Page 94 of A Whim and a Prayer

Charity’s gaze darted to the kitchen clock and back. “He said by nine, but he’s long past that, so I’m not sure what’s keeping him, sweetheart.”

Liar. You’re worried about the she-devil at work.

Julia yawned for a good three seconds, so sleepy that Charity was tempted to carry her to bed like Mitch often had to do. “I thought his auction meetings were on Thursday nights, Mama, not Saturdays.”

Charity tugged her daughter into her arms to give her a quick hug, planting a kiss on her head for good measure. “So did I, darling, but as we all know, Marjorie Hennessy isn’t known for either her thoughtfulness or her brevity, so she probably just held him up a little.

Or a lot. Charity’s mouth wrenched tight. “Holding” being the operative word, memories of Marjorie Hennessy’s lipstick on her husband’s collar all those years ago restoking the flame of fears she once had.

“Mama?” Julia’s heart-shaped face came back into view, peeking up with blond brows tilted up and worry in those droopy blue eyes.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is Winnie okay?”

That seems to be the question of the hour, Charity thought as she pressed another kiss to her daughter’s hair, almost grateful Julia had changed the subject.

“Yes, darling, she’s just tired after her sleepover with Abby,” she said easily, neither her nor Mitch wanting Julia to know what had transpired with her sister. “You know how those two gab all night.”

“Not really, Mama,” she said with another sweet yawn and a stretch this time, “I’m usually asleep in bed.”

“Where you should be right now, Ju-ju-bug, so you better head on up before you fall asleep right here on the kitchen floor because you’re too big to carry and only heaven knows when your father will be home. I’ll sneak in as usual to kiss you good night after I finish cleaning up the kitchen, all right? Although you’re usually far away in dreamland when I do.”

“Okay,” she said as she slogged to the door, too tired to even blow her usual sweet kiss.

Sweet mother of Job, what a taxing day this has been! Charity moved to the sink where dishes were piled high after her baking frenzy, a habit that soothed her nerves. She’d learned long ago that baking was an outlet that helped stave off her worry—something she’d needed after the Marjorie Hennessy debacle, which had been one of the darkest periods of her life. She found baking was much more palatable—and decidedly safer for her marriage—than ripping a she-devil’s hair out by the roots while pinning her to a conference table like she once had. Although not as satisfying, Charity mused with a hard smile as she thrust her hands into the soapy dishwater that had long since gone cold, wishing she could do it again.

But she’d learned her lesson the hard way when Mitch had slept in his study for two weeks, as cold as ice and never speaking to her except when the children were present. She’d thought her marriage was over … and consequently, her life. But prayer and persistence had won out when they’d finally reconciled at the eleventh hour of her birthday. A smile lighted on her lips as she closed her eyes to bring the memory back …

He tugged her into his arms, resting his head against hers. “Am I forgiven . . . for putting my pride before you?”

She pulled away, tears welling as she stroked his cheek. “Oh, Mitch, of course I forgive you.” Her brows tented as she worried her lip. “And you forgive me? For what I did?”

He bundled her close and sighed. “What choice do I have, little girl—my life is totally empty without you . . . not to mention dull. I won’t say you didn’t make me crazy, because you did. You triggered my temper like never before, and I literally needed time to cool down.”

She angled a brow. “But two weeks?”

He took her hand in his. “You trampled my pride, Charity, and you threatened my trust in you. But as your father so wisely pointed out, in your own misguided way, you were proving how much you love me.”

“Father said that?”

He lifted her chin with his hand. “Yes, but I’m warning you, little girl—don’t ever do anything like that again if you value our marriage, do you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” she whispered, leaning in to brush her lips against his.

A heavy sigh drifted out as she reopened her eyes to the present and a sink full of dirty dishes. No, she could never do that again. She paused, head tipped in thought. But … she could call the night watchman at The Herald to see if Mitch was still there, couldn’t she?

Grabbing a dishtowel, she dried her hands and hurried over to the phone, dialing the front desk of The Herald.

“Good evening—this is The Boston Herald,” the night watchman answered, and Charity slowly exhaled her relief, grateful one of her favorite employees answered.

“Chester? This is Charity Dennehy. It’s so good to hear your voice. How are you?”

“Right as rain, ma’am, and it’s good to hear your voice, too, Mrs. Dennehy. What can I do for you?”

“I expected Mitch home earlier, so I was wondering—is he still there?”

“No, ma’am, Mr. Dennehy left a few hours ago, I’m sorry.”