Faithfully Yours Read online

  “I thought Jeremy didn’t like you walking all over town,” Hope Langford questioned. “Has he changed his mind?” Hope’s voice was soft and shy, much like the woman herself. At fifty-six, she was the youngest in their group and much concerned over her friend’s propensity to accidents. She had, at first, greeted the arrival of Faith’s nephew, Jeremy Nivens, with relief.

  “Oh, Jeremy’s far too busy with school just now. He’s trying so hard to make a good impression with this first principalship. The dear boy hasn’t been hovering nearly as much this week.” Faith brushed the permed lock of gray hair off her forehead absently as she stared at the other two. “I haven’t seen him for three days,” she told them cheerfully. “Or was it four? Let’s see now…”

  Charity laughed gaily.

  “Oh, Faith,” she murmured, leading them out to her small patio and the gaily set table. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what day it is again? I declare that memory of yours is—”

  “Just fine,” cut in Hope quietly. She frowned at Charity. “I think she does wonderfully well. And if we’re talking about Jeremy, I don’t think Gillian is particularly impressed with him. She says he’s very old-fashioned.”

  They sat around the table, munching on the low-fat ham sandwiches and crunchy green salad as they discussed the newest educators at the local elementary school.

  “Well,” Charity murmured. “You must admit your niece is very advanced in some of her ideas. Why, just the other day I heard Gillian complaining about the textbooks. Said they were too passé to be any good!” Her white eyebrows rose with indignation. “We’ve had those textbooks for years, as you well know, Hope Langford.”

  Hope hid her smile behind her napkin. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was the same soft tones they had come to expect from her. “Yes, I know the age of some of those books very well. I myself tried to have them replaced just before I retired from teaching. Unfortunately, some folk in the community felt they were adequate, so the money was not forthcoming.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth at Charity as she smoothed a hand over her blond, chin-length bob. As usual, there wasn’t a hair out of place.

  “I can’t imagine why anyone thinks the children of the nineties still need to focus so completely on President Kennedy’s administration,” Hope murmured. “Several things have happened since the early sixties, Charity.”

  “Oh, piffle.” Faith stared at them vacantly for several moments, her brow furrowed. Her English accent became more pronounced as she spoke. “I’ve forgotten whatever it was we were going to discuss today.”

  “It’s all right, dear,” Hope whispered, squeezing the other woman’s hand gently. “We were going to discuss our Christmas project. Isn’t that right, Charity?” She glanced across the table warningly, her thin body rigid in her chair.

  “Yes, indeed,” Charity murmured gaily. “But not before we’ve had my special dessert.” She rose to stand behind Faith’s chair, her tiny frame hidden by the larger woman. “And of course, we’ll have tea. You pour, dear.” She squeezed the rounded shoulders affectionately.

  It was difficult to scoop out the ice cream with her arthritic hands, so Charity took the carton and dishes to Hope for help. They both watched as Faith’s faded green eyes lit up with excitement as she tasted her first spoonful.

  “Nuts,” she crowed. “This ice cream has nuts.” She sighed with pleasure. “I do love nuts,” she murmured happily.

  As they basked in the warm, afternoon sun, sipping tea, chatting desultorily and ignoring the dirty dishes sitting nearby, Charity held her hands out for them to see.

  “I’m afraid I won’t be able to quilt this year, girls,” she murmured, staring at her gnarled fingers and twisted knuckles. “I just can’t manage the needle anymore.”

  They were aghast.

  “But, Charity,” Faith exploded. “You’ve always made a special Christmas quilt every year for as long as I’ve known you. It’s a tradition in Mossbank.” Her eyes were huge and filling rapidly with tears. “You can’t just give up.”

  “Well, this year I am choosing something else for my Christmas project.” Charity’s brown eyes sparkled with a secret.

  Hope cleared her voice, curiosity widening her china blue eyes. “What?” she enquired softly.

  “I’ve been praying about it, and this morning I got an answer. I’m going to take on a different kind of project—a person. A little boy named Roddy Green. I watched him steal a chocolate bar at the grocery store this morning when he should have been in school.” Charity shifted her feet to rest on a nearby rock, exposing her puffy, swollen ankles. “And I decided he could use a friend,” she murmured quietly. “Art told me a little about the boy, and I think we could both benefit from the relationship.”

  “I don’t like that word,” Faith told them both, absently pulling a weed from the huge pot of yellow begonias that sat nearby. “It’s what Jeremy always talks about when I ask if he has a special girlfriend he’s interested in.”

  “What word is that, dear?” Hope asked mildly confused.

  “Relationship. My Donald and I never had a relationship, not once in thirty-five years. We had love and friendship and care and concern and sometimes arguments, but we never had anything as cold as a relationship.” Faith spat the word out with disgust.

  “Young people today do have a different way of looking at things,” Hope agreed. Her blond brows drew together as she asked curiously, “And does Jeremy have a relationship with someone?”

  Charity watched Hope twist her fingers together as she lounged in her chair. It was that unusual activity that gave the younger woman away, she decided. Hope never fidgeted. Charity wondered what her friend was up to.

  “No,” Faith answered the question sadly. “Jeremy says he’s far too involved in his career to bother with females right now. He really wants to make a success of this school year.” Her face drooped as she told them about her great-nephew’s visit two or three nights before. “He was most uncomplimentary about my natural garden. Said it resembled a weed patch more than a flower garden. He even pulled up a few of my special species.”

  “He would.” Hope’s tones were dry. “He’s got his nose buried so far into his policy-and-procedure manuals he can’t see real people in front of him. Jeremy Nivens needs to realize that life is about more than school and books.”

  “He doesn’t like me to have the fireplace going, either,” Faith told them solemnly. “He said I’m liable to kill myself with it.”

  “It’s gas,” Hope cried. “It shuts itself off. What in the world is he so concerned about?”

  Faith shrugged her shoulders tiredly, a wan smile curving her full lips.

  “Jeremy worries about me, my dears. He’s much like his father was, always fussing about things.”

  “Well,” Hope drawled, staring thoughtfully up at the deep blue sky, “I think he needs something else to engage his mind. Something slightly more challenging ”

  “What are you up to?” Charity demanded finally. “Don’t bother to deny it, I can see that glint sparkling in your eyes.”

  “Oh, tell me, too.” Faith clapped her hands in glee. “I love it when you have a plan, Hope. It’s always so wonderfully organized, just like you.”

  Hope smiled a peculiarly smug grin as her eyes moved from one to the other.

  “You have to promise not to say a word,” she said seriously. “Not a whisper to anyone. If this gets around, he’ll never forgive me.”

  “Who?” Charity demanded irritably.

  “Jeremy,” Hope told them proudly. “I’ve decided to make Jeremy my Christmas project. I’m going to find him a wife so he’ll be too busy to bother Faith anymore.”

  Her two friends sat in their lawn chairs, mouths gaping as they absorbed her news. The birds happily chirped around them as a neighbor’s lawn mower hummed industriously.

  “You mean,” Charity asked, “you’re going to throw him and Gillian together? I don’t think—”

  “Of course not,�
�� Hope said, cutting her off. “Gillian is a free spirit. She needs a man who can understand that, and not try to fence her in with a lot of silly restrictions. Besides, Jeremy’s too old for her.”

  “Oh, piffle. Jeremy’s not that much older than your Gillian,” Faith chided, her eyes sparkling at the thought of her great-nephew married.

  “In his approach to life in this century, Jeremy rivals Moses,” Hope muttered dourly. “I was actually thinking of Letitia Chamberlain. She’s a quiet little thing, and she’d do whatever he told her to.”

  “Well,” Charity murmured, staring off into space, “I suppose if you’ve made up your mind, there’s no point in me trying to change it. I do think it’s too bad not to continue with your knitting though, Hope. Those mittens you donate are really needed in the cities. Why, I heard the mayor of Minot on the news the other day. He said they would need at least a hundred pairs in the schools this year!”

  Hope smiled. “Oh, I’ll still be knitting,” she murmured. “And while I am, I can think of new plans for Jeremy.” Charity watched the glint of mischievousness sparkle in her friend’s eyes and wondered what she was up to.

  “It isn’t fair,” Faith wailed sadly. “You have both chosen your projects, and I don’t have one. What shall I choose? I’m not very good at matchmaking but maybe I could try for Gillian.”

  Charity met Hope’s wary glance with her own.

  “No!” They both said it together.

  “What we mean, dear, is that you’re such a good cook and you always do those wonderful dainty trays for the Christmas hampers. Maybe you should do that again.” Charity nodded as Hope’s soft voice soothed their friend.

  “Of course I will continue with that,” Faith told them firmly. “But I want a special project. Something really different.” Her green eyes narrowed as she pondered the subject. Finally she stood to her feet.

  “After all, I do have a bit of time yet. It is only the first week of October, isn’t it? I shall think and pray about it. Perhaps the good Lord has some special work that I can do.” Faith ambled out the front door, completely forgetting her purse and sweater as she strolled along, mumbling to herself.

  “We should have thought of something for her to do, before we announced our ideas,” Charity muttered, gathering up their teacups and setting them on the tray. “It’s not fair to leave her like that.”

  Hope carried the dishes back into the house and set about washing them carefully in the old-fashioned sink. She had most of the work done before Charity hobbled in.

  “Faith is a strong, competent woman,” she stated firmly. “She’s not senile, just a little confused sometimes. I think it will be good for her to think about a Christmas project rather than Jeremy’s odious meddling, for a while.” Hope shook her head with disgust. “That man would drive a saint up the wall.”

  “He’s certainly been hovering around Faith since he came,” Charity agreed. “I heard him telling her not to use the oven unless he was there. You know how she loves to bake. I can’t imagine that she’ll listen to him.”

  “It might be best if she did,” Hope muttered finally. “I hate to say it, but her memory is getting worse. I’ve been checking up on her myself lately, just to make sure she gets home safely.”

  “Funny,” Charity mused absently, rubbing liniment on the aching joints of her hands. “Arthur mentioned something about seeing her home the other night. Said he found her in the park, gathering leaves for her collection. In the dark.”

  “Well, I think we’ll just have to be especially careful to keep track of her with Jeremy around,” Hope said with a frown. “I don’t like the way he keeps telling her not to do this or that, fussing if she goes for a long walk. She’s not in prison, for heaven’s sake.”

  “Yes, I’ll watch her, too,” Charity agreed, sinking into her easy chair. “Now about this project of yours? Do you really think you can find someone suitable for him? He’s rather, er, old-fashioned, dear.”

  Hope grinned smugly.

  “I know. That’s why I’ve decided to hook him up with Flossie Gerbrandt. She’s exactly the same.”

  “Flossie?” Charity shuddered. “I hate that name. Can’t understand why Clara called her that. Always reminds me of a rabbit, for some reason.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Hope. I just can’t picture Flossie in her support hose and caftans going to church with the elegantly turned-out likes of him.” She coughed discreetly behind her hand. “Anyway,” she murmured repressively. “The Lord has his own plans for Jeremy Nivens. He doesn’t need you to meddle.”

  “I’m just going to give the man a helping hand,” Hope told her, stacking the plates in the cupboard. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”

  Hope sipped her tea pensively, staring at the embroidered Lord’s Prayer on the wall. She was lost in thought until Charity’s voice called her back to the present.

  “Pardon?” she asked softly, enraptured by the picture her mind had drawn.

  “I just wondered when you were going to get to work on your new project?”

  “Soon, dear. Very soon.” Hope returned her gaze to the figure of Jesus holding a sheep in his strong arms. “The sooner the better—for Faith, for Jeremy and for Gillian.”

  Chapter Three

  Gillian stared at the cut on the boy’s knee.

  “Jed, I told you to stay with the rest of us. How did you do this, anyway?” She dabbed at the injury carefully, noting the dirt imbedded in the cut.

  “I had to go pee” she was told in no uncertain terms. “When I was doing up my pants, I tripped on somethin’. It made me fall.”

  Gillian grinned. No responsibility for Jed. If something had cut him, it certainly wasn’t his fault. She grimaced. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Nivens would believe that the cut was all her fault.

  “Come, children,” she called, ushering them ahead of her onto the path through the woods. “We have to get back to the school now. It’s almost time for the bell. Quietly, Rowena.”

  Who are you kidding? she asked herself sourly. Quiet? First-graders? Not likely. As they stumbled and pushed and shoved their way back into the classroom, she glanced round surreptitiously. Her heart fell as she noticed the man in the blue pin-striped suit heading directly for her.

  “Come along, children. Let’s get your things together now. Don’t forget to collect as many leaves as you can this weekend.” She handed out knapsacks and lunch bags, just managing to grasp Jed’s arm before he headed out the room as the bell rang. “Just a minute, Jed. We’ll have to see to that knee.”

  “Miss Langford? What is the meaning of this bedlam?” Mr. Nivens’s voice was raised to counter the excitement coming from the rest of the children now pouring into the hall.

  She ignored him as she drew Jed over to the sink and began dabbing antiseptic from the first aid kit onto the child’s knee. She held one bony little shoulder firmly as the boy wriggled.

  “Ow!” His bellow was loud and angry.

  “Has this child injured himself on school property, during school hours, Miss Langford?”

  Old Jerry was in a cranky mood, she decided glumly. There was no way he would let her off easily for this one.

  “We went on a nature hike, and Jed cut his knee,” she told him, still gripping the child’s wriggling shoulder. “If you could assist me with this, I’d appreciate it. I have to cleanse the area.”

  “He should be seen by a doctor,” Jeremy Nivens began firmly, but he knelt beside the boy and peered at the affected area. “At least it won’t require stitches,” he muttered, taking the cotton from her hands and briskly wiping the grit and particles of soil away.

  “That hurts, ya know,” Jed shrieked. His face was red with anger.

  “Nonsense. A great big boy like you wouldn’t feel a little nick like this. You have to be strong when these things happen—stiff upper lip and all that.” His finger slapped a Band-Aid across the knee with surety, and he pulled Jed’s pant leg swiftly dow
n.

  “Huh?” Jed sat staring at the older man in perplexity.

  Gillian bent down and stared into Jed’s puzzled face. “He means that you were very brave for handling that so well, Jed. Here’s your knapsack now. You’d better run and get that bus.”

  As the boy scurried from the room, he cast a suspicious look at Jeremy’s suited figure. “My lip’s not stiff,” he told the older man seriously. “My leg is, though.”

  “Have a good weekend,” Gillian called and waved briskly, watching the most daring member of her class dodge the other children in his rush to get to the bus.

  “Miss Langford, you and I need to have a discussion.”

  She turned back wearily to face her towering boss’s stern face. He had that glint in his eye, she noticed. The one that always spelled trouble. For her.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Nivens. I’ll just clean up a bit as we talk.” She avoided his eyes as her hands busily picked up the shuffle of papers on her desk, brushing the bits of twigs and crushed leaves into the garbage.

  “I would prefer to speak in my office. In a more formal setting.” He was still standing, Gillian noted.

  “Oh, why bother to walk all the way down there?” she murmured airily. “We’re both here now. Why don’t you just tell me what’s on your mind?” Smoothly, without a pause in action, Gillian slipped the books into order on her shelves, removing a bubble gum paper from Jonah’s reader. When he didn’t speak, she finally glanced up and found his remote stare fixed firmly on her. “Well?”

  “Miss Langford, do you ever read the notifications I leave in your mailbox?”

  He brushed a hand gingerly over the edge of the table, checking for stickiness before reclining against it. It was the most relaxed she had ever seen him, and the sight was very appealing. As she watched, Jeremy brushed a hand through his hair, destroying the immaculately arranged strands. “Miss Langford?”

  She jerked her gaze away from the silky softness of his hair and focused on his frowning face.

  “Of course I read them,” she muttered finally. Her thought winged back over the past few weeks, trying to recall which particular missive he could be referring to. If the truth were known, she barely glanced at his memos lately. She had been centering every bit of time and attention on her students.