Faithfully Yours

He laughed harshly.

“My aunt is a lot more than slightly confused. She is forgetful, absentminded, preoccupied and inattentive when she is cooking. That’s why I’m trying to persuade her to sell this house and go into a nursing home.”

“What?”

Jeremy winced at the shrill shriek of her voice. He would have pointed out that the whole affair was none of her business, but he didn’t have time. Miss Langford advanced upon him like a Mack truck, letting nothing stop her surge of fury until she stood directly in front of his chair, green eyes glittering.

“You can’t! No way. She loves this house and the memories that are hidden away in every nook and corner. You can’t expect her to just give it all up. What about getting someone to live in?”

Jeremy snorted. She might be beautiful, this new teacher on his staff, but she wasn’t in the least practical.

“In Mossbank? Population five thousand, and that’s a high estimate?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“But a nursing home? She doesn’t need it. She’s perfectly self-reliant.” Her lips had carried an angry tilt to them. “She just forgets things once in a while.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Like the fireplace going or the stove or the kettle. One day it will cause a fire. Like today?” He peered at her with one eyebrow raised inquiringly. “What aren’t you telling me that she forgot today?”

“Nothing,” Gillian answered stoically. “She just let the liqueur get a little too hot when she was flambéing the cherries jubilee. It was out before I got here. I told you that.”

“Yes,” he nodded slowly. “I heard exactly what you said. It’s what you didn’t say that has me worried.” He studied the flaming sparks that reflected off her hair in the late-afternoon sun. “And it’s knowing that my aunt is a loose cannon, waiting to go off, that is forcing me to consider a facility that can care for her.”

“But you can’t!” Gillian was aghast that he would consider such a drastic action. “She loves the freedom of cooking and cleaning in her own home. I can’t believe that she’s in danger. Not really.” She glared at him through the fringe of bangs that fell across her forehead. “Anyway, Mrs. Flowerday and my aunt Hope will be watching out for her. And I certainly will. Among the three of us, she’ll be well cared for.”

Jeremy was shaking his head.

“But you can’t be here all the time, and neither can I. There will be those occasions when she will decide to cook some elaborate dish at five in the morning and no one will be able to stop her. Next time she may well set herself on fire.” His face glanced down at Gillian sadly. “I don’t like it any more than you, but I simply will not take the risk of her hurting herself.”

“I don’t think you have the right to make such a decision,” Gillian sputtered angrily. “You’ve only just arrived on the scene. Faith has been managing alone for years now. You can’t just waltz in here and uproot her from everything that’s familiar. It will only confuse her more.”

“Oh, I won’t do it right away. I’ll talk to her, give her time to get used to the idea first.” He stared out across Faith’s ramshackle garden with its wild assortment of plants. “Look at her garden,” he muttered, thrusting out one hand. “She’s forgotten all about it.”

“She hasn’t forgotten it,” Gillian denied, glaring at him. “She probably hasn’t had time to get to it. Especially when she’s fixing your meals all the time. That must be quite a burden for her.” Her eyes sparkled angrily at him. “Can’t you learn to cook, Mr. Nivens?”

Jeremy felt his eyes open wide, startled at the anger in her tones.

“Surely you don’t think I come over for dinner just to get a free meal?” he said, furious at her categorization of his motives. “There are any number of restaurants in the town. I can certainly afford to eat regularly at most of them.”

“Then why are you here?” Gillian Langford looked down her nose at him disdainfully, daring him to deny her conclusions.

“To make sure Aunt Faith eats at least one decent meal a day. If she thinks I’m coming, she makes a full meal. And eats it.” He met her stare head-on. “Otherwise she would make do on tea and toast, and that’s not very healthy.”

Jeremy watched the dull flush of red suffuse her pronounced cheekbones, making the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose stand out. The reddish strands in her shining hair glittered. Lord, Gillian Langford was a beautiful woman.

He wondered why she wasn’t married and how she’d come to live in Mossbank. His eyes swept down to the beautiful ring she always wore on her right hand. He’d noticed it before; many times. It looked like an engagement ring, but even he knew they were worn on the left hand. And no young man came by to claim her after school.

Which no doubt meant that the lady wasn’t interested in men. Good! He didn’t want to have to deal with overeager suitors hanging around the school, and he felt fairly certain than any suitor of Gillian Langford would be eager.

He glanced up and found her gaze fixed on him: dark, turbulent shadows clouding the green clarity of her eyes.

“My aunt must be about ready by now,” he murmured. “Perhaps we had better go in.” As he followed her into the house, Jeremy was forced to admit that today her choice of clothing was both suitable for school and extremely attractive.

She wore the long, slim slacks comfortably on her leggy frame, a matching teal silk shirt hanging loosely to her hips. The color was very flattering to her. A short, knitted black vest made the outfit complete and rendered it less casual looking. With her hair on the top of her head, Gillian looked coolly professional, and the picture irked him immeasurably. Why, he wasn’t sure.

“Well, I’d better be getting home to Hope’s,” Gillian told the older woman cheerfully. “She’s sure to have dinner ready.”

“Yes, Hope is a good cook,” Faith enthused. Her forehead pleated in a frown. “Although she does have a tight fist with the butter. Now, dear,” she turned to Jeremy. “You are eating with Gillian tonight, aren’t you? I would have made more if I’d known you were coming, but when I thought there would be just Art and me…” Her voice trailed away as she gestured to the smiling man seated on the other side of the kitchen table.

Jeremy stared at her in perplexity, wondering what was going on now. A sharp jab in the ribs brought him back to reality immediately, and he glared down at Gillian in frustration.

“Well, the truth is, Auntie Fay,” he began, and then swallowed the rest of the sentence as Gillian cut him off.

“Of course he can eat with us. Hope is sure to have plenty. And if he doesn’t like her cooking, I’m sure Jeremy can get something for himself.”

Her eyes opened innocently to stare at him, and Jeremy smiled at the idea of cooking anything in his poorly stocked apartment. “You know me, Auntie Fay,” he murmured, just under his breath. His eyes met Gillian’s startled ones, and he grinned. “I’ll do anything for a free meal.”

He could see that she felt embarrassed at her previous assumptions about his motives for going to his aunt’s, and he would have chortled with delight at the sight of it if the others hadn’t been there.

“I just hope Hope isn’t serving tofu,” Gillian whispered in his ear, her shoulder pressing against his chest for just a moment. “My aunt is really into eating healthy, you know.”

Jeremy felt his stomach lurch strangely. Tofu? As in that curdled white stuff?

“Well, I hope you and your girl have a real nice evening,” Art said, smiling benignly. “Faith was telling me about your engagement. Congratulations to you both.”

“But there is nothing to—” Jeremy gave up trying to explain as the willow wisp of a girl next to him tugged his arm none too gently.

“Thank you very much,” he heard her say with a laugh. “I hope the two of you enjoy your dinner. Come on, honey,” Gillian said, wrapping her arm through his.

Before his wits returned, Jeremy found himself standing on the sidewalk in front of his aunt’s house next to the beautiful woman who taught first grade in his school. She had removed her arm and he was thankful for that. It wouldn’t do for the rest of the town to hear of their bogus engagement. Anyway, even that slight touch bothered him. A lot.

He felt the poke in his side and chanced a look down. She stood there, grinning from ear to ear.

“Well,” she charged. “Aren’t you going to offer me a ride to Hope’s?”

Without conscious thought he opened the passenger side door and waited for her to slip inside his shiny black Mustang convertible. Her hand slid longingly over the leather-covered dashboard as he watched her snuggle into the fawn-colored bucket seat.

“Is that why you wanted to be engaged to me?” he asked solemnly, shifting gears before pulling away from the curb. “So you could ride in my new car?” He glanced at her and surprised a calculating look in her green eyes.

“Oh, that’s just one of the many reasons,” she murmured softly, sliding her shoes off and squishing her toes in the plush beige carpeting. “I’ll tell you the rest of them over dinner.”

As he negotiated the streets to her aunt’s house, Jeremy frowned. Gillian Langford had arranged this, this misunderstanding, he felt sure. And it was because she had some ulterior motive.

Why then did he feel anticipation instead of fear at finding out just what the gorgeous redhead had in mind? he asked himself.

Chapter Four

“Where did you get this car?” Gillian demanded, breaking the tense silence that hung between them. She brushed her hand over the cool, smooth leather. “It’s fabulous. And it doesn’t seem like the type of car you’d drive at all,” she blurted out. “I mean…” Her voice trailed away in dismay.

Jeremy chuckled. “What did you think I’d drive? Some staid, old family sedan, I’d wager.” He laughed out loud at the abashed look on her expressive face. “Don’t ever lie,” he advised. “You can’t hide your true feelings worth a plugged nickel.”

She bristled immediately, which was exactly what Jeremy had expected.

“I make it a habit never to lie about anything,” she told him pertly. “I learned that in the Sunday school right there.” Gillian pointed to the old church as they passed it.

“Did you grow up here?” he asked, suddenly curious about her childhood.

“No.” She shook her head. “But I came to visit Hope quite a lot when my parents wanted their own holiday. It was great fun for me, coming from Boston to the freedom of this little town.” Gillian pointed to the lovely park with its huge trees and carragana hedge. “We used to pretend there were little caves in that hedge,” she told him. “We could hide or have tea parties or lunch and never worry anybody.”

“It sounds like you had a happy childhood,” he murmured softly.

“Oh, I did,” she enthused, grinning as the memories surfaced from long ago. “Whenever I visited Hope’s, I was the queen of the castle. She’d let me stay up as long as I wanted. Or at least as long as I could without nodding off.” Her thoughts drifted to the times she and Hope had slept outside under the stars.

“I believe children need a regular bedtime.” Jeremy’s quiet voice interrupted her musings. “It’s important for their health and their growth that a regular schedule is maintained.”

“Oh, for goodness sake,” Gillian snapped, glaring at him angrily. “There you go again with those silly rules. Why do you always do that?” She watched him blink in confusion.

“Do what?” he asked, frowning. “I never did anything. I merely said…”

“I know what you said. It’s what you always say. For every situation in life you need a rule.” She scowled at him with disgust. “Don’t you ever just relax and enjoy the world around you without worrying if it’s the right thing to do?”

“It’s not a matter of relaxing,” he muttered at last, gliding to a stop in front of Hope’s compact two-story. “It’s a matter of planning things out to get the optimal benefit out of life.”

“But I did get the optimal benefit,” she argued, sliding out of the seat as his hand went under her elbow. “If I’d been sleeping in my bed, Hope and I wouldn’t have been able to discuss the constellations or where God lives, or how the angels come to earth. Those things were just as important to me as a few extra minutes of sleep.”

She stared into his handsome face seriously. “My mom always told us that life is made up of little shining moments like stones in a necklace. They’re what make the everyday routine things bearable, because we can take out those stones and remember them with pleasure during the bad times.” She beckoned him up the stairs. “Come on in. Hope will have started something.”

But unfortunately Hope hadn’t. There was a note tacked to the phone informing Gillian that her aunt had gone shopping with Charity Flowerday.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, frowning up at Jeremy, who towered over her, now that she had removed her shoes. “I guess we’ll have to find something for ourselves. Do you like tacos?”

His face was a study in contradictions. Gillian would have teased him about it except that he looked so unsure of himself.

“I—I don’t know.” His eyes met hers, and she was surprised to see uncertainty in their depths. “What is a taco?”

“Well,” Gillian began, matter-of-factly arranging the ingredients she would need on the countertop and trying to ignore the spark of electricity she felt fluttering down her sensitive skin whenever Jeremy Nivens came near. “There are two kinds—soft and hard. I like the hard ones, although they’re messy to eat.”

He watched her defrost a package of meat in the microwave and then dump it into a frying pan. His forehead furrowed.

“Ground beef,” he murmured.

“Hamburger, yes. With seasoning and spices. You put it into the shell and add vegetables and cheese to it.” She watched his long patrician nose twitch as he caught a hint of the savory cooking odors.

“I’m not sure if I can eat such food,” he told her seriously. “It smells as if it’s spicy and my stomach is rather queasy about those things.”

Gillian grinned at him, enjoying the look of uncertainty on his handsome face. For once Mr. Jeremy Nivens was not in control. She was going to enjoy this.

As the meat cooked, she shredded lettuce and minced tomatoes. She put Jeremy to work grating cheese. As they toiled side by side, she chattered a mile a minute, hoping to put him at his ease.

“I love tacos. Especially with hot sauce. It just makes your mouth come alive. Michael used to…” Her voice trailed away as she realized what she’d said.

“Michael was your fiancé?” Jeremy’s matter-of-fact voice inquired, eyes intent on the cheese as he carefully rubbed the slab of cheddar against her aunt’s grater.

Gillian realized that she had been talking about Michael naturally for once, and although the pain was still there, it had diminished to the point where she could talk about him with fondness.

“Yes. He died in a car crash. Anyway, he used to tease me for being a wimp.” Her mouth curved in remembrance. “He would load on the hot sauce until my eyes watered and I was coughing like crazy. Michael never even needed a drink of water. You know—” her eyes flashed to him and then looked away in embarrassment at the scrutiny she found there “—the Thai people clench their teeth together and then spread their mouth wide so they can suck air into their mouths, not blow it out. They claim it’s the best way to cool your palate.”

Jeremy was silent, steadily building the tower of cheese curls on the plate she’d given him. When he finally spoke, it was in a soft, careful voice that was totally unlike his usually brusque tone.

“It must have been very difficult for you,” he offered. “Was that why you decided to move here?” His blue-gray eyes met hers steadily, his face set in its usual stern lines.

“Partially.” She set the table quickly and scooped the browned meat into a bowl. “I just couldn’t stay in Boston anymore. It reminded me too much of him and of what I’d lost.” Carefully she removed the warmed tacos from the oven and placed them on the table beside the tomatoes and lettuce. A huge pitcher of lemonade and two large glasses completed the job.

“Ok, everything’s ready,” she grinned at him. As he gingerly set the cheese on the table, Gillian lifted a bottle from the fridge. “Now, for your first taste of tacos. Don’t forget the sauce.”

She murmured a short grace for both of them and then showed him how to assemble the items and bite off the end carefully so that the whole thing didn’t crumble in his hand.

“It is rather good,” he murmured, a surprised look on his face. “And not really hot at all.”

“That’s because you haven’t used this yet.” Carefully she spooned a small teaspoonful onto his taco. “Now try.”

He gasped, and Gillian giggled as his eyes grew round with surprise. Seconds later he was glugging down a huge glass of lemonade.

“Good heavens,” he whispered. “That was like fire.” His eyes were huge as he watched her slather on the sauce and then chew the mouthful with alacrity. “How can you do that?”

“Practice.” Gillian giggled. “Plus the fact that this is extra mild.” He raised one eyebrow skeptically. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

Jeremy finished his first taco and started gingerly on a second, carefully avoiding her jar of sauce.

“You reminded me of a visit I once made to my aunt here,” he told her as they sat companionably sipping the icy lemonade. “She invited me to stay while my parents attended some teaching sessions at the college. They were anthropologists, you see, and in order to maintain their grant status, they had to return to the States every so often for a report.”

“Was that why you went to boarding school?” she inquired quietly. “Because they were so busy?”

He smiled, but his gaze was far away. Gillian wondered idly what kind of a childhood he’d had.

“Not exactly. They spent a lot of time on a dig in Egypt and then Israel. They wanted to make sure my schooling was uninterrupted.” He smoothed the tablecloth idly, his voice low. “Anyway, every summer I came to spend several weeks with Auntie Fay. It was like a whole different world for me. The food, the clothes. Even the children were different.”

Jeremy glanced up at her and grimaced.

“I’m afraid I didn’t blend in very well, and I must have been an awful nuisance to have around. My aunt took me to the county fair and let me ride on the Ferris wheel until I was sick. I think I must have tasted every flavor and color of cotton candy and sugar cone there was, but it was the candy apple that finally did me in.” His face had a wistful quality about it that tugged on her heart.

“I’ve never forgotten the pleasure she gave me in those days. Or the way she would tuck me in at night and kiss me.” Jeremy glanced at her apologetically. “There aren’t many people who will kiss anyone good-night in boarding school,” he muttered quietly, his eyes downcast.

“But what about during the summers,” Gillian demanded angrily. “Surely you lived with your parents then?”

She couldn’t believe it when he shook his head, his sharp gray glance telling her that he thought she should know better than to ask such a silly question. Her tender heart ached at the words.

“Gillian, an archaeological dig is no place for a child. There are valuable artifacts lying about and open pits around which it would be dangerous for a child to play. Not that there was much to play with, anyway. Besides, it was far too hot, as I found out the one summer I insisted on visiting them. I spent most of my time cataloguing their finds. A layer of sand covered everything.”

Gillian stacked the dishes into her aunt’s dishwasher with a snap to her wrist that boded ill for the stoneware.

“I happen to feel that real, live children are more valuable than any old artifact from the past” She watched as he meticulously wrapped the leftovers and placed them neatly in the fridge. “It doesn’t sound like much of a life for a child,” she added finally.

He looked surprised.

“Actually it was a very good life. I was able to spend much of the summer studying for the next term. My grades were very good, and I finished my O levels a year ahead of schedule.”

Gillian set the coffee to perk and waved him into the living room. She wanted to tell him that his rigid life-style had robbed him of the carefree play of a child, but who was she to judge. She could only sympathize with the little boy who had spent his time working on the Dewey decimal system for artifacts.

She had just poured them each a cup of the fragrant, steaming coffee when Hope’s doorbell rang. It was Pastor Dave, in his usual jovial mood.

“I knew you two would be here,” he said happily, his booted feet thumping heavily across the floor. “Heard about your good news, too. Congratulations.” His round shiny face beamed down at them both.

Gillian could feel the tide of red suffusing her cheeks, as she realized from his sparkling glance that he’d heard about their supposed engagement from Faith.

“Well, thanks anyway, Pastor,” she murmured, glancing at Jeremy’s gaping mouth. “But we’re not engaged. Mr. Nivens and I are merely colleagues.”

“Oh, I remember. Faith did say you and your beau were trying to keep things quiet. I’ll respect your privacy, Gilly, girl. Don’t you worry. At least for a while.” He winked and patted her shoulder, then whooshed down onto the sofa.

Gillian gritted her teeth and willed him to listen.

“You don’t understand, Pastor. Jeremy and I aren’t engaged. Not at all.” She glanced at her supposed intended for confirmation and saw a glimmer of mirth deep in his eyes. He couldn’t be enjoying this, could he?

“Oh, you’ve had a little tiff, I suppose. Everybody has them, sweetie. You just have to work through your problems. And at least you’re doing that now before you’re married.” Dave patted her hand consolingly. “That’s a good sign that you two are adults, willing to compromise and accommodate the other’s point of view. Now about the youth group,” he winked at them both as they sat on either side of him, mouths hanging open in consternation.

“I just know you and your honey here will make good team leaders for the kids. I’ve arranged for them to go to Tyndale’s farm on Friday night and play Capture the Flag, and I thought you two might like to come along and watch.” He beamed down on them happily. “Next week you’re on your own.”

As the hefty minister lunged to his feet, Gillian glared at Jeremy. Do something, she telegraphed, and breathed a sigh of relief as he, also, stood up.

“I don’t think Gillian, er, that is, Miss Langford and I, well, we don’t exactly know just how to, well, deal with…”

He stopped abruptly when the reverend slapped him soundly on the back and bubbled with laughter.

“Course you don’t, son,” Dave chortled happily. “But you’re smart young folk with lots of schoolin’. I have every faith that God will lead you in your dealings with these young people. Anyway, it will be good practice for when your own come, eh!” He chuckled with glee at their surprised faces.

“Meet you at the church in half an hour,” his jovial voice chided them. “Don’t be late.” He surged through the room toward the front door, sniggering to himself as he went. “Well, well. A wedding. Haven’t done one of those in a while.”

Gillian sank onto the sofa, her knees buckling under the strain as she stared up at her intended. “Could you please stop this freight train?” she asked helplessly. “I think I want to get off.”

She heard his hiss of disgust as Jeremy moved in front of her. The silver in his eyes glittered at her like steel, and his mouth was pursed in a hard, straight line of blame.

“Well, it’s just a bit late for that, Miss Langford,” he accused. “Especially now that the whole town thinks we’re about to be married, honey!”

“Look,” she began, anger poking at the way he was hinting that this was all her fault. “I was only trying to spare your aunt. She was just a little confused, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”