She shook her head. “That’s very nice, but it’s late and we’re both tired. Besides, teaching you to dance has been fun.” A twinkle returned to her eyes. “I enjoy broadening your social horizons.”
“Dining out is part of the social landscape you know. And you can teach me which fork to use so I don’t embarrass Rose.”
She gave him a quirk of a smile. “I’m quite sure that if you ate soup with a fork, Mr. O’Connor, Rose Kelly would still revere you more than the Pope.” She took his left hand in her right and then positioned his other against her shoulder blade. “The answer is still no.”
“Come on, Emma,” he coaxed with a boyish smile, “it’s the least you can do. First you shame me into dancing, insult my intelligence, and then steal my candy. And now, since dinner is long over at home, you’re forcing me to eat alone as well.” Palms clasped in dancing position, he offered a crooked grin. “Please? For me?”
She studied him, swayed by the hopeful look in his eyes and the tease of his smile, and all at once his friendship made her feel safe and whole once again. Just like always, working together, laughing together, sharing lunches and dinners more times than she could count. Just like tonight. No difference at all, she told herself with a press of her lips.
As long as there was Rose.
Releasing a gentle sigh, she gave him a ghost of a smile. “I’ll say one thing, Sean O’Connor, you certainly have your sister fooled with that silver tongue of yours, I can tell you that. A late bloomer, indeed.” She shook her head. “All right, I’ll have dinner with you,” she said with a lift of her chin, “but I warn you, I expect fancy footwork prior to.” She angled a slim brow. “And I don’t mean just with your mouth.”
13
Mama, Henry’s smoking Grandpa’s pipe again.” Hope burst into Marcy’s kitchen in her stockinged feet and skidded to a stop, blond hair flying and the swinging door swaying behind.
Katie looked up from the trousers she was patching and actually grinned at the frantic look on her niece’s face, realizing more every day what it meant to be a mother. There was a time when she’d spent her Saturdays studying rather than joining her sisters to help their mother sew, but today, for some reason, she found the air in her lungs expanding at the pleasure of it all.
Some reason? Children’s shrieks and laughter could be heard from the parlor, a sound that usually set Katie on edge, but not today. For the first time since she’d missed her period over two months ago, she was easing into the reality that her calling was—at least for the present—to raise children instead of awareness for women’s rights. All the tears, all the anger, all the hurt over the loss of her dream had ebbed and slowed, and she was finally ready to let it go.
Your will—not mine—be done.
She tugged on her final stitch and broke the thread with her teeth, hoping with everything in her that Faith’s words were true: His will . . . the path to our highest pleasure.
“Where’s Grandpa?” Charity asked, never missing a beat while mending a pair of corduroy knickers bunched in her lap.
“Asleep with Kit,” Hope said, her look indicating that Grandpa was no threat to Henry.
“With all the commotion in there?” Katie glanced at her mother. “Is Father going deaf?”
One side of Marcy’s smile curved up. “Not deaf, Katie Rose, just experienced. Seven babies, and the man never heard one of you cry in the middle of the night.” Her features softened. “But in his defense, he didn’t sleep well last night because of a cold, so it’s no wonder he nodded off.”
“Sounds like selective hearing to me,” Charity said, sucking her finger where the needle had poked her. “Or a male-chromosome thing.” She patted Hope’s arm. “Tell Henry if he touches Grandpa’s pipe again, I’ll have Gabe tutor him in math instead of his father.”
“Oh, that’s good, Mama, he’ll hate that!” She gave Charity a quick hug and bolted for the door, halting midswing with a scrunch of her freckled nose. “Wait, how do you put out a pipe?”
Charity shot to her feet. “Sweet saints, it’s lit?”
Hope nodded, two delicate brows sloped in concern. “You know how much he likes fire.”
“Mercy.” Charity tossed the knickers on the table and barreled for the door, eyes smoldering as much as Grandpa’s pipe, no doubt. “I’ll show him fire. Henry!”
The door creaked closed, and Katie shot a grin at Faith and Lizzie. “I’ll tell you what—if it wasn’t for you two, with four sweet girls and one fairly reasonable boy, I’d be real worried.”
“Come on, Katie, Kit’s a dream and you know it,” Lizzie said with a chuckle.
“It’s not Kit I’m worried about,” Katie responded, fighting the urge to confide in her mother and sisters. “It’s the prospect of having another Henry that puts the fear of God in me.”
Faith squinted to thread her needle, the tip of her tongue tucked at the edge of her mouth. She peered up, giving Katie a pesky smile. “Why worry about that now, Sis . . . unless—” she wiggled her brows—“our Luke is getting pushy about the size of his family . . .”
Katie drew in a deep breath, lashes lifting to reveal a sheepish look that matched the blush in her cheeks. “I’m afraid that ‘our’ Luke has done a little bit more than push.”
The pinafore Marcy held dropped to her lap. “Katie Rose, you’re not saying you’re—”
“With child?” Katie’s lips squirmed to the right. “It would appear that Luke McGee’s infamous luck extends well beyond sports and cards, because yes, I think so.”
“Oh, Katie!” Lizzie’s smile dimmed after she gave her a hug. “But, wait—are you okay with this?”
I don’t know . . . am I? Katie closed her eyes and grazed a gentle palm across her swollen stomach, feeling the familiar nausea bubbling inside. She sighed and opened her eyes, squeezing Lizzie’s hand with a peaceful smile born of resignation. “Not at first, Lizzie, but God has helped me to accept what is obviously his—” her smile slanted, “and Luke’s—will.”
“But are you sure? I mean, have you seen a doctor?” Lizzie asked.
“Doctor? Sweet saints, who’s sick now?” Charity sighed. “Besides Henry, that is.”
“Katie thinks she’s pregnant,” Lizzie said, her gaze hesitant.
“Really? Katie, that’s great!” Charity sank in her chair, eyes in a squint. “But you’re not sure?”
Katie offered a tentative smile. “Well, I haven’t seen a doctor yet, but I am late.”
“How many periods have you missed?” Marcy asked, the torn pinafore all but forgotten.
Katie sucked in a deep swallow of air and exhaled slowly. “Two.”
Marcy leaned forward, her maternal instincts as sharp as the look in her eyes. “Any other symptoms? Tender breasts, nausea, vomiting, fatigue, backaches, headaches, food cravings . . .”
“Mmm . . . now there’s incentive for a religious vocation if ever there was . . .” Charity jabbed her needle into the bulky corduroy with a grimace. “That and Henry . . .”
Katie nodded. “All of the above. Not to mention tears and tirades.” She grated her lower lip before she slid them a guilty smile. “Luke says it’s like living in a minefield.”
“Ah, the barbed-wire no-man’s-land beyond the trenches . . . yes, Mitch knows it well.”
Faith chuckled. “I suspect all fathers-to-be know it well.”
“Not Brady,” Charity said. “Everybody knows Lizzie’s a saint.”
A nervous giggle erupted from the “saintly” sister in the bunch. “Uh, you might ask Brady to show you his scar.”
All talking and sewing ceased. Four sets of eyes converged on Lizzie, pinking her cheeks.
“His scar?” Faith whispered. Her jaw sagged along with her sisters’.
The blush on Lizzie’s face deepened as she nodded. “It happened in my seventh month when I got upset over something—can’t even remember what, now. But Brady tried to pacify me with that exasperating calm of his, and I tried to flick him away. Unfo
rtunately, I was threading a needle at the time and I . . . ,” she hesitated, gnawing her lip while her color continued to rise, “accidentally gouged him.”
“Gouged him?” Charity asked, her respect effectively engaged. “As in draw blood?”
Lizzie nodded, her lavender-hued eyes soft with remorse. “He calls it his ‘war wound.’” Her lips tilted into an awkward smile. “Claims I gave him shell shock.”
Charity’s tone was tinged with awe. “Yeah, Mitch has a few of those battle scars too, only I don’t think shock was ever a factor.”
Faith leaned across the table to grip Katie’s hand in hers. “Oh, Katie, you are going to love having a baby—”
“Come again?” Charity’s tone clearly indicated shell shock of her own.
“After the delivery,” Faith emphasized with a crooked grin. “Trust me, when you hold that tiny little replica of you and the man you love in your hands, it’s as if nothing else in the world will ever seem as important again . . . not even law school. Right, guys?” She looked to Charity and Lizzie for support, and both sisters nodded.
“Even for me, kiddo,” Charity said, misting up. “I complain about Henry a lot, but truly, most of it is just a front. Because honestly other than God, nothing—” she hiked her chin, belying the faint tremble of a tight-lipped smile, “and I repeat—nothing has brought me more joy or made me feel more special and whole as a woman than the birth of my twins.”
Katie couldn’t help it—moisture welled in her eyes. Special. Whole as a woman. The very desire of her heart that compelled her to be a lawyer, that secret longing buried all these years beneath a mountain of hurt and rejection—could it be? Would motherhood with its innate love and nurturing ease the hidden ache of a lonely little girl? Closing her eyes, she placed a palm to her stomach and breathed in the possibility of such a transformation. She thought of Kit, and a bubble of joy rose in her throat over the little girl she now loved like her own. A solitary tear plunked on her hand, filling her heart with a gratitude that swelled warm in her chest. Because suddenly she knew—yes, it could. Kit was living proof. And she knew why—because with God, all things were possible. She swatted another tear from her face. “Thanks, sis—I needed to hear that.”
“Sure, kid, anytime.” Charity sniffed, exchanging grins with Faith and Lizzie, both of whom were blotting at tears of their own. “God help us, we’re a weepy lot, aren’t we though?”
Marcy laughed. “God help our husbands, you mean.”
“Exactly.” Faith paused. “So if you are pregnant . . . what about law school?”
Katie’s rib cage expanded and contracted with a quiet sigh. “Well, it just means I’ll lay it aside for now to raise my family. That’s the deal that Luke and I made.”
“Lay it aside for now?” Marcy asked. “Does that mean you intend to go back someday?”
Mental calculations flitted through Katie’s brain—she was twenty now, and Luke promised she could return to law school when Kit was sixteen. Which meant if things worked out, she’d be thirty-six—tempered and seasoned enough to make a difference. Or so she hoped. Her gaze met her mother’s. “Yes, Mother, that’s the agreement, when Kit turns sixteen.”
The kitchen door squealed open to reveal a groggy grandpa toting a sleepy-eyed Kit. “We’re up from our nap,” Patrick said with a yawn, bobbling the little girl in the crook of his arm. His lips zagged into a droll smile. “And I’m giving fair warning—we’re wet.”
Marcy jumped up, squeezing Katie’s shoulder before rescuing Kit. “I’ll take her, Katie, while you finish talking to your sisters. You and I can chat later.” Depositing a kiss on Kit’s auburn curls, Marcy patted Patrick’s cheek. “And you, my love, can change yourself.”
“Very funny, darlin’.” Patrick shot his wife and daughters a smirk while they chuckled. “You better hope I’m a long ways from that state of affairs, Marceline, or God help us both.” He prodded her through the door. “Get a move on, woman. Gabe and Hope are upstairs, which means Henry’s alone and we’re all at risk.”
Charity sighed. “Explain why I get the boy terror while you three get off scot-free?”
“Poetic justice, maybe?” Faith offered a lazy smile.
Charity’s eyes narrowed. “There’s nothing poetic about it, nor any rhyme or reason why you all get Pollyanna, and I have to butt heads with Huck Finn.”
“Teddy can be a handful too, you know,” Lizzie piped up, obviously hoping to cheer her sister up. She jumped up to retrieve a plate of oatmeal cookies Marcy had waiting on the counter. “Here, have a cookie—it’ll lift your spirits.”
“Thanks, Lizzie.” Charity snatched one and popped half in her mouth. “I’ll take a ‘handful’ of Teddy over a mouthful of Henry any day.” She scowled with chipmunk cheeks, tugging on a needle stuck in a corduroy seam. “I swear he’s in cahoots with Mitch.”
Faith reached for a cookie. “So, Katie, do you think Luke means it? About law school?”
Katie paused, remembering Luke’s tenderness the night she told him. She drew in a deep breath, as pregnant with certainty as she was with his child. “I do. Luke knows how much this means to me, and as I’m learning very slowly, I need to trust my husband.”
Charity shoved the rest in her mouth, cheek bulging. “Yeah, well, good luck with that.”
“Come on, Charity, you trust Mitch, I know you do.” Lizzie’s tone held a tease.
“Well, I thought I did . . . till last month.”
Faith halted mid-chew, jaws stiff with oatmeal. “What happened last month?”
Charity slumped back in the chair with a second cookie in hand while her eyes trailed into a hard stare. “We had a fight—an awful one. Worse than ever before.”
“But, why?” Lizzie asked.
“Because he was working late, and I called the Herald and he . . . well, he wasn’t there.”
“What? Where was he?” Faith said, leaning in.
Charity’s almond-shaped eyes thinned as she took another bite. “At Mrs. Hennessey’s.”
“Who’s Mrs. Hennessey?” Lizzie wanted to know.
Faith’s lips tightened. “Only one of the richest women in Boston and a high-society flapper. And key stockholder.” She brushed a crumb from her lips. “Why was Mitch there?”
Charity puffed out a sigh. “Because Mr. Hennessey assigned him to cochair the auction with her. They meet Thursday evenings at the Herald, which is why Mitch works late. But that Thursday she wasn’t feeling well, so she had him come to her house. Which would be fine, except . . .”
“Except what?” Faith’s eyes fixed on her sister’s face.
Charity chewed on her lip instead of her cookie. “Except I sent one of his suits to the cleaners the other day, and I found a folded paper in the pocket.” She swallowed hard. “It reeked of perfume and had her name and phone number on it. So when I called work and Angus told me he was at her house . . . I . . . I was crazy with jealousy.”
Katie placed a hand on Charity’s arm. “Mitch loves you, Charity, and he’s a good man. Nothing would ever happen.”
“I know,” Charity whispered, her gaze fastened to the half cookie she held in her hand. Her lower lip protruded into the faintest of pouts. “But lately, well . . . it just seems as if he’s lost interest in me—always too tired to . . . ,” her lower lip quivered the slightest bit, “you know . . .”
Faith exchanged glances with Lizzie and Katie, then leaned in, her eyes intent. “Charity, you and I both know that in this economy, the Herald is operating on a skeletal staff. Mother says Father has been going in earlier and coming home later than ever before, even working some Saturdays, which he knows how much she hates. And Mitch is such a workhorse, anal to a fault, so of course he’s exhausted.”
She shook her head, a sheen of tears glimmering in her eyes. “No, you don’t understand—Mitch is an amorous man and exhaustion has never stopped him before. He’s always been the type who seems to need my love all the more when he’s stressed and overworked.” Her
jaw tightened. “But that all changed when Marjorie Hennessey came into the picture. I’ve seen her once or twice from afar at Herald functions, and she’s more of a vamp than I could ever hope to be.” She took a sip of tea and swallowed hard. “And even good men fall if they have a reason.”
“Oh, fiddle! What reason could Mitch possibly have?” Katie demanded.
Charity’s eyes brimmed with tears.
“Charity?” Katie paused, brows knit.
“What’s wrong?” Faith asked quickly, gripping Charity’s arm.
Charity put a hand to her mouth as if to stifle a sob. “I’m so scared I . . . worry that I’ll push him away.” A heave shivered through her, and she looked away for several seconds and then sniffed, suddenly straightening her shoulders as if desperately trying to compose herself. “I haven’t felt like this since before we were married, when Mitch was engaged to Kathleen—frantic inside, you know? Worried sick that I’ll lose him.” Her throat worked hard as she looked up. “And Mitch can sense it too, I just know it. It pushed him away before when I got possessive, needy, and I’m worried it will push him away now too . . . ” Her lip began to quiver and she put a hand to her mouth, her voice trailing into a wail. “Right into the arms of Marjorie Hennessey . . .”
Faith jumped up and embraced her sister while Lizzie and Katie hovered close. “Charity, listen to me. Mitch is crazy about you, and he would never cheat on you, so you need to get your fear under control.”
Charity shook her head, her face twisted in anguish. “No, you don’t understand—I can’t! I’ve tried, but it rises up and consumes me the longer he works with that woman. And Thursdays?” She shivered with a nervous buff of her arms. “God, help me—he may as well lock me up because I pace all day like a crazy woman as it is.”
“You can fight this, Charity,” Faith said with a firm squeeze, “I just know it. You can’t let fear cut you off from Mitch’s love and respect. If you do, Marjorie wins and you lose. Is that what you want?”