A Light in the Window (15 page)

“Oh, we’re here,” she breathed, hurrying up Julie’s sidewalk so Patrick wouldn’t see the hot blush of shame she felt in her cheeks. Nerves twitching, she waited for Julie on the front porch while she and Patrick took their time strolling the walk.

“Thank you for walking us home,” Julie said with a smile that glowed as bright as the harvest moon overhead. She tilted her head with a shy tease, an impish grin on her lips. “I don’t care what Sam says about you, you’re a very nice person.”

The husky rumble of his laughter warmed Marcy’s skin, reminding her she still wore his coat. “Well, you should know better than anybody you can’t believe everything your brother says.”

“Yes, thank you very much, Patrick, for both the escort and the coat.” Marcy slipped it off her shoulders, immediately missing its warmth. She handed it back, and caught her breath when a spark ignited at the touch of their fingers.

His lips curved despite the intensity of a serious gaze. “Sorry. It’s wool,” he whispered, as if that could explain the erratic pounding of her heart. “Static electricity, you know.”

She stepped back and nodded, anxious to be inside and as far away from Patrick O’Connor—and the sparks he ignited—as humanly possible. “Yes, well, thank you again,” she said in a strained voice.

He offered a short bow of his head. His eyes flitted from Marcy to Julie and back, gaze lingering enough to make her uncomfortable. “Good night, ladies.”

“Good night,” Julie called as he strolled toward the street. She angled a brow at Marcy while turning the knob of the front door. “Whatever has gotten into you?” she whispered, shooting a quick glance over her shoulder as if to make sure Patrick was gone. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you seemed a bit rude to the poor man.”

Julie held the door open while Marcy barged through, jaw stiff at Julie’s obvious blindness to a rake like Patrick O’Connor.
Oh, Julie, if you only knew!
She whirled around mid-foyer, her anger resurfacing over her unwanted attraction to a man she didn’t trust. She crossed her arms in challenge. “I just don’t know what you see in him. The man’s little more than a cad cloaked in nice manners.”

Julie paused, hand on the lock. “For mercy’s sake, Marcy—what has Patrick ever done to you?”

Marcy’s lips gummed tight.
Trust me, you don’t want to know.

Hanging her jacket on the coat rack, Julie turned to counter her best friend, hands plunked to her hips. “I happen to think he’s a very nice boy, one of the few who actually has ambition to go places.”

Marcy jutted her chin. “Maybe so, but when it comes to women, I doubt the places he wants to go are very commendable. Merciful Providence, Julie, he’s not exactly a man of faith, except in himself.”

“Come on, that’s not fair.” Julie made her way to the kitchen. “Patrick really seems to be trying.”

“That may be, but you and I both know he’s the very reason Sam has gotten so far off track in the first place, changing your brother into a womanizer just like him. Why, Sam is from a decent family, for pity’s sake, raised to know better, always looking out for girls instead of taking advantage of them, but hobnobbing with Patrick has certainly changed all that.”

“Really, Marcy, you can’t blame everything on Patrick—”

Marcy arched a brow. “Do you deny he’s been a bad influence on your brother?”

“No ….” Julie tugged at her lip. “But I truly think he’s changing—”

“Oh, Jewels, you just have your head in the clouds when it comes to that man.” Marcy followed her down the hall, grateful the rest of the family had obviously gone to bed. She flopped in a chair and snatched a cookie from a plate on the table, lips in a scowl.

Julie’s soft giggle helped to soothe Marcy’s sour mood. “I don’t think so,” her best friend said in a sing-song tone, tossing a sly grin over her shoulder on her way to the ice box. “At least … not anymore.”

Marcy sat straight up, a molasses cookie lodged in her teeth. She quickly chewed and gulped. “And what’s
that
supposed to mean?”

Julie sashayed from the icebox to the counter, milk bottle in hand. She took her time pouring two glasses.

“Julie Mariah O’Rourke! If you don’t tell me right now what that means—”

More giggles floated in the air as Julie scurried to the table, delivering two tumblers of milk. Plopping in a chair, she reached for a cookie and leaned in, nibbling while her eyes danced with mischief. “Well … it means that I think I may have found someone who can race my pulse as much as Patrick O’Connor.”

Marcy’s jaw dropped, cookie limp in her hand. Her mind scoured the possibilities. The male lead in the play, Peter Martin? Peter’s friends who came to volunteer and flirt with the girls? The new boy from France that all the girls were swooning over who would be in their class? Marcy’s brow crimped in thought, considering the possibilities.

Julie laughed outright, shimmying to the edge of her chair. “Come on, Marce—who do we spend time with three days a week at the soup kitchen?”

Marcy blinked before her eyes went wide. “Saints almighty, you don’t mean Evan Farrell, do you?”

A becoming shade of pink dusted Julie’s cheeks as she giggled. “I do.” She propped her chin in her hand while a dreamy sparkle lit her eyes. “Did you notice him tease me tonight?” A sigh feathered her lips. “I’ve caught him watching me more than once, and one day at the center last week when you had your father’s birthday dinner?” She nervously chewed on her thumbnail. “He helped me wash dishes, then walked me home.”

“You didn’t tell me that!” Marcy stared, jaw distended.

“Because I thought I might be imagining it at first, but he flirted with me tonight—you saw it. Didn’t he?” She slanted in, awaiting Marcy’s answer with a nibble of her lip.

Eyes squinted in thought, Marcy thought about it before finally glancing up, a chuckle bubbling to her lips. “You know, I believe he did. I guess my mind was busy somewhere else.”

“I’ll say—busy picking at Patrick, I’ll wager.”

Marcy’s smile crooked. “Most likely.” She jumped up to give Julie a hug. “Oh, Jewels, I love Evan. I just never thought of him in a romantic light before because he’s a bit older than us, although he certainly is a wonderful man—kind, giving, dedicated.”

“I know.” Julie beamed. She paused, her smile dimming. “Wait—you didn’t have designs on him, did you?”

Marcy shook her head. “Absolutely not. I think he’s a sweet man who’s perfect for you.” She huffed out a sigh of relief. “And good heavens—anyone’s better than Patrick O’Connor.”

Julie dipped her head, studying Marcy through eyes that were no longer playful. “Patrick’s a good person,” she said quietly, “and I honestly think he’s trying to be better. I even heard Sam grousing at him in the kitchen late one night, complaining that Patrick is spending more time at the center than he is at Brannigan’s.”

Marcy steeled her mind. The last thing she needed was to disarm her distrust of a pretty-boy Don Juan who wreaked havoc with her pulse. “That may be so, but it will take more than a few nights a week at the center for me to trust him.” Marcy vented her frustration with a weary sigh. “Look, I’m sure he’s a very nice person in some ways, but as a man a woman can trust?” She grunted and grabbed another cookie. “I doubt I will ever change my mind about him.” She took a bite and chewed slowly, reflecting on the type of man she hoped to marry someday. A man who could stir her faith more than her pulse and who trusted in God as much as she. As far as she was concerned, that was the only guarantee for a happy marriage and family, and she sure wasn’t about to risk falling prey to the deadly charm of a sweet-talking Casanova. She washed the cookie down with a drink of milk, then gave Julie a patient smile. “I know you like Patrick, and he’s nice enough as a friend I suppose, but the truth is he’s not a man of faith like Evan, so I’d just as soon avoid him altogether.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Julie eased back in her chair, slowly twirling her glass on the table while she assessed Marcy with a sad smile. “You know, he might become a man of faith if he saw an example in us.”

Marcy stopped chewing while the cookie turned to sludge in her mouth. She gulped hard, and it sank to the pit of her stomach as she put a hand to her eyes, conviction watering her gaze.

Julie gently touched her arm. “I’m sorry, Marce,” she said softly, “but this isn’t like you. You’re usually the one whose heart is so soft and tender, the girl who never speaks ill of anyone. And yet with Patrick, you seem to be so hard, so unforgiving. I don’t know what he ever did to you, but I think you need to see him for the person he is, as well as the man he can be. Aren’t you the one always saying that faith is the great equalizer? Helping us to love others no matter who they are or what they’ve done? So they, in turn, can love themselves and ultimately others, just like Christ did for us?”

Marcy nodded and closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I guess I see Patrick in the same light as my cousin’s ex-fiancé.” Her voice hardened at the thought of the man who used Nora for his own pleasure and then left her in shame to bear a baby alone. “Men too handsome to be trusted, able to make women swoon with a glance or a kiss, only bent on satisfying their own lusts.”

“They’re not all like that,” Julie whispered, rubbing Marcy’s back with tender strokes, “and even if some are, we’re called to forgive and pray for them, aren’t we, Marce?” She released a fragile sigh. “Sam flirts with the lasses, but I know in my heart that faith and family are important to him and Patrick, too, I’m sure, at least deep down. I honestly believe both of them would do the right thing if need be, heaven forbid.”

“Heaven forbid, indeed,” Marcy said quietly, memories piercing her heart. “Heaven forbids them to steal a girl’s innocence, and yet it’s done, Julie, more than either of us know.” Her eyelids weighted closed, haunted by the image of her friend Elsie’s handsome father cornering her in their kitchen pantry, attempting to kiss her, grope her, stealing her very innocence by the mere look of lust in his eyes.

Julie’s soft sigh blew warm in her ear as her friend gave her a squeeze. “All the more reason to win the hearts of such men with our faith, matching our strength against their charm, wooing them with kindness.” Julie brushed loose strands from Marcy’s face, an imp of a smile twitching her lips. “I’ll tell you what—my mother and I would certainly like to see what you could do for Sam.”

Lips pursed, Marcy shook her head, fighting a smile. “You are relentless, you know that? You are not going to rest till I give Sam a chance, are you?”

“Nope.” She returned to her seat and snitched another cookie, eyeing Marcy while she chewed. Her grin faded into a soft smile. “You’d be good for my brother, Marce, I just know it, and I honestly believe he needs you in his life.”

Sam?
Needs
me?
A warm chill scurried down Marcy’s arms, melting her from the inside out.
Oh, Lord, if only …

 
Julie finished her cookie and dusted the crumbs from her hands, lumbering up with a groan. She carried the glasses to the sink and washed them, leaving them to dry in a dish basket on the counter. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I may just have to crawl up those steps because I don’t believe I’ve ever been this tired before.”

“Worn out from batting those eyelashes all day?” Marcy tweaked the back of Julie’s neck.

Dousing the kitchen light, Julie laughed and looped an arm to Marcy’s waist to usher her up the creaking stairs. “Well, I had no idea romance was this exhausting,” she whispered, keeping her voice low to keep from waking the others. Tiptoeing down the hall, she gave Marcy a soft giggle. “Goodness, who knew that being smitten could make you so weak in the knees?”