The Savior Arrives
The knock was firm, authoritative. When Lauren opened the door, she met Charles Winthrop. He was the picture of a worried kinsman—snow-dusted shoulders, an expensive coat, and eyes that radiated relief.
“I’ve been worried sick,” he said, his voice a warm baritone. “Aunt Mabel has a tendency to wander when her ‘condition’ flares up. You’ve been a godsend.”
He knelt by Mabel’s chair with a practiced, patient grace. To an outsider, it was an act of love. To Lauren, who had lived under Damien’s “care,” it looked like a shepherd corralling a stray lamb. Mabel didn’t hug him; she went stiff, her fingers pleating the quilt in a nervous, repetitive motion.
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