The Highest of Hopes

by Susan Anne Mason

  “Certainly.” The tight muscles in Jonathan’s stomach finally relaxed, as though he’d just passed a test of sorts. If tending a garden would keep him on the cook’s good side and assure him of a constant supply of food, he’d happily learn all he could about growing vegetables.

  Especially if it meant he could be near Emma.

  CHAPTER 3

  When Emma had questioned her landlady about Professor Moore and shown her the return address on his last letter, Mrs. Chamberlain had known the exact area where he lived and had given her directions.

  “It’s a very fancy neighborhood,” the landlady told her. “Lots of doctors and lawyers live there. Is the professor a relative of yours?”

  “He is.” Emma had smiled brightly and put away the letters, hoping Mrs. Chamberlain wouldn’t question her further. “I only hope he still lives at the same address. I suppose I’ll find out soon enough.”

  “No need to worry. I’m sure a public figure like Randall Moore won’t be hard to track down.”

  Now, as Emma made her way up to her father’s front door with Jonathan beside her, nerves threatened to swamp her. Perhaps she should have taken more time to prepare for this initial meeting, as Jonathan had suggested. But she’d been loath to waste one more minute, knowing she was so close to the man who had fathered her.

  To the one person who could fill in the missing pieces of her life.

  “This place looks fit for the king of England,” she whispered.

  Twin columns flanked the front entrance of the tall redbrick home, which stretched half the length of a city block. Back in their English village, they could have fit four cottages in the same space. All around the house, the landscaping looked professionally tended, with its well-manicured bushes and flower beds just beginning to bloom.

  “It does indeed.” Jonathan stretched his neck to look up at the building. “A far cry from our flats above the shops back home.”

  Suddenly Emma was very grateful that she’d used some of the profits from the sale of her grandfather’s watch shop to buy a new wardrobe for her trip. At least in her best blue dress and matching jacket she wouldn’t feel like a poor relation from the homeland, looking for a handout.

  She drew in a deep breath, willing a courage she didn’t feel.

  “We don’t have to do this now.” Jonathan’s warm hand at her back steadied her. “I still maintain it would be better to wait. Give more thought to this first meeting.”

  “No.” Emma lifted her chin, her fight returning. “I haven’t come this far to back out now.” She grasped the iron knocker and rapped it sharply against the door, then stood back to wait. At last the door opened.

  A large-boned woman with heavy brows stared out at them. “Can I help you?”

  “Is Professor Moore in, please?” Emma barely managed to keep her voice from quivering.

  “He’s in the middle of dinner with his family. You’ll have to come back another time.” The sour-faced housekeeper frowned at Emma as though scolding her for the interruption.

  “I’m sure he’ll want to see me,” Emma said. “I’ve come all the way from England. Perhaps we might wait in the parlor until he’s finished?”

  The woman’s brows crashed down. “I think not. You’ll have to come back tomorrow. Better yet, call and make an appointment.”

  The door closed in front of Emma’s nose with an audible slam.

  Scowling, she turned to Jonathan, not even attempting to hide her frustration. “How rude. All the other Canadians we’ve met were so polite.” She crossed her arms and tapped one foot on the cement porch, trying to decide what to do next.

  Jonathan took her gently by the elbow. “Let’s go back to Mrs. Chamberlain’s,” he said in his ever-patient voice. “We’ll try calling tomorrow.”

  His soothing tone, one meant to cajole her to his way of thinking, had little effect. She was not inclined to give up so easily. It simply wasn’t in her nature. Whirling about, she knocked loudly once more.

  “Emmaline.” Jonathan’s low growl from behind her did nothing to diminish her resolve.

  The door flew open again, and the cross housekeeper glared at them. Before she could say a word, Emma pushed by her into the vestibule. If the woman wanted rid of her, she would have to throw her bodily into the street.

  “I’ve decided that Uncle Randall would be terribly disappointed to learn you’d sent us away. We don’t mind waiting until he’s free, do we, Jonathan?” She turned to look over her shoulder at Jonathan, who glowered at her as he usually did when peeved by her behavior.

  “Please excuse my friend’s . . . enthusiasm.” He bowed to the flustered housekeeper. “She’s a trifle impatient, I’m afraid.”

  “Did you say Professor Moore is your uncle?” the woman demanded.

  “I suppose that’s not entirely accurate.” Emma gave her a bright smile, one that had always gotten her way with Grandad. “But a relative is a relative, is it not?” She peered down a hallway past a set of open double doors that likely led into the parlor.

  The woman looked from Emma to Jonathan and heaved a loud sigh. “Very well, you may wait in here.” She gestured to the doorway. “What are your names, please?”

  Emma gulped in a long breath as she hesitated on the threshold of the large room. “Miss Emmaline Moore and Mr. Jonathan Rowe,” she said.

  “Please have a seat.” The clearly disgruntled servant marched down the hall.

  Emma walked over to a gold brocade sofa, where she sank onto the cushions, her legs unsteady beneath her.

  “Breathe, Em. You don’t want to faint before you meet him, do you?” Jonathan crouched in front of her, rubbing her hand between his fingers. His brown eyes studied her with concern as though he were afraid she might fall apart.

  “No. That wouldn’t do at all.” She inhaled and slowly exhaled, willing the nerves to quit jumping in her stomach. Could she really be about to meet her father for the first time, after all these years? Would he be stoic and reserved as most British tended to be, or overcome with joy to see his infant daughter all grown up?

  Jonathan’s encouraging smile warmed her more than his hands could. If only her father would one day look at her that way. Like she meant everything in the world to him.

  Loud footsteps sounded on the tiled floor. Emma’s heart hammered loudly in her chest. She squeezed Jonathan’s hand as he helped her to her feet. She needed to be standing for this moment.

  Seconds later, her father appeared.

  Emma could only stare at the imposing figure in the doorway. Nothing in her imagination had come close to this larger-than-life presence.

  Randall had jet-black hair, very similar to her own, except that his was swept back off his forehead with no hint of her curls. His temples were sprinkled with threads of silver, the only clue to his age. Otherwise he could pass for a man in his twenties, so tall and fit did he appear. He’d obviously donned his jacket in some haste, as the buttons were left open, revealing a striped waistcoat beneath.

  Very slowly, he moved into the room, his eyes not leaving her face. As he came closer, Emma saw he had the same vivid blue eyes as she. There could be no denying the authenticity of their relation.

  “Emmaline?” The color had drained from his face, leaving it almost ashen. “Is it really you?”

  Jonathan’s hand gripped her elbow, giving her the support she needed. Several more people appeared in the doorway, but Emma remained focused on the man before her.

  “It is.” She forced her quivering lips into a smile. “I believe I’m your long-lost daughter.”

  Jonathan flinched at the blunt manner in which Emma blurted out the information to the strangers in the room. Whatever happened to the tactful manner he’d suggested she use to break the news?

  A slight cry came from behind Mr. Moore, as a tall, elegantly dressed blonde pushed forward.

  “What kind of vile prank is this?” she demanded.

  If not for the shock of the moment, Jonathan was certain she w
ould be a handsome woman. But now, her face contorted with suppressed anger, she appeared almost frightening.

  Emma, however, did not shrink back. She tilted her chin in that adorably frustrating manner of hers. “This is no prank, I assure you. I’ve traveled a long way to meet my father, a man I’d long believed to be dead, and whom I only recently learned was in fact alive.” She focused on Randall. “I hoped he would be as happy to meet me as I am him.”

  A tense silence hummed in the room. A fair-haired girl who looked to be around seventeen or eighteen came farther into the parlor, pushing a younger girl in a wheelchair. Both stared at Emma.

  Everyone seemed to be waiting on the professor to say something, to take charge of the situation, but he appeared to be in a trance.

  The woman, likely Randall’s wife, tugged on his arm, her brows swooping downward. “Tell the girl she’s mistaken, Randall.”

  The girls watched their parents with undisguised curiosity.

  “I . . . that is . . .” He blinked rapidly as though he could dislodge the sight before him.

  “I know just how you feel.” Emma moved toward him. “I was at a loss for words too when I discovered your letters in Grandad’s desk after he died. But once I recovered from the shock, I knew I had to find you. To see you with my own eyes.” A smile trembled on her lips. “Now that I have, you can’t deny the resemblance between us.”

  “No,” he whispered. “I certainly cannot.”

  “Are you saying she really is your daughter?” The wife’s mouth gaped open, and her nostrils flared like a bellows fanning a flame.

  He huffed out a great breath. “Yes, Vera. It appears so.”

  The woman pinched her lips together and moved to sit in one of the upholstered wing chairs. “I don’t believe this.”

  Emma fished around in her handbag. “I brought a copy of my birth certificate. In case there was any doubt.” She pulled it out, unfolded it, and handed it to Randall.

  A shadow crossed his features as he scanned the document. Then he handed it to his wife. “It’s legitimate.”

  “How do you know? She could have forged it.” Vera barely glanced at the parchment.

  “It’s the original document I received after . . .” He cleared his throat. “After Emmaline’s mother died.”

  For a moment, Jonathan felt sorry for the man. He seemed to be truly distraught, remembering his wife’s death and the events that had surrounded it.

  “Does that mean she’s our sister, Papa?” The younger daughter propelled her wheelchair forward, curiosity lighting her elfin features. She wore her hair in two plaits tied with blue ribbons at the ends and appeared to be about twelve years old.

  “She’s your half sister, yes.”

  The girl turned to Emma with a grin. “I’m Marianne. And this is Corinne.” She pointed to the girl beside her.

  “I’m pleased to meet you both,” Emma said. “I’ve always wanted a sister. How delightful that I now have two.”

  Jonathan looked at Corinne, who stared at Emma with open hostility. Oh, Emma, love, guard your heart. You have no idea how these people will react to your presence.

  “I, for one, do not need another sister.” Corinne’s chin quivered. “Papa, I don’t understand. How can she be your daughter too?”

  Randall straightened his spine and seemed to pull himself together. “It’s a long story, sweetheart. One that will wait for tomorrow. Now please take your sister upstairs.”

  “But I want to—”

  “Do as I say.”

  “Yes, Papa.” Corinne ducked her head and grasped the handles of the wheelchair.

  “Good night, Emma,” Marianne said. “I hope I’ll see you again.”

  “I hope so too.” Emma patted the girl’s arm before Corinne wheeled her away.

  As soon as they’d left, Randall focused his attention on Emma. He released a long breath. “I wish you had given me some warning that you were coming. Given me time to prepare my family.”

  For the first time, Emma seemed to lose her confidence. “I . . . I’m sorry. I thought it would be a wonderful surprise. I had no idea you hadn’t told your family about me.”

  At the quiver in her voice, Jonathan draped a protective arm over her shoulder. “You’ll have to excuse Emma’s enthusiasm, Mr. Moore.” He smiled. “She simply couldn’t stand to delay another minute.”

  “And who exactly are you?” Randall frowned at him. “Her husband?”

  How Jonathan wished he could answer in the affirmative. “I’m Jonathan Rowe, sir. Emma and I grew up together.” He would have offered his hand if he had any expectation the man would accept it. But Randall was clearly too overwhelmed at the moment.

  Randall glanced at his wife’s rigid form, then back to Jonathan. “I hope you understand why I must ask you both to leave. I need time with my family to explain everything.”

  Emma gasped, her eyes wide with disbelief. “But I’ve only just arrived. We have so much to discuss.”

  Jonathan’s heart ached for her. She’d never once imagined that she wouldn’t be welcomed with open arms.

  A muscle in Randall’s jaw jumped. He stared at her and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

  Emma’s frame grew still beneath Jonathan’s arm. Her hopes of a long-awaited happy reunion were sinking faster than the ill-fated Titanic. He needed to do something to salvage the situation.

  “I understand this is a difficult situation, sir,” Jonathan said. “We’re staying at Mrs. Chamberlain’s boardinghouse on Jarvis Street. You can contact Emma there when you’re ready.” He nodded at Mrs. Moore seated by the fireplace, then tugged Emma across the room. If he didn’t get her out of here now, her stubborn nature would take over, and there would be a scene. An ugly one at that.

  Thankfully, she let him guide her to the entranceway.

  The housekeeper, who must have been hovering nearby, hurried to open the front door for them. “Next time be sure to call first.”

  The door banged shut behind them.

  Emma descended the stairs to the brick walkway below, her feet as numb as her emotions. Her father hadn’t been the least bit happy to see her. In fact, he seemed almost resentful that she’d come to his home without permission.

  A shudder went through her as her pent-up emotions began to unravel.

  “Come here.” Jonathan pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. “I’m sorry, love. That could have gone a whole lot better.”

  Emma laid her head against his shoulder, allowing the familiar scent of his spicy aftershave to soothe her spirits. She sniffed and wiped away a tear before it could fall. “You were right, Jonathan. I should have listened to you and given my father some warning before simply showing up on his doorstep.”

  “Um-hm. But then again, when have you ever listened to me?” He chuckled.

  She let out a shuddering breath that ended on a half laugh. Jonathan always had a way of making her feel better.

  “I’m sure it will go more smoothly the next time you see him.” His voice was comforting, as was the hand that rubbed her back.

  Emma accepted the handkerchief he handed her. She blew her nose and firmly shook off her disappointment. She would not allow this initial rejection to put her off. Once the family got used to the idea, they would want to get to know her and welcome her into their fold. She certainly would if their roles were reversed.

  “The good news is I have two sisters. Marianne and Corinne. How wonderful is that?” She dabbed at her eyes. “I’m sure it’s only a matter of time until my father comes around.”

  “I hope so, love.”

  Jonathan’s doubtful expression only fueled her determination. “I’ll make certain of it. Perhaps a shopping trip is in order. I’ll get gifts for everyone.”

  “You can’t buy their love, Emma.”

  “Maybe not, but it couldn’t hurt. I should have thought of that in the first place.” She linked her arm through his and they began to walk, her momentary despair fading as
she focused on a new plan. “There’s more than one way to win my father over. I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

  Jonathan blew out a breath. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Emma laughed at his wry expression. “Admit it, Jonathan. You missed me while you were gone.”

  “Of course I missed you.” He turned to lock his eyes on hers. “The memory of your face was the only thing that got me through the horrors of that war.”

  For a moment confusion reigned, then she shook her head on a laugh. “You always did like to tease me.”

  “On the contrary, I’ve never been more serious. I needed something to cling to out there.” His features remained unusually somber.

  Once again, Emma wished she knew what had happened to him during his time abroad. Six months ago, he had returned from the war a changed man. She missed the perpetual twinkle in his brown eyes and his mischievous sense of humor. One of the reasons she’d agreed for him to come with her on this trip was that she hoped it might help dispel the ghosts that haunted him and facilitate the return of his cheerful demeanor.

  “All that matters is that you made it home in one piece.” She squeezed his arm. “I’ll be forever grateful to God for bringing my best friend back to me.”

  He regarded her with an unreadable expression for several seconds. “What about Danny?”

  A stab of guilt rose in Emma’s chest at the mention of her late fiancé. Was she a horrible person to be relieved that Jonathan had survived the war? That while she mourned Danny with one breath, she praised God with another for sparing Jonathan?

  “I cared a great deal for Danny,” she said slowly, “but the truth is our relationship never came close to the friendship you and I share. I doubt any ever could.” She paused and then, with a deliberate grin to diffuse the situation, gave him an elbow to the ribs. “Unless you fall madly in love with some girl and forget all about me.”

  “That will never happen, Emma.” A fiery intensity lit his eyes as he laid his hand over hers.

  Emma’s stomach gave a nervous jump, and she almost pulled her hand away. What was the matter with her? This was Jonathan. Why was she reacting so strangely to him?