When they arrived back at the shop, the back room was still warm. With a sigh of relief, he divested himself of his outer garments and held his hands out to the fire to warm them. Christy followed suit, but slower, still deep in thought.
Lawrence stood and pulled the kettle over the fire. “You are worried.” It wasn’t a question.
Christy nodded. “I don’t know what to do.”
“My dear boy, I don’t know that there is anything you can do.”
Christy’s frown deepened. “She has no choice.”
Lawrence kept his voice as gentle as he could. “She could have stayed with you.”
“No. She couldn’t. He would just beat her again. He’s her husband.”
“Come, sit down.” Lawrence guided him to what had become ‘his’ chair by the fire. “Get warm.” He waited for the kettle to boil in silence, then poured the water into the tea pot. He took time getting out cups and saucers, wandering to the pantry for milk, and then poured and handed Christy a cup.