway. At least not well, if the last month had been any indication. She finished brushing her teeth and spit in the sink, wishing she could expel the malaise inside as easily. But apparently it was here to stay, lodged in her chest along with the guilt that, lately, made her rib cage feel two sizes too small. She took a deep breath and exhaled, hoping to release some of the tension inside, but the motion only made her feel more depleted—not only of air, but of the will to breathe it.

She blinked at her reflection in the mirror, momentarily shocked by what she saw: a woman instead of a little girl. She took note of the subtle changes that indicated as much—the fullness of her heart-shaped face, now thinned and matured, and violet eyes, once so wide and wondering, now tapered into those of a woman in pain. After years of pining to grow up and leave her youth behind, she had finally arrived. Her eighteenth birthday had long since come and gone, and now, along with it, any chance of happiness she’d ever hoped to have.

She turned out the bathroom light and lumbered down the hall, praying that Katie had fallen asleep. Her little sister would want to chat, no doubt, and Lizzie had little to say these days. Not since she’d called the wedding off. No, since then, she’d existed in a fog of self-doubt and condemnation, wondering why anyone would want to talk to her, much less love her. She didn’t deserve it. Not after what she’d done to Brady.

She tiptoed into their dark room, grateful to hear the even rhythm of Katie’s breathing that indicated she was fast asleep. The sound was raspy and nasal, and Lizzie’s lips softened into a tired smile. The poor thing, all stopped up by a nasty cold. She bent to tuck her sister in, then leaned to kiss her cheek.

“Give her a restful sleep, dear God,” she whispered, “and help her to get well.” She crawled into her own bed and blinked at the ceiling, fighting the usual prick of tears in her eyes. “And I’ll take the same, if you’re so inclined, Lord, although I would certainly understand if you’re not.”

She turned on her side, and then the other, but as usual these nights, all positions of comfort evaded her. Her body felt heavy, but her eyelids were not, and so she stared, her gaze lost in a wide shaft of moonlight. The hands on the clock slowly ticked by, and she considered trudging downstairs to read one of her books in the parlor, but even that held no appeal. How could she lose herself in the fantasy of romance now, after it had deluded her so completely? She had staked everything—her heart, her hopes—on happily ever after with the man of her dreams. Only her dreams had become a nightmare that was obviously here to stay. Now, she not only had to live with the pain of loving a man she could never have, but also the guilt of wounding him to the core.

And for what? Childhood fantasies that bore little resemblance to the truth. A critical lesson learned too little, too late. She shivered and closed her eyes. There was no such thing as a fairy-tale romance, she had discovered, no such thing as a fairy-tale prince. Not when humanity stood in the way, with its inevitable failings and flaws.

With a heavy sigh, she rose from her bed and traipsed to the window, drawn by the solace of an inky sky studded with stars and a ribbon of moonlight. She donned her robe and slippers, then tiptoed from the room and down the stairs, grimacing as they squeaked on her descent. Unwilling to evoke painful memories, she avoided the front porch altogether and made her way through the kitchen and out the back door. She sank into the porch swing with a broken sob, overcome with one single thought:
I’ve ruined my life forever
.

The sounds of night with its crooning crickets and hooting owls was suddenly disrupted by the creak of the back door. “Trouble sleeping again, darlin’?”

Lizzie’s head jolted up. “Father, did I waken you?”

He quietly shut the screen door and settled down beside her. He hooked an arm around her shoulder and tucked her close. “No, Lizzie, I was up. Couldn’t sleep, either.” He rested his head against hers and released a weary breath. “Because of you.”

She burrowed into his hold and swiped at the tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Father, but I’m trying to be happy, really I am.”

“I know, darlin’, but I guess it seems pretty impossible right about now, doesn’t it?”

With a nod of her head, she sighed against his shoulder. She felt the rise and fall of his chest as he drew in a deep breath and exhaled again. When he finally spoke, his voice was tender and low. “Believe it or not, darlin’, that’s how it was for me when I cut myself off from your mother last year. It was like a slow death, Lizzie. Everything was a struggle—living, breathing, sleeping.”

“I know, I remember how awful it was for all of us, especially you and Mother.” She hesitated for several seconds. “What changed, Father . . . to turn it all around?”

His deep chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “Your mother’s bulldog tenacity in loving me and forgiving me in the face of my anger. Despite the fact that I treated her horribly, she never stopped trusting God nor applying his precepts, not once. If she had given in to her own anger and bitterness, I shudder to think what might have happened. But she knew she couldn’t, that she had to be strong, because I couldn’t be. I was too steeped in sin.”

Lizzie pulled away to study his face. “Sin?”

He nodded and exhaled. “Anger and bitterness. I tried my best to forgive her, to let it go, but I couldn’t seem to do it, no matter how much I prayed.”

Her sigh was heavy. “I know the feeling. I’ve been praying for a month now that God would heal my broken heart and give me joy again, but I can’t seem to shake this gloom.”

He kissed the top of her head. “And you’ve forgiven Brady and Michael and Helena, correct?”

“Completely. I’ll admit, it took some time to let my anger toward Michael go, but I honestly feel that I have.”

“So your heart is free of sin, then?”

“I think so.”

“That’s good, darlin’, because the Bible says that if we regard iniquity in our hearts, the Lord will not hear our prayers.” He paused. “Are you feeling sorry for yourself, then?”

Lizzie blinked. Her cheek twitched against the smooth cotton of her father’s robe. She didn’t answer.

“Because if you are,” he continued in a quiet tone, “that could be your culprit. I learned that the hard way with your mother. No matter how hard I prayed to forgive her and let go, I couldn’t seem to do it. Finally realized I was weighted down under a mountain of self-pity. Trouble is, it’s one of those sins nobody thinks about. Insidious, but it will take you down, Lizzie, trust me.”

She sighed. “I guess I’ve been mired in it for the last month, haven’t I?”

He chuckled. “Keep in mind that I still hold the record, little girl. Almost two months before I saw the light. Don’t wait that long, Lizzie. Exchange that poor-me attitude for a heart of gratitude. You have good friends and a family who love you more than you can imagine. And someday, you’ll have a good man too.” He kissed her head again and rose to his feet. “Now we best be getting some sleep, I think, or we’ll both be feeling a wee bit sorry for ourselves come morning. You coming?”

Lizzie looked up. “In a bit, Father. But first, I think I need some time alone.”

“Don’t be too late. You don’t want to be dragging in the morning.”

He turned to go, and all at once, the sight of his tall, sturdy frame flooded her with a profound sense of peace and gratitude. He was her father, faithful and true, loving her, protecting her . . . no matter what.

Just like God.

Her heart swelled with love for the tired man before her. “Daddy, wait!” She jumped to her feet and clutched him tightly about the waist, tears of joy stinging her eyes. “Oh, Daddy, I love you so much.”

His strong arms swallowed her up in a voracious hug, and the waver in his voice matched hers to a quiver. “And I you, darlin’, and I you. Now you say your prayers, Lizzie, then hustle yourself upstairs and get some sleep, eh?” He tweaked her chin. “And while you’re at it, say a few for me, darlin’. Morning’s looking awfully close.”

20

“Father! Troll Face is cheating again.”

Brady hesitated, arms extended midair and fingers poised on the basketball, trying to decide what was more important at the moment—correcting Leroy for the twentieth time or making the shot. His jaw shifted to the right and he let the ball go, allowing it to arc into the net with a satisfying swoosh. A chorus of groans echoed throughout the weedy blacktop parking lot of St. Mary’s Seminary, and Brady hung his head, his satisfaction short-lived.
Good job, “Father,”
he thought to himself,
you just trounced a group of ten-year-olds.