Faithfully Yours Read online

  “So what?” Charity sniffed airily. “He’s a good, kind man who treats Flossie as if she were a queen. And he doesn’t live with his mother. In my books he’s okay.”

  Hope was about to explain all the reasons why Lester Brown was totally unsuitable for her protégée when the front door flew open and Faith bounded through.

  “Oh, my,” Charity breathed.

  “Lord love us,” Hope said.

  “Oh, piffle,” Faith exclaimed. “Now I’ve gotten all this snow inside your lovely hall, Hope. Sorry. It’s just that I really must sit down for a moment.”

  With a whoosh, Faith plunked down onto a nearby chair and scrunched her eyes tightly closed. She had on her snowsuit; the one in her favorite shade of pale pink. Thick snow encrusted the heavy mittens lying at her feet in a pool of melting snow.

  “Oh, thank goodness,” she said, blinking at them several moments later. “For a moment there, everything was spinning round and round. It’s much better now.” Her bony fingers reached up to touch the area just above her hairline, disturbing the wild disorder of her hair. “Just here, it seems to be a bit tender,” she told them.

  “Where have you been?” Hope demanded, picking up her mittens and wiping the floor in a swift economical movement.

  “What have you been doing?” Charity asked at the same time, peering over her glasses at the disheveled woman. “You look like you fell face first into a snowbank.”

  “I did!” Faith’s eyes glowed brightly in her ruddy face. “And I hit my head on the teeter-totter. I think it’s okay now, though. I couldn’t have been out for that long.”

  “Faith Rempel, do you mean to tell me that you were out in all this snow, by yourself, knocked unconscious?” Hope’s scandalized tones were squeaky with disbelief.

  “You have to go out in the snow to cross-country ski,” Faith told them simply. She smiled happily. “It was wonderful—all that fresh white snow. I fairly flew over the trail. Fresh powder. That’s what the kids call it.” She wore a pleased, proud look on her face as she imparted the information.

  “Fresh powder, indeed!” Hope glared at the older woman in frustration. “It’s supposed to get quite cold tonight,” she grumbled. “What would you have done if you’d been stuck in that snowbank overnight? Hmm?”

  “I would have wished my friend Hope was there with some of her yummy hot chocolate.” Faith peered up at her hostess wistfully. “Please?”

  “Of all the silly, extravagant, overblown ideas! Men!” Gillian’s voice rang out, clear and angry. “Hope, I’m home.” The three elderly ladies glanced at each other and then winced as the front door slammed shut.

  “I can hear that, dear. We’re just going to indulge in some of my infamous hot chocolate. Would you like some?”

  “Oh. Hello.” Gillian stood at the entryway, hands clenched at her sides. Her gaze rested on Faith’s bemused face for several moments before she declared in frustration, “Jeremy Nivens is a horse’s patoot!” Then, turning, she stomped up the stairs to her room.

  “Well.” Charity smiled, resuming her knitting at lightning speed. “That certainly clarifies matters.”

  “What do you mean, Charity?” Hope stared at the tiny woman’s complacent figure. “She’s furious. Shouldn’t I go and talk to her?”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, dear.” Faith shook her salt-andpepper head negatively as she eased one arm out of her snowsuit. “When a person gets into that state there’s only one thing to do—let them sort it out for themselves.”

  “What state?” Hope looked disbelievingly from one to the other of her nonchalant friends. “What state?” she demanded again, an edge to her normally soft tone.

  “Gillian’s in love,” Faith murmured with a coy grin. She looked for confirmation to Charity who merely nodded.

  “Deeply,” she said before her needles resumed their clackety-clack sound in the silent room.

  “He’s crazy. Totally out to lunch. Bonkers!” Gillian viciously stabbed the carrots on her plate with each angry word. “He thinks he can just order something and it will be done.”

  “Who, dear?” Hope inquired mildly, as if she didn’t know.

  “Jeremy pigheaded Nivens, that’s who!” Gillian glared at her aunt. “And don’t you dare try to smooth it over. This time he’s gone too far.”

  “Gillian,” her aunt began, aghast. “I would never take his side over yours. You know that. Now, calm down and tell me what the problem is this time.”

  “The problem,” Gillian said between clenched teeth, “is that Mr. Nivens feels that our JFK Elementary should put on a play for the parents this year. A four-part play that involves all classes, extensive costumes, six massive sets and hours of practicing.”

  “Well, that sounds lovely, dear. I think the parents will enjoy seeing their children on stage as part of the school body. In my day we could never afford the time out of the classroom for such an elaborate affair but then…”

  Gillian cringed as her aunt hit on the main point of contention between herself and the principal. Her ire surged up once again as she cut Hope off in mid-sentence.

  “That.” she grated, “was exactly my point when I looked over what he intended. It’s almost Thanksgiving, Hope. There is hardly enough time to prepare a class recitation, let alone a four-part play.”

  “But, surely if you scheduled practices for after school and Saturdays, you could fit it all in?” Hope crunched thoughtfully on her carrots. “I mean, obviously the parents will help. And I don’t mind sewing some costumes.”

  “Ha! After school and on Saturdays, you say. Wonderful! Fine idea! Except that Pastor Dave was by today to inform me that Jeremy thinks it would be a great idea for the kids of the youth group to go skiing a week from Saturday.”

  “Oh, how wonderful. I’m sure they’ll enjoy that.” Hope brightened considerably at the news, failing to notice the red suffusing Gillian’s already-flushed face.

  “Yes, it’s fantastic. Except that I had already promised my Sunday school class that we would go to the city and do some Christmas shopping that day. Now what are we supposed to do—change our plans for him?”

  The gall of the man, Gillian fumed. She wasn’t about to tell her aunt how Jeremy had practically ordered her to go along with his play idea—right in front of the other teachers! Engagement or not, he had no right to pull rank in such a despicable manner.

  The youth group thing was merely icing on the cake. Proof positive that they could never, ever work together. They were supposed to function as a team with the kids—in tandem, planning each outing jointly. But now, apparently, he’d gone ahead and booked the ski hill and even rented skis without even consulting her. It was…infuriating, she decided at last. But it was also just like something Mr. Jeremy Nivens would do. Why, she had a good mind to—The doorbell rang just then, cutting off her nasty thoughts.

  “I’ll get it, Hope. You finish your meal.” Gillian pulled the door open with a wide, plastic smile that quickly cracked when she saw the tall, lean man standing outside. “What do you want?” she demanded, furious that he would confront her here, in her own home. Was there no refuge?

  “I hope I’m not disrupting your meal,” he said politely, stepping through the door without waiting to be asked.

  “Yes, you are,” Gillian said curtly, snapping the door closed. “But then, what’s new? You have a tendency to proceed like a bull moose.”

  “Is something the matter, Gillian?” he murmured softly, his innocent eyes peering down at her. She couldn’t fault the note of concern in his low voice. “It’s not still the play, is it? I tried to explain how easy it would be, but you stormed out before I could say anything.”

  Gillian flopped down into the armchair and glared at him.

  “What is there to say?” she demanded sharply. “You advised us that we would be doing the play. Don’t kid yourself that there was any free choice involved.”

  She watched as he sat down opposite her on the sofa. He sat perched on the edg
e of the cushions as if ready to take flight at any moment. The smooth note of concern had evaporated from his voice and a frown had narrowed his eyes.

  “Okay,” he muttered. “What’s the problem this time? What have I done wrong now?”

  Gillian stared at him, outraged that he’d even ask such a thing.

  “You know blessed well,” she spat out, her newly manicured fingernails digging into her palms.

  “No,” Jeremy said wearily, raking one hand through his usually neat hair. “Actually I don’t. But I have a feeling you’re going to tell me.”

  And Gillian did. Clearly, concisely and without sparing her words.

  “It’s a good thing we’re not actually engaged,” she finished, holding her tears back with difficulty. “I’d call the whole thing off, if my intended husband pushed and bullied people the way you do.”

  “I didn’t know about your plans, Gillian. You never mentioned that your class was planning an outing. And you could have. The Sunday school superintendent specifically asked everyone about their Christmas plans last week.”

  “It wasn’t planned then,” she told him sourly. “And that still doesn’t absolve you of planning youth group activities without me.”

  He sighed a deep sigh; long, drawn out and full of frustration. It whistled loudly through the silent room. Belatedly, Gillian wondered where her aunt had gotten to.

  “I didn’t plan anything,” he protested angrily. “As usual with regard to us, the pastor is a little off the mark. The ski hill merely called back with the rates and advised me that they had a cancelation and that I could book it now and cancel later if the time wasn’t suitable. I thought it was a good idea to book it just in case.

  “If you’re that much against skiing, we can cancel right now.” His chin jutted out in that hard, determined line that bespoke his disgust with the whole sequence of events.

  “What I’m against is people trying to order me around. I am not some subservient species, Jeremy Nivens. I do have a brain, and I can think for myself.” Gillian crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him.

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” he muttered, surging to his feet. “This is ridiculous. I thought perhaps we might have a civil conversation for once, but I see that’s impossible. Again.” He brushed past her to snatch up his coat. “We’ll have to find some other time, when you’re not so irrational, to plan future youth meetings.”

  Gillian grabbed his arm as he strode toward the door. “That’s what you’re here for? To plan youth group meetings?” Gillian stared at him, wondering if all her faculties were working. “Very well, then,” she said briskly. “Let’s begin.” She swept back into the living room and tugged out a pad of paper and pen. She’d show him who was irrational, Gillian decided grimly.

  “Now, then. This Saturday we have that scavenger hunt, right? And next Friday? Or were you going to cancel that and have it Saturday instead?” She sat perched on the edge of the sofa, pencil at the ready.

  “Will you stop acting like some eager-beaver secretary?” he murmured. “We agreed we would be partners in this. If you don’t want to go skiing on Saturday, why not say so?”

  “It is not that I don’t want to go skiing,” Gillian enunciated clearly. “I quite like skiing. The point is that I have made other commitments. Don’t you ever do anything with your Sunday school class?”

  He stared at her.

  “That bunch of hooligans? I don’t think so. I had to ask Mr. Johnson to help me out on Sundays just to keep them all in line. You saw what they’re like.”

  Gillian stared at him as a new idea popped to life. It might work, and it would offer a perfect way out of the present impasse.

  “Why not invite them to go skiing?” she asked softly. “They’re too young for youth group, and yet they are desperately searching for their own niche in the church. Maybe an excursion of their own is just what they need.”

  “It certainly isn’t what I need,” Jeremy groaned. “How in the world would I get them there, together and in one piece? Without going insane, I mean?” He gave her a sour look that told her he was not enamored of the prospect.

  “I’ve already chartered a bus,” Gillian told him excitedly. “It’s only half-full because I hadn’t gotten around to telling the girls they could invite a friend on this shopping excursion. Your aunt is coming with us. If Mr. Johnson came with your boys, it would be great.” She grinned at the thought of the preteens’ pleasure in leaving their elders behind.

  “I don’t know,” Jeremy muttered thoughtfully, studying his toes. “Downhill skiing can be dangerous for someone who doesn’t know the rules.” He rubbed his chin. “I have taught others, of course, and I was once a member of the ski patrol.”

  Gillian knew what was coming and blurted it out, just to prove she had a head on her shoulders. “You’d need permission slips from the parents, of course,” she said smugly. “My girls have already handed them in. And they’ll have to cover the cost of their equipment and food.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “I’m happy to see you’ve taken such precautions,” he told her. One long finger rubbed at the cord pulsing in his neck. “That still leaves Friday night and the youth group, though. What will we do about that?”

  Gillian grinned. Here it was; opportunity just waiting for her. “Snowmobiling,” she crowed. “The Reids invited us to use their farm whenever we wanted. They have two machines and I’ve counted six others that I think would be available. Mrs. Reid even said she would be happy to make hot chocolate afterward.”

  Gillian waited for Jeremy’s response. It was halfhearted at best.

  “I don’t know much about snowmobiling,” he murmured, staring at her curiously.

  “But I do,” Gillian told him gleefully. “I’ve ridden one hundreds of times. I learned when our family moved to Canada for two years. The Canadian prairies are one of the best places in the world to ride a snowmobile.”

  “Isn’t it rather, er, dangerous?” he asked quietly. “I’ve heard stories of people being killed.”

  Gillian nodded solemnly. “If you go too fast, it is dangerous,” she agreed. “But maybe Mr. Reid would mark out a trail. I know they have a huge meadow that is completely unfenced. Aunt Hope and I used to go berry picking there. We could simply follow the trail.”

  Jeremy looked less than thrilled with the idea, but he offered no concrete resistance to her plans. They discussed several other things before he got up to leave.

  “I hope this has resolved some of the tension between us,” he said, pulling on his overcoat once more. Blue twinkles sparkled in his everchanging eyes. “Although I don’t know how you could accuse me of being unwilling to cooperate,” he muttered, shoving the buttons through their buttonholes willy-nilly. “You arranged everything for the snowmobiling. I had nothing to say about it.”

  “Well,” Gillian murmured, feeling pleased that they were back on speaking terms, at least. “We each have our strengths, I guess. Mind you—” she handed him his gloves “—I’m still furious about that silly play you’ve chosen for the school. For the next few weeks we’ll be doing nothing but practicing.”

  Jeremy shook his head, chuckling as he stepped out the door.

  “Please don’t start that again. It’s already past eleven, and I’m on supervision bright and early tomorrow morning. Besides—” he grinned at her across the sparkling snow “—it won’t be that bad. You’ll see.”

  Gillian watched him walk down the path. He was almost out the gate before he turned back.

  “By the way,” he called. “How’s the Green situation?”

  “Charity is on the case,” she called back.

  “Hello,” Charity Flowerday beamed up at the emaciated woman who had answered the door. “I’m looking for Roddy. Is this where he lives?”

  “Why, yes,” the woman whispered, pausing to cough raggedly into a handkerchief. “I’m his mother. But he’s at school.” A piercing cry rang through the air. “Oh, dear. I have to go.”

&nbs
p; She whirled away so quickly, she didn’t notice Charity squeeze inside through the door. By quickly divesting herself of her coat and galoshes, Charity just managed to follow the woman into the kitchen. On the floor sat two identical twoyear-olds, one banging on the other one’s pot.

  “Oh, what lovely babies,” Charity exclaimed, reaching down to touch one tousled brown head. “What are their names?”

  “Oh, you startled me!” Mrs. Green put a hand to her chest. “I didn’t realize you’d followed me.”

  “And I’m sorry I did that,” Charity said. “It was very rude of me, of course. But I wanted to talk to you about Roddy, and I knew you didn’t want to stand chatting at the door. Especially with these two big enough to get into everything.” She waited silently until the woman had finished yet another bout of coughing.

  “My dear Mrs. Green,” she murmured, resting her hand on the woman’s thin arm. “You sound as if you’re ill.” She peered assessingly at the wan complexion and the tired eyes.

  “I’m very tired,” the other woman admitted. “I’ll just get the twins down for their nap and then I’ll rest.” Slowly she removed two half-full bottles from the old refrigerator in the corner. “Come on Charlie, Patrick. Time for a nap.”

  The boys stood quickly enough, eyeing Charity as they toddled over to their mother.

  “No bed,” muttered one of the tykes, grabbing the bottle out of his mother’s hand, ready to toss it across the room.

  Swifter than an eagle, Charity slid the object out of his grasp and returned it to his mother. She held out her own hand.

  “Come along, my boy. When mother says it’s nap time, we have to obey. Mother needs a nap, too. She’s very tired. Here we go, now.” She nodded encouragingly at Mrs. Green and was relieved to find the woman understood her signal. Seconds later the boys were in bed, happily sucking down their milk.

  “Now, why don’t we sit in here. That’s right, you just put your feet up on the sofa and rest. I sometimes chatter on, so you’ll be sure to tell me, won’t you.” Charity smiled, noticing the droop of the woman’s eyes.

  “Something about Roddy, you said.” Mrs. Green yawned delicately, trying to hold her eyelids up with apparent difficulty.