Faithfully Yours Page 10

  He wanted someone less, well, colorful. Someone who wouldn’t draw people’s attention when she walked through a room. Someone who didn’t always try to change the status quo. Someone who followed the rules instead of making up her own. Someone who was content to follow the path he’d chosen, instead of veering off into little side journeys that took a completely different turn from the events he wanted to occur in his life.

  His eyes moved over her slim, graceful form as she stood talking to several couples in the foyer. Her green eyes flashed, bringing her whole face alive and setting off the glints of reddish gold in her hair.

  Jeremy wanted someone less, well…his mind sought for the right word. Dynamic, he decided. That was it—a woman who was more calm and stable in her reactions. Those were the assets he was looking for in a woman.

  Against his will his eyes were drawn back to her generous smile as she chuckled at some joke an elderly bald-headed man murmured for her ears alone.

  No, he told himself. Gillian Langford wasn’t at all suitable.

  Was she?

  “I didn’t do nuthin’!”

  Red-faced and belligerent, seven-year-old Roddy Green glared at his teacher with all the aplomb of a confident politician. It would have been convincing, too, if Gillian hadn’t seen him slip a handful of elastic bands into his pocket.

  “Roddy, we are supposed to be discussing Thanksgiving, and the pilgrims who had the very first Thanksgiving in our country many years ago…and all the things we have to be thankful for.” She fixed him with her sternest look while removing his stash of projectiles.

  She would have liked to rub the throbbing spot on the back of her neck, but that would be a sure sign that he’d gotten to her; Roddy could read adult reactions like a book.

  “I don’t got nuthin’ to be thankful for,” he muttered angrily, stabbing the toe of his filthy sneaker into the mat.

  “I don’t have anything,” Gillian corrected, holding on to his arm when he would have ducked away. “And you have lots to be thankful for. How about your home and your parents and food in your tummy and a warm coat for the winter?”

  To her amazement he burst into tears, yanking his arm out of her grip and dashing through the door in a flurry of action. Fortunately Gillian had an aide present in her room on Wednesdays, and mere seconds elapsed before she grabbed her coat and headed out after him.

  Roddy was sitting in a little grove of trees just beyond the schoolyard. Technically it was off-limits to the students, but she wasn’t about to discuss that now.

  “Roddy? What’s the matter?” Gingerly she placed her hand on his bony shoulder, leaving it there when he didn’t flinch away. Gillian waited while he gulped and sobbed, dashing his sleeve across his face before glaring up at her

  “It’s sumpthin’ I can’t talk about,” he told her. “I promised my mom I wouldn’t go blabbin’.” He sniffed sadly, and new tears welled in his big sorrowful eyes.

  “I certainly wouldn’t want you to do that,” Gillian murmured agreeably, slipping her arm a little farther around him. “But sometimes talking things over with a friend can really help I’d like to be your friend, Roddy. Would that be okay?”

  She waited breathlessly for his answer, sensing somehow that this child needed help. He peered up at her through the hank of dark, unkempt hair that hung over one eye. His look was skeptical, but at least he didn’t pull away.

  “I know how it is,” she commiserated. “Every so often things just get too big for us, and even praying about it seems hard. That’s when it’s nice to have someone to talk to.” She breathed her own prayer for heavenly guidance before tipping his grubby chin up toward her.

  “Can’t you just tell me a little about what’s wrong? I know something is bothering you, because you haven’t been doing your work as well as before. And today you weren’t even listening during storytime.” Gillian glanced around the schoolyard. “I didn’t see you playing soccer at recess, either, Roddy, and I know that’s your very favorite.”

  “I…I was tired of playing that baby game. ‘Sides, I don’t got no ball to play with. The other kids don’t like me to play with them. They say I’m dirty.”

  The words came out on a tiny half sob of pain, and Gillian felt her heart shatter at the cruel words. She didn’t have a chance to say anything because suddenly the words were pouring out of him.

  “I know I need to get cleaned up, but I haven’t got time. I gotta get supper for my brothers and help my ma get them to bed. Then it’s my job to wash all the dishes.” He said it with a sort of fierce pride. “Since my dad ain’t there no more, I’m the man of the family.”

  He looked fearful, as if he had revealed some secret. Gillian murmured something soothing.

  “I’m not s’posed to tell anybody ‘bout my dad goin’,” he muttered. “I didn’t even tell Miz Flowerlady an’ she said she’s my special friend.”

  Gillian frowned thoughtfully.

  “You mean Mrs. Flowerday?” she asked quietly. When he nodded, she pretended a previous knowledge of the relationship. “Yes, she’s a really good person to have as a friend. Besides that, she can bake cookies like you wouldn’t believe.”

  “I know,” Roddy agreed, eyes glowing. “I go past her place sometimes, and she gives me some. I’m s’posed to be doin’ jobs for her, but I can’t. I gotta help my mom till she gets better.”

  It got sadder and sadder, Gillian decided, swallowing past the huge lump in her throat with difficulty. She straightened her shoulders briskly. Roddy definitely didn’t want her pity.

  “Well, my goodness,” she said. “You are a man to be able to do all that.” She stared at her hands, thinking madly. “I guess in the morning, what with your brothers and all, you don’t have much time to make a lunch do you?”

  He glanced at her sheepishly.

  “I forgot to get some more peanut butter,” he muttered. Gillian guessed that there probably wasn’t any money for it.

  “Well, Roddy. The thing is, our class will be having some homework for the next few weeks, and it’s going to take some extra time. Maybe on Saturday you could bring your brothers to my place while your mom rests. Then you could have time to do some homework.”

  “Oh, no,” he gasped, staring at her in consternation. “I couldn’t do that. My mom would be really mad!”

  “But, Roddy, she would be able to rest much better, don’t you think? And I’m going to be at home all day. I’d like to have visitors. You could just bring them over in their stroller for a little while, couldn’t you?”

  He looked doubtful.

  “Well,” Gillian murmured, hating to push. “You talk it over with your mom. And I’ll make some gingerbread men from my aunt’s secret recipe just in case you can come. Okay?”

  He took a long time in replying. “I guess.”

  Gillian smiled and got to her feet.

  “In the meantime,” she said nonchalantly, walking back toward the school with him. “I have a shirt and a pair of overalls that I bought for my nephew for his birthday. I found out that he’s too big for both of them. Since I can’t take them back, why don’t you try them? I’d sure hate to just throw them out.”

  “You mean blue jean overalls,” he breathed, peering up at her with huge, awestruck eyes.

  “Yep,” she grinned. “The real thing.”

  “All right!” he cheered, racing ahead. Seconds later he was back in front of her. “Uh, thank you,” he murmured.

  “That’s quite all right. I’ll get them at noon when I go home for lunch. Okay?”

  He nodded, obviously thrilled.

  “Now how about if we go back and finish our drawings?”

  He cocked his shaggy head to one side. “Y’know,” he muttered, holding the door wide for her to go through, “I don’t like drawing pilgrims and turkeys. They’re too hard.”

  Gillian grinned and led him back inside. Back to normal, she thought. Almost.

  An hour later she was determinedly dragging the principal from hi
s office.

  “Come on, Jeremy. We have to hurry. I only have an hour.” Gillian tugged open the door of his car and slid inside.

  “Er, what, exactly, is this about, Miss—” he stopped as she gave a low growl of warning. “I mean, Gillian.”

  “It’s about a little boy who’s carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders,” she muttered, leaning over to glance at the speedometer. “Can’t you step on it?”

  “I’m already doing forty,” he told her. “And why are you dragging me downtown, anyway? I’m not involved.”

  “Oh, yes you are,” she told him, grinning. “I want you to go to Frobisher’s and get a pair of running shoes while I pick up some overalls at Hanson’s Department Store.”

  “Why do you suddenly need new shoes at lunch hour on a Wednesday?” he asked crankily, peering at his watch. “At this rate, I’ll never have time to eat. I’m starving.”

  “I don’t need shoes, Roddy does. Here’s the size. I want those new white ones with the black streaks on the side. And a pair of black socks,” she added as an afterthought. As soon as Jeremy slid to a stop she was out of the car. “I’ll meet you back here as soon as you get them.”

  “But, but…”

  She left him sitting there “butting.” There was no time to waste if she was going to pull this off. She also had to get a phone call through to Charity before lunch was over. Jeremy wasn’t likely to give her any time off during school hours, she decided grumpily.

  Within moments, Gillian had her fingers on a pair of the coveted overalls. She bought a pair a little larger than she thought he would need, just in case her guess was off. Anyway, they’d probably shrink in the wash. If they ever got washed.

  A red-and-black-plaid shirt in warm brushed cotton matched very well. On an impulse she tossed in the denim cap that hung nearby. Ten minutes later, with all the tags snipped and in a plain brown bag, Gillian hurried back to the car.

  Jeremy was leaning on the front fender, shoe box in hand as he gazed at the colorful display in the local café. Mouth-watering burgers, delicious sandwiches with crunchy pickles and golden steaming pies with rich cherries oozing out filled the windows in glorious Technicolor.

  “Did you get them?” Gillian asked breathlessly. Without waiting for his answer, she tugged the shoes from the tissue-filled box. “Have to get rid of this stuff,” she muttered and handed him the box and paper. “Here.”

  “Wait a minute,” he grumbled, staring at what she’d given him. “It’s not as if he will wear the things for very long, anyway. We’ll soon be knee-deep in snow.” He peered down at the runners she was shoving into her bag. “Do you know how much they charge for those things?”

  “No,” she murmured, intent on arranging everything neatly in her brown bag. “And I don’t care. Money’s not an object right now.”

  “Since when?” he grumbled. His stomach protested loudly, bringing Gillian’s laughing glance back up to meet his glare. “I’m probably going to starve to death, you know. You had no right to give my lunch away to that scruffy child. Auntie Fay made those roast beef sandwiches just the way I like them. She even put in a piece of her special carrot cake. I love that cake.” He closed his eyes in remembrance.

  “Far too much fat for a man your age,” Gillian informed him pertly. She grinned at him happily. “Anyway, he needed it more than you. I suspect he hasn’t been eating properly.” She nodded at the café. “Let’s go in here and have a nice nutritious low-fat salad. We’ve got half an hour before we have to go back.”

  Once they’d placed their orders, Jeremy tilted back in his chair and stared across the table at her.

  “Why was it we needed to make this rush trip again?” he asked, frowning as the lunch-crowd volume grew.

  “Sssh! I want to keep this between you and me,” she hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. When Gillian was satisfied that no one had heard his comments, she leaned toward him, beckoned his head nearer and explained.

  “So you see, I’ve got to get someone over there to check up on the mother. Maybe she needs help. I know I would. Twins are no easy task!”

  Jeremy shrugged. “You could always call in Social Services,” he said, crunching into a cashew that had lain on the top of his chicken salad. “They have people trained to handle these situations.”

  Gillian snorted. “We don’t even know if there is a ‘situation’ as you put it. And who do you think Roddy will suspect when those outsiders come rushing in? Me, that’s who. Besides, his mother asked him not to tell their woes to the whole town. She’s probably embarrassed or something.”

  “And your solution is?” His face was full of skepticism.

  “I’m going to get Charity Flowerday on the case. Apparently she’s already made some overtures toward Roddy. If anyone can figure out a way to help that family, Mrs. Flowerday can.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Hello, Hope, dear. How are you? Frightful weather, isn’t it?” Charity Flowerday bustled through the door and shook off the thick layer of wet snowflakes on her shoulders. “I was hoping to speak to Gillian. Is she home?”

  “No. She and Jeremy are working late at school—preparing for the school Christmas pageant, they said.” Hope shook her blond head with disdain. “I love this coat of yours,” she murmured, stroking one hand over the muskrat hairs. “Do you think other people, outside of Mossbank, I mean, still wear fur coats?”

  “I imagine.” Chanty smiled, slipping her feet from her galoshes. “I loved them myself. There is nothing like the warm cosiness of mink or fox.”

  “I know,” Hope said with a sigh. “Especially when it’s forty below and there is a stiff north wind. Of course, you know, most folks have cars nowadays. They drive wherever they’re going.”

  “Well, there is that of course,” Charity agreed. She sank into the soft, plushy armchair and sighed at the warmth coming from the fireplace. “But I think the reason furs have gone out of vogue these days is because there was such a fuss about animal rights and such.” She stared into the glowing coals thoughtfully before resuming her train of thought.

  “I don’t think anyone in my generation ever thought of that. I know I didn’t. We simply wanted fur because it’s so warm. Now I see these movie stars marching around, carrying signs and such, making everyone else embarrassed to even admit they own a fur coat, let alone wear it in public.”

  They sat there for several seconds before Hope sighed again, a deep, heartfelt, tired breath of air that came from the depths of her very soul.

  “Why, Hope, what’s the matter?” Charity stared at her friend curiously, wondering at the tiny frown that pleated Hope’s smooth forehead. “Are you worried about something?”

  “Someone,” Hope replied in a dull flat voice. “Gillian.”

  “Gillian? But why, dear? She seems so happy these days. Why she was full of vim and vinegar when she asked me to check out little Roddy’s situation. And Jeremy was there, too. Bought a pair of shoes for the lad, I believe.” Charity beamed across at her friend, genial benevolence casting her generous features in a less-harsh light.

  “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. They’re doing far too many things together. I’m afraid Gillian is growing attached to him.” Hope stabbed the needle through her cross-stitch fabric viciously and tugged it through the other side without regard for the fine fabric.

  “But surely that’s good. After all, dear. They are engaged.” Charity’s tired eyes opened wide when Hope jumped to her feet.

  “It’s pretend,” Hope insisted. “Why are you all acting as if it’s the greatest thing when you know as well as I do that it’s only a temporary misunderstanding?”

  “Well,” Charity murmured, lifting her half-completed afghan from her bag and knitting furiously. “It doesn’t look like it’s temporary anymore. She was kissing him that day, remember. And they have been spending an awful lot of time together.”

  She ticked the occasions off with a click of her needles. “The you
th group, choir, the instruments at church, Roddy, and now the Christmas program.” She shook her head, smiling from ear to ear. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire, my mother always said. Seems to me that there is a lot of smoke between those two. And I’m glad. They’re good for each other.” Charity placidly knit another few rows before sensing that something was wrong. “Hope?”

  “Do you dare say that they are falling in love?” The words came through tightly clenched teeth. “Don’t you dare.”

  “But, Hope,” Charity protested, laying aside her handwork. “I think it would be a wonderful thing if they grew to love each other. Jeremy is a good foil for Gillian’s natural exuberance. And she’s a catalyst for change in his life. I think God has done very well by those two young people.”

  “It’s too soon,” Hope protested angrily. “Far too soon after Michael’s death for her to know her own mind. Why, she hasn’t even grieved him properly!”

  “Oh, my dear.” Charity placed her arm around her friend’s narrow shoulders and squeezed them. “How can you say that? There is no set period of mourning. And God’s timing is always right. If He has brought them together, we should do all we can to help them on their path.”

  “And if He hasn’t?”

  Charity smiled at the doom and gloom in her friend’s voice. “If it isn’t God’s will that Gillian and Jeremy pursue this relationship, then He will direct it that way.” She patted Hope’s shoulder before resuming her seat. “It’s our job to pray for His direction in their lives, and it’s His job to direct.”

  “I suppose,” Hope answered halfheartedly. “But I so wanted someone special for Flossie. That girl deserves a medal for the life she’s led with that mother of hers.”

  “I think,” Charity giggled girlishly, flushing a faint pink, “that God is working in that area, too. I noticed Lester Brown talking to her last Sunday. He seemed fairly smitten.”

  “Oh, pshaw! Lester Brown is ten years older than Flossie,” Hope protested. “And a widower, to boot.”