Faithfully Yours Page 14

  “Far too much fat in this stuff,” she chirped, and proceeded to stuff the rest of the piece into her mouth.

  “So, I’ll take a walk later or something,” he muttered, snatching up one of the most heavily loaded slices.

  Giggles burst out of the girls, and the guys openly guffawed him.

  “Opt for the ‘or something,’ Gillian,” they teased. “Just don’t get on a snowmobile with him.”

  And to Jeremy’s obvious embarrassment, the youth group, in garbled bits of conversation, told the Reids all about his snowmobile prowess, or lack thereof. That prompted a discussion on being grateful. Since it was only a week after Thanksgiving, they all had a great time talking about things to be thankful for. Everyone joined in on the subject; no one was left out. Mr. Reid then gave a short devotional about showing thanks as well as saying it.

  And suddenly the evening was over.

  Gillian felt proud of their group. The kids had handled the machines and themselves with respect in spite of the naysayers at church who had repeatedly reminded her of her foolishness in thinking of such a thing for the youth group.

  And one of those very people was present right now, she noted, arching one eyebrow at Jeremy. In fact, he had been the loudest of them. How was it that suddenly he couldn’t seem to stay away from the machines?

  Gillian watched curiously as he finished a short discussion with Mr. Reid, half ran over to the bright red racing unit that Tim Reid had been driving and jumped on. Seconds later he went whizzing past her, obviously intent on making for the open field.

  Gillian watched as he zigged and zagged across the snow. A number of the youth were going home by snowmobile, and she waved and called goodbye to them, smiling at their remarks about the maniac on the red snow machine. When at last he got off, Jeremy’s face was flushed with the cold. But nothing could dim the glow in those blue eyes.

  As everyone filed back to the cars, Gillian felt a hand tugging on her arm. She turned in surprise to see Jeremy’s solemn figure behind her.

  “I’ll give you a ride back, Gillian,” he offered quietly.

  “It’s all right,” Gillian said just as quietly. “I came with the pastor. I can go back with him.”

  “He’s not coming back out here,” Jeremy told her. His hand moved to her back, urging her toward the cars. “I’m taking everyone who rode with him, as well as my own crew. Come on. I need to talk to you, anyway.”

  Gillian went because she assumed they would say whatever needed to be said on the way back. She hadn’t counted on the wealth of giggling passengers crowded into the car.

  “I don’t think there’s enough room,” she told him, eyeing the mass of wriggling bodies.

  “Sure there is,” he told her blithely. “We might have to squeeze at bit, but we’ll manage.”

  Gillian ended up squished next to Jeremy’s lean body, sharing a corner of his seat, with her legs tucked in the space between the seats. His arm across the back of the seat allowed her more room. It also send shivers of awareness over her.

  “Are you okay?” he murmured in her ear, reaching to twist the key.

  “I think so. Changing gears might be a little difficult for you, though,” she said, wondering if he would return his arm to its place behind her after moving it to the gearshift by the steering wheel.

  “Well, if you shifted, it would be easier,” Jeremy agreed.

  Gillian straightened.

  “Me? I can’t drive a stick shift,” she told him, panic-stricken at the thought “I’ll wreck your transmission.”

  “No, you won’t,” he said confidently. “And even if you did, it’s still under warranty. Want to try it?” His eyes sparkled down at her. “Come on, Gillian. You’re always telling me to take a new risk.”

  She tried to absorb what he was telling her and ignore the tingles of awareness where his arm brushed her shoulder.

  They putted off down the road as Gillian tried to figure out the intricacies of the five-speed manual transmission wondering why anyone would buy a car that didn’t shift itself down or up or whatever.

  The teens laughed outright at her tentative attempts, and when the car stalled in the middle of the farmyard, they only laughed the harder.

  “You gotta shift with more authority,” one boy offered knowledgeably from the back seat. “Act as if you know what you’re doing.”

  “But I haven’t a clue what I’m doing,” she told them as the gears ground once more. “And it’s obvious that I am no authority on this particular subject Why don’t they make just one gear?”

  Jeremy chuckled in her left ear.

  “Come on, Gillian,” the two teens in the front seat chorused. “Try to remember. You can do it.”

  As Jeremy pressed the clutch down, Gillian tried once more to find second. Without notable success.

  “Here,” Jeremy murmured in her ear. “Like this.” His hand covered hers, and the gearshift slid smoothly into place, and the car raced ahead. “It’s not really that difficult.”

  Gillian shifted away from him a little, wishing suddenly that he’d purchased a bigger car. It was embarrassing to be squished up against him, but at least all the others were equally crowded.

  “Sorry,” he murmured, as his arm brushed against her once more. “I guess I should have told Pastor Dave that we would need his car to get back to town.”

  “Where did he go, anyway?” she asked curiously “I didn’t even see him leave.”

  Jeremy shook his head.

  “Nor I, but Mr. Reid told me there’s someone out here that he’s been asked to visit. He was going on from the Reids and he wasn’t sure how late he’d be.” He helped her shift into a higher gear and then leaned back comfortably. “I told him that we’d agreed we could both handle the youth group from here on in.”

  “You mean you guys are gonna be the leaders?” Desiree asked from her perch in the back seat. “Cool.”

  “All right!” Two boys high-fived each other, grinning. “Say hello to the good times.”

  Gillian grimaced at Jeremy before twisting her head around.

  “What are some of the things you’d like to do?” she asked the group as they huddled together over the front seats. And immediately wished she hadn’t, as all sorts of totally ridiculous suggestions flowed from the excited teens.

  “And for sure we could have a bridal shower for you, Gillian,” one of the girls suggested. “It would be so much fun. Just think of the decorations, Emily. And my mom makes a really good punch. It’s even red and we could make little heart ice cubes.”

  Gillian felt her heart sink to her shoes. This ridiculous, pretend engagement was beginning to get to her. And she certainly wasn’t sitting in as the bride for the whole church to shower. Even Jeremy’s mixed-up old aunt couldn’t ask that much of her.

  “I don’t think there’s any need to plan that far ahead,” she heard Jeremy stammer, and she grinned at the nervousness in his voice. “Let’s just take one youth group meeting at a time.”

  “I vote we have a cookie bake before Christmas,” Gina chirped. “That way we could make up little trays of baking for the seniors in our church and the community who don’t have anyone to make them home-baked treats.”

  Gillian jerked her head around and found Jeremy’s face just inches from her own, his glittering blue-gray eyes staring into hers. His mouth was a heartbeat away from hers, and she could smell the chocolate on his breath as he sighed a deep, hearty sigh of resignation.

  “Auntie Fay,” he muttered, helping her shift into third.

  Gillian nodded her head and left her hand where it was, nestled under his. She relaxed against the curve of the leather seat and allowed his body to support her.

  “Absolutely,” she whispered. “It’s all her fault, anyway.”

  Their eyes finally broke apart when one of the teens began singing a familiar chorus. Thankfully everyone joined in, and no one noticed the surreptitious looks Gillian and Jeremy cast each other. Looks that Gillian would have l
iked to ponder a little longer, if she’d been alone.

  Chapter Nine

  It was growing late by the time they dropped the last passenger off at home. Gillian had long since claimed the passenger seat in the front, a move that did have some merit. For instance, the thick curving leather bucket was much more comfortable than her former position squished between Jeremy and the wriggling teens.

  Of course, she did miss Jeremy’s arm around her shoulder. But on the other hand, she was no longer so terribly tense—waiting and wondering if and when he would touch her.

  “You know, it will soon be Christmas,” she murmured, staring out at some of the houses people had begun to decorate. “It’s my very favorite time of the year.”

  “It’s not mine,” Jeremy snorted. “All that consumerism and hype about giving. If people thought about that a little more during the year, we’d all be happier. And why is there so much emphasis on parties? Some people hate parties.”

  Gillian gritted her teeth and swallowed down the response that begged for release. He probably hadn’t had many good memories of Christmas to resurrect from his childhood, she reminded herself.

  “I’ll bet you’re one of those people who never do your shopping until the twenty-fourth,” she joked. “And then you get all cranky and upset when everything is picked over.” It was an intriguing thought and she dwelt on it for several long moments. Until his voice broke through her reverie.

  “I don’t shop at Christmas,” he informed her coldly. “If I decide to give anyone a gift, I simply write out a cheque.”

  Gillian stared in disbelief. “Nothing?” she asked on a whisper.

  “Not one single thing,” he confirmed vehemently.

  She was startled and rather dismayed, but not for anything would she let him see her feelings.

  “This does not bode well for our future together,” Gillian advised him finally, smiling rather sadly. “I absolutely insist on my fiancé giving me a gift rather than a cheque. Money is so impersonal.”

  There was silence for a few moments. Christmas carols played softly in the background on his CD. Gillian was lost in her own plans for Christmas until she heard his voice.

  “What did Michael give you last year?” he inquired quietly. Gillian jerked her head around to stare at him, but could read nothing on that implacable face. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “If it will hurt you to speak about him, just forget it.”

  “No,” she told him in amazement. “It doesn’t hurt. Not really. Not anymore. And it’s rather nice to remember the past sometimes.” She turned to smile at him. “Michael gave me a gold locket. We had our pictures taken in one of those booths, and he cut them out and put them inside.”

  “Was it later that you were engaged?” His tone was mild and Gillian could find nothing that gave away his true feelings although she scrutinized him closely.

  “Yes. Michael asked me to marry him on my birthday in March. We’d gone out for dinner, you see.” The memories were flooding over her now, warming her with a love from the past.

  “Michael had frozen my ring in an ice cube. After I said yes, he proposed a toast.” She chuckled. “I was complaining about there being something in my drink. He got really red and flustered when I asked him to call the waiter over for a fresh one.”

  Jeremy smiled. It was the kind of silly romantic gesture he would expect of someone Gillian Langford would get engaged to. And it was totally unlike anything he himself would ever do. If he wanted to get married, that is.

  But his plans didn’t call for marriage. Not yet. He had given himself three years at JFK Elementary. Three years to make good and move on. He had planned it for so long; a move to something bigger and better; more satisfying.

  For as long as he could remember, Jeremy’s focus had been straightforward and deliberate. He fully intended to become headmaster of a very prestigious boys’ academy in England before he turned forty. That meant proving himself as an educator in the States, and JFK was merely a stepping stone along the way. He had no intention of becoming encumbered with a wife until he was thirty-five, and then she would be exactly the opposite of the woman seated next to him.

  He grinned to himself as he thought how silly it would be to imagine that Gillian Langford would be content to stay home and be a mother. She was a dynamic, charismatic woman who thrived on other people and the challenge of her work. He’d seen that very clearly these past few weeks.

  “Did you want children? You and Michael, I mean,” he blurted out, trying to picture her with her own tow-headed little ones.

  Her glistening autumn-colored head whirled around; green eyes wide with shock. “Uh, pardon?”

  Jeremy wished that he had somehow rephrased that, but it was too late to worry about it now. Besides, he really wanted to know. To see if his idea fit the picture.

  “I just wondered if you had planned on children,” he repeated, more softly now.

  “We never really talked about it,” Gillian told him seriously. She was still peering at him through the gloom of the car interior. “I suppose I’d always thought in terms of a boy and a girl, but probably not right away. We were both just getting settled in our careers, and Michael’s law practice was building up nicely.”

  Silence reigned for a few taut moments. Jeremy could see her fiddling with the end of her scarf. Suddenly her head tilted up, her green eyes meeting his with a question.

  “Why did you ask that?” she murmured.

  Jeremy couldn’t help it; he flushed to the roots of his hair. It was an innocent enough question. After all, he’d been probing the depths of her former relationship, why shouldn’t she question him?

  “Would you like to have children?” Jeremy heard the hesitancy in her soft voice as she posed the question.

  “Six,” he stated clearly. “Not too far apart. And I don’t care if they’re boys or girls.” He waited for her reaction.

  “Why six?” she asked quizzically. “Is there something magic about that number?”

  “So they won’t be alone,” he muttered, wishing he’d never brought the subject of children up. He lifted his chin. “I’d like to have a houseful of family. And a wife that stayed home with them,” he told her sharply. “I don’t much care for day cares and baby-sitters.”

  “Well,” Gillian sputtered. “With six children, it probably wouldn’t pay for her to go out to work anyhow.” She sat quietly for a few moments, obviously considering his words. “I don’t think you’d like that at all,” she said finally. “It’s a pipe dream that you’ve carried because you were an only child.”

  “On the contrary, Gillian,” he told her, angrily gripping the steering wheel in frustration, “I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I can assure you that is exactly what I want. At thirty-five, I’ll be fairly well set in my career and ready to take on a wife.”

  “You mean you’ve even got the year picked out when you’ll get married?” She sounded stunned.

  “A person owes it to himself and his future family to have these things organized and planned for a satisfying future.” He heard the defensiveness in his own hardening voice.

  “But think for a moment, will you?” Gillian protested. “Just think about this rosy, idyllic picture for a good long moment. Six children—running around, leaving their toys everywhere, arguing. Laundry, clothes, bicycles on the driveway, activities to chauffeur them to.”

  “I’ve considered all that,” he told her coldly, wishing she would just stop talking. But Miss Gillian Langford was shaking her head in dismay.

  “I don’t think you’ve thought about it at all. Not realistically, anyway,” she stated clearly. “You’re a neatness freak. You like everything organized right down to a T. You want everyone to follow your specific set of rules and do things your way.”

  “And?” He deliberately fixed her with his coldest look. It didn’t faze her in the least, of course. She just kept right on jabbing at him with his words, destroying his dream.

  “Look, Jeremy. Kid
s need more than other kids around to play with. They need to feel loved and cared for and free to be kids.” She shook her head. “Think about the kids at school for a moment Some organization is good, and it’s necessary when you are dealing with that many children. But sometimes they need to just sit alone and dream…to spread out their toys and build that space station of the future.”

  “Discipline is the key,” he reiterated acidly. “If they know the rules and learn to follow them, their lives will be much happier.”

  Gillian shook her head at him again, more vehemently this time. “Don’t you see?” she argued. “There is more to it than that. In the Old Testament, there was a strict and stringent code of rules that took a whole sect of the population just to study them! Nobody could keep them all, there were so many. But God changed that. He made the regulations dealing with the body less important and the state of the heart far more significant.”

  She reached across the car and placed her hand on his arm. Jeremy felt the tingle of awareness at her touch ripple all the way up his arm.

  “Don’t you see?” she burst out, impassioned “What all of us need are not more rules. We need love—unconditional acceptance that tells us that no matter what we do, someone will always love us. Just because they do, and not because we did or didn’t keep ninety-five percent of the rules this week.”

  “You’re always denigrating responsibility and the role of personal accountability for one’s actions,” he countered. “But that is exactly what is wrong with society today. No one is responsible for anything. If the rules are too difficult, change them or throw them out.”

  He might have known she wouldn’t give up, Jeremy thought in frustration. She never could let his opinion go without challenging it.

  “Not at all,” Gillian protested grimly. “I’m merely saying that there is more to raising children than a whole ream of rules they have to follow. What you are proposing sounds more like a military academy than a caring, loving home.”

  “And what you’re proposing is a laissez-faire approach that has everyone running around wildly amok, here and there, doing his own thing. If you think about it rationally for a moment, you’ll realize that—”