Having Faith (Callaghan Brothers #7)

They remained quiet and still, Faith’s head bowed in what looked like respectful prayer while Kieran kept his eye on everything and everyone and made no secret of the fact that he did. Only a few of the curious were brave enough to hold his intense blue gaze for more than a second or two before looking quickly away. No doubt many felt the weight of that laser-like stare on the backs of their heads, too, preventing them from turning around and gawking.

He heard Faith’s breath hitch when the pastor finally stepped up to the pulpit. He squeezed her hand reassuringly, reminding her that she was not alone.

John O’Connell was barely fifty years old, but every one of those years showed in the lines in his face. He kept his dark gray hair shorn close, emphasizing his dark, piercing eyes. Kieran studied his sharp, angular features, but there was absolutely no sign of his beautiful croie anywhere in them. Faith must have taken after her mother, he realized. That simple fact alone probably doomed her to their scorn.

Finding that the longer he looked at the preacher the more his dislike for the man grew, Kieran turned his attention elsewhere. When they’d first arrived, Kieran automatically made note of every possible entry and exit point. Out of habit, he checked again to make sure they were all clear.

As John segued into his sermon (ironically enough centered upon the sacrifice of Abraham’s son and the need to put God above family), Kieran took the opportunity to study the surroundings. It was definitely an old church, built around the turn of the century if he had to guess. The exterior was the traditional white, a narrow building with a steeple and a bell tower on top. Inside, the wooden benches showed their age, worn smooth over the years. A few stained glass windows remained, though most had been replaced with less-expensive plexi-glass. The carpet up the center aisle was threadbare.

The seats were a little more than half-full. Most of the parishioners looked as worn as the church. The older ones dressed up to attend services - the men in suits and ties, the women in dresses, accessorized with hats and hairpins. From the look of things, their finery was from an age long past, but Kieran thought that God would appreciate the effort nonetheless.

The younger ones sported jeans – though Kieran was sure they were their “nice” jeans, and clean shirts and shoes. But there was no mistaking this parish for anything but what it was – a very poor community where the people struggled to survive and held on to their faith regardless.

It angered Kieran that a man like John O’Connell would take advantage of that. He didn’t realize he’d let his control slip until he felt Faith squeezing his hand, giving him the same quiet reassurance he had given her. He smiled, and her earlier words came back to him: We will take care of each other.

*

After the service, they waited quietly in the shadows while the pastor spoke to the departing parishioners.

“I thought you might come,” John said, closing the church doors as the last of his flock walked away with a wary backward glance. “Mary told me she saw you yesterday.”

Faith looked at the man that had once cast her so easily from his home and inhaled deeply. “Are you my father?” she asked suddenly.

A lifetime of pain crossed his features, and he suddenly looked very, very old. “Yes.”

“Is Mary my mother?”

Seconds ticked by in the silence that followed, but it felt like an eternity. Faith was sure her heart had stopped beating in the time it took for him to answer.

“No.”

“You hypocrite.” Several phrases flowed through her mind at that moment. That was the most Christian-friendly word she could think of.

John’s features hardened, but he nodded. He walked toward the front of the church and sat down heavily in the first pew. After a few moments, Faith followed with Kieran’s hand on her lower back. Faith slid into the pew behind her father, shifting to the side so she could see his face.

John turned and looked not at her, but at Kieran. “You’re married?”

“Will be soon.”

“And the boy?”

“My son in every way that matters.”

John nodded, but his eyes remained cold and impassive. “Our sins always come back to haunt us, don’t they?” he said, his voice rough. “We fool ourselves, thinking that if we pray fervently enough, go to church, say and do all the right things, that we’re worthy, but we’re not. It’s futile. God knows this.”

“Is that what I am?” Faith asked, her voice as small as a child’s. “A sin?”

“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “You, Faith, are the physical manifestation of my weakness. My Scarlet Letter, if you remember your classics. God’s reminder that no matter what I think I am, I am still only a man. A sinner at heart.”

That sounded like a load of bullshit to her, nothing but a convenient excuse, but she heard herself saying, “Tell me.”

For a long while she thought he wouldn’t. The silence was deafening in the empty church, as if even God was listening. Kieran ran small circles over her hand with the pad of his thumb, keeping her anchored, confirming his words in deed. It didn’t make it easy, but having him there made it easier.

“I didn’t know your mother was pregnant,” he said finally.

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