Free A Love Surrendered by Julie Lessman Page B

be . . .” Faith paused, casting a nervous look around the table while a touch of guilt threaded her tone. “I actually do have another reasonfor 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’ residenttomboy 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.