Faithfully Yours Read online

  Her two closest friends stared at her as if she’d just told them she was going to marry Arthur Johnson herself. Their mouths hung open in amazement and disbelief.

  “It’s impossible,” Hope muttered, shaking her head as if to dislodge whatever prevented her from understanding such a thing. “Why, they don’t even like each other!”

  “Of course they like each other. They were kissing on my patio,” Faith said fiercely. She wagged a finger in Hope’s face. “People who hate each other don’t do that.”

  “It’s impossible,” Hope whispered, her eyes wide-open. “You must have imagined it.”

  “I’m sorry, Hope,” Arthur offered, rushing to Faith’s defense. “But she’s not mistaken. I saw it myself.”

  “There must be some mistake. Gillian can’t stand the man.”

  “Well—” Arthur shook his head ruefully “—perhaps she’s changed her mind, because she sure didn’t pull away when he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her back. And in broad daylight” His tired eyes sparkled. “That was some kiss.”

  Faith nodded, grinning as she sipped Hope’s overly sweetened coffee. Suddenly her expression changed and she stared at the other two women before turning to Art.

  “Maybe we shouldn’t have told them,” she murmured softly, peering into his strong, steady gaze. “After all, Pastor Dave did say it was a secret.”

  Hope shrieked in the most unladylike fashion they had ever heard from her. “The pastor knows?” She sank dazedly into the kitchen chair with a weak groan.

  Charity shuffled over to fan her friend for several moments, but there was no change on Hope’s shocked face.

  “Oh, my good Lord,” Hope said over and over.

  Charity helped the slender woman to her feet, issuing orders as they moved out of the kitchen.

  “Faith, you and Arthur see to those dishes. I’m going to get Hope lying down in bed before she falls down. Then we’ll all go home and leave her to sort this out in peace.” As they stumbled up the stairs together, Charity was already busy organizing the future for the little boy she’d met in Art’s store and the jobs she had all lined up for him. It would be her first step in her own Christmas goodwill towards men project.

  Chapter Five

  Gillian slowly drove her aunt’s car back into the small town at eleven-thirty that night, savoring the peaceful stillness. Where else in the world could you get such a wonderful feeling of security? she asked herself. The sky was bright and clear, its myriad stars perfectly visible in the black velvet expanse. She saw two figures chasing each other around the merry-go-round in the park, and Gillian found herself unintentionally watching them. It looked like fun—a carefree lighthearted romp that sent puffs of air out of their mouths to condense in the cool night air.

  Gillian peered through the windshield. It couldn’t be…Jeremy’s Aunt Faith and Arthur Johnson? A smile curved her lips. Now there was a couple who knew how to enjoy life. She felt a tiny glow of pleasure cascade through her. It looked like her idea for a special Christmas project had been a good one. The older couple seemed to get along well together, and she had no doubt that Art would see Faith safely home, relieving Jeremy’s anxiousness.

  Ah, life was good. Well, except for one little problem. That silly pretend engagement. It seemed like the whole town knew about that now and believed the entire fabrication.

  Sighing, Gillian slipped her car into gear and headed for Hope’s. Maybe after a good night’s sleep she would come up with some new idea to put a stop to all this, she told herself wistfully. Maybe.

  Hope was sitting in front of the fire, busily crocheting another of the delicate white stars she sold as ornaments at the Christmas bazaar. She looked up as Gillian stepped through the door, setting her work carefully on her lap.

  “Hello, dear. You’re a bit late.” Her tone was mildly reproving, and Gillian stared. It didn’t sound like her aunt at all.

  “I may be from now on,” she told her quietly, sinking into the armchair with relief. “The youth group showed absolutely no inclination to go home tonight. Once they get talking, they can go on and on.”

  “Was Jeremy there?” her aunt asked softly.

  “Jeremy? Why, yes. He’s agreed to help with the group, after all. How did you know?”

  Hope’s pale blue eyes were narrowed in disapproval when she glanced up from her handwork. “Arthur and Faith stopped by this evening,” she murmured. “They told Charity and me that you two are now engaged.” Gillian felt the probing intentness of her aunt’s stare. “I do wish you’d told me yourself, dear. I’m not sure this is the time to go barreling into another relationship with a man you barely know and have said repeatedly you despise.”

  “It’s not that I despise him, Hope. Well, not really. He just…”

  “Please don’t think I’m trying to interfere in your life, Gilly.” Hope cut through her halting explanations. “You know I feel very strongly about women making their own decisions in this life. It’s just that it’s so sudden. And unexpected.”

  Gillian grimaced. “You can say that again,” she muttered. She tried to explain, as quickly and briefly as possible, exactly how the situation had erupted from Faith’s strange memory.

  “She was upset from the fire, and I thought she was just confused, so I went along with it. Then Jeremy rushed in and began demanding answers, and she continued talking as if we were the hottest new pair since Anthony and Cleopatra.”

  Gillian paused for breath, the remembrance of that time on the patio causing a tide of red to flush her cheeks. Jeremy had kissed her; in anger, it was true. But still.

  “But, Gillian,” her aunt protested. “Arthur knows about your engagement. Faith said Pastor Dave told them. Apparently the whole town has been informed.”

  Gillian groaned, letting her aching head fall into her hands. She couldn’t have managed Faith’s delusional afternoon with less aplomb if she had tried. Now everyone would think they were engaged and intended to stay that way.

  “It’s going to look ridiculous if we announce that our one-day engagement is now off,” she muttered, rubbing the tender spots on her scalp. “I should have nipped it in the bud instead of playing along and teasing him, calling him endearments. No wonder she thinks there’s something going on.” She heard her aunt speaking through a fog of dismay.

  “Calling him endearments?” Hope’s voice was squeaky with shock.

  “Never mind, Auntie. It was a very bad joke and I’m paying for it now.” She stood, tiredly massaging the throbbing pulse in her temple. “I’m going to bed. I’m so tired I can hardly stand.”

  She moved slowly to the stairs and then stopped.

  “Hope?”

  “Yes, dear?”

  Gillian tried to arrange the curious facts of the evening in her mind. Something didn’t seem quite right.

  “Does Faith suffer from Alzheimer’s?”

  “I don’t know, Gilly.” Hope’s voice was soft and pensive. “Her memory has been getting worse for a while now, but it usually involves forgetting where she’s left something or not turning something off. This is completely different.” She switched off the lamp and followed her niece up the stairs. “Why?”

  “Oh, just something I was wondering about. Good night, Hope.”

  “Good night, dear. You know,” Hope said, stopping at the door to her room, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve been praying for Faith for months now, asking God to heal her,” she murmured. “She’s been my friend for so many years now, and I can’t bear to think of her forgetting all the wonderful times we three have had together. I can’t imagine going to visit her one day and Faith not knowing who I am.”

  Gillian patted her aunt’s shoulder. “God gave you Faith when you needed her all those years ago,” she consoled her aunt. “I can’t imagine that he’s going to abandon you now.”

  Hope brushed away the tears and smiled her wide, cheerful smile as they hugged each other. “Thank you, Gilly. I’m sure you’re right.
He never gives us more than he knows we can deal with.”

  But as she lay in bed, the night sounds quiet around her, Gillian replayed the afternoon’s events through her mind. She distinctly remembered Faith saying she had made the rouladin because beef was Jeremy’s favorite dish.

  How was it then that the older woman had claimed, only minutes later, that she and Arthur intended having a quiet meal together? She had even said there wouldn’t be enough for Jeremy and almost ordered him to eat with Gillian.

  Something about the incident bothered her, and as Gillian snuggled her head against the pillow, she wondered if Faith Rempel was as confused as everyone believed. Maybe she was just a little bit, well, crazy?

  Either way, Gillian was going to have to talk to Jeremy Nivens again and try to sort out the whole engagement thing. And the nursing-home issue. Slightly barmy or not, Faith wasn’t the type who would do well in the restrictive atmosphere of a nursing home.

  Gillian closed her eyes and refused to think about it anymore. The whole thing was too preposterous to believe. She’d come to Mossbank to learn how to survive as a single woman after God had taken her intended husband and left her on her own. She’d had no intention of even dating anyone again, let alone getting engaged. And certainly not to the likes of Jeremy Nivens. Not ever!

  As she lay in bed, her Bible open in front of her, Gillian reread the verse she’d underlined that morning. “If your faith is as large as a mustard seed,” she mused, pausing on the text. It seemed as if God was asking her to trust in him, to believe that he would manage it all for the best.

  “I’ll try to believe,” she whispered in the private darkness of her room. “But, please God, could you help me sort out these strange encounters he and I keep having? Maybe somehow we could learn to be friends, with Your help.”

  Gillian had just applied pale pink polish to the last toe on her right foot when the doorbell rang.

  “Blast it,” she muttered, trying to stand and keep her toes elevated while retaining the puffs of cotton she’d placed between them. The bell rang again. “Come in,” she yelled, but there was no response. In a jerky, halting gait she walked on her heels to the door and yanked it open, glaring at the man who stood outside.

  “Yes,” she demanded rudely, furious that Jeremy had caught her with her hair in a towel, her toes separated by blobs of white and clothed in her rattiest old sweats.

  She watched his eyes widen as they took in the thick, brown crusty layer of clay that covered her face, leaving just her eyes and mouth untouched. His blue-gray eyes widened even more as they moved down over the yellow knit sweatshirt that hung sloppily, exposing one shoulder, and the ragged joggers with the tears in both knees. But they stayed fixed on her elevated, white-cushioned toes the longest.

  “Oh,” he said.

  The silence stretched between them.

  “Is that all you came to say?” she asked perversely. “Thanks so much for sharing it with me.”

  “I guess this is a bad time to call,” he muttered, his eyes riveted on her shirt front.

  Gillian could have laughed at the ridiculous statement but she bit down on her lip. She moved slightly back on her heels trying to balance herself without falling backward.

  “Do you need a doctor?” Jeremy asked.

  Gillian stared. Was it possible that Faith’s mental problems had been passed through the family to Jeremy? she wondered.

  “Er, no, thank you.” He looked relieved, she decided.

  “It’s just that you’ve cut yourself,” he murmured, staring at the spatters of bright red on her sweatpants.

  “It’s nail polish,” she told him, turning away from the door. “Come on in. I’ve got to sit down. Standing like this for more than two minutes is a real pain.”

  He followed her in to stand in the middle of the room, watching as she flopped onto the sofa and began to remove the rolls of cotton from between her toes.

  “They’re dry now,” she answered the curious look in his eyes.

  “Your toes?”

  “The nail polish.”

  “Oh.” He stood there gaping, as if he had never seen a woman with painted toenails before.

  It was very disconcerting, Gillian decided, overly conscious now of the tight clay mask on her face, pulling her skin ever more taut as it dried. There was nothing for it, she was going to have to go wash her face.

  “Excuse me a moment,” she told him hurriedly, her skin a dried and barren wasteland under its cake of hard clay. “I’ll be right back. Have a seat.” She dashed out of the room without a backward glance.

  Jeremy looked around, his eyes carefully observing that it was impossible to follow her orders. Every seat in Miss Langford’s living room seemed to be covered with something. Clothes of every vibrant shade lay scattered here and there. He didn’t recognize many of them, but something brown, tossed haphazardly on a nearby chair, caught his interest.

  He picked up the note on top and read “Sally Ann.” He recognized the suit as the one she’d worn in the schoolyard one fateful afternoon. If he recalled correctly, and he did, her skirt had blown up, exposing those long, slender legs and catching his class’s attention. He wondered why she was giving the suit away. It was a much more suitable color for teaching than many of the other garments he noticed lying around.

  Jeremy’s attention caught on the bits of silk and lace he saw sprawled over the little side table. Although he averted his eyes as soon as he realized what they were, he couldn’t shake the feeling of voyeurism at the sight of her delicate, lace-trimmed slips. They, too, were in bright peacock shades that he was coming to realize were part and parcel of Gillian Langford’s dynamic personality.

  “There, now.” Gillian surged back into the room, her face clean and shining from the scrubbing it had received. The hard brown gunk was gone, and her lovely skin glowed with vitality. Her hair was free of its towel and lay against her head in tiny damp, wispy red curls that glimmered with golden highlights.

  “Oh, dear. I’m so sorry. I was doing a bit of mending, and I’m afraid I’ve left everything all over.”

  Jeremy watched as Gillian scooped armloads of clothes up into her arms and whisked up the staircase with them. She showed little outward embarrassment when she picked up the sheerest, silkiest nightgown, but he could see a tinge of pink behind the spattering of freckles on her high cheekbones.

  “There, now. Have a seat.”

  She was puffing slightly from all the stairs, and Jeremy watched her with interest. She sat there, calmly waiting for him to say something as he searched his memory for the reason for this visit.

  “I hope you haven’t suffered any repercussions from our supposed engagement,” she said finally, covering the gap in conversation.

  His brain snapped to attention. The engagement; that was it. He wanted to talk to her about their engagement. “I think we have a small matter to discuss,” he muttered, and immediately wished he had shut up. She was right, Jeremy decided. He did sound like a stuffed shirt sometimes. But it was rather difficult to disengage yourself from an engagement that had really never been.

  “That is, er, we should come to some agreement about our intentions. Not mine, but…” his voice trailed away. There just wasn’t any delicate way to ask for an unengagement, he decided glumly.

  “Oh, I see,” she said with a grin, twisting her feet under her. “You want to weasel out of the nuptials. Is that it?”

  “I never ‘weasled in’ as you so elegantly put it,” he blustered. “You’re the one who told my aunt that we would be married.” He stopped because she was vehemently shaking her head.

  “No,” Gillian corrected him. Her golden-red curls glistened in a shaft of sun that poured through the window. “Your aunt told me we were getting married. I thought she might still be confused by the accident and went along with it.”

  “Well, obviously we can’t continue the charade,” he told her, picking off the white hairs from his slacks. The more he picked, the more there
were.

  “What is this, anyway?” he demanded finally, holding a handful of the white fluff out. He missed her answer because his nose twitched just then, and he couldn’t suppress the loud sneeze that erupted.

  “Cat hair,” she told him smugly. “Mrs. Daniels was here and she brings her cats wherever she goes. Gee, I hope she didn’t get it on my new black wool. It picks up everything.”

  Jeremy was beginning to feel like Alice falling down the tunnel. Everything was whirling and changing around him, and it seemed he had no influence over anything. It was not a pleasant feeling for a man who thrived on controlling his own universe, he decided.

  “If you don’t mind,” he began sharply, “I’d like to get back to the matter at hand. The engagement,” he prodded, when her eyes stared back at him blankly.

  “I don’t see that there’s much we can do at this point,” Gillian said quietly.

  He stared at her.

  “We’re going to look like lunatics,” she told him briskly. “If we get engaged one day and break up the next.” Her shiny head shook decisively. “No, I think it’s far better if we just let it stand for a while. Once the preparations for Christmas begin, no one will notice if you and I are no longer engaged.”

  Jeremy couldn’t help it. Good manners forbade it, and yet for the second time in one afternoon his mouth hung wide open as he stared rather stupidly at her. “Do I understand you correctly, Miss Langford?” he murmured. “You wish the inhabitants of this community to believe that we two are engaged, until such time as the novelty wears off, and then you propose to quietly dispense with the subterfuge?” He shook his head. “That would be lying, Miss Langford, and I do not approve of lying.”

  “Oh, get over yourself,” she muttered rudely.

  Jeremy pretended he hadn’t heard it “And what on earth would I do with the engagement ring, once you decided you no longer needed it?” he demanded, glaring at her in his most severe form.

  “Oh, great,” she chirped, clasping her hands together happily. “You mean you’ll go along with it?”