The Highest of Hopes

by Susan Anne Mason

  Jonathan cast a quick glance at Emma, who still seemed out of sorts. “No. I lived next door with my Aunt Trudy.”

  His mind flashed back to the first day he’d met his eight-year-old neighbor. Jonathan had gone down to the river, consumed with grief and anger over the loss of his family and at being sent so far away from London to live with an aunt he barely knew. He’d been hurling stones into the water in a futile attempt to relieve his volatile emotions when an elfin girl with big blue eyes approached him.

  “It’s more fun to skip stones over the water than just throwing them that way,” she’d announced.

  Humiliated at being caught crying, Jonathan had scrubbed at his damp face and tried to ignore her. But she continued to stare at him curiously.

  “You’re the boy from next door. I’m Emma. My grandad owns the watch shop.” She picked up some flat stones and skipped one out over the water.

  Jonathan pretended not to be impressed by her skipping ability. Craving solitude, he moved farther down the bank.

  She followed. “I’m sorry about your family,” she said. “I’m an orphan too, so I know how you feel. It’s lousy not having parents or brothers and sisters.” She stared out over the water, pushing unruly strands of hair off her forehead.

  Something about the matter-of-fact statement eased the tension in Jonathan’s belly. They stood for several quiet moments, watching the ripples fan out over the surface. Then suddenly she jumped off the bank and waded knee-deep in the water, heedless of her now-wet clothing. With a shriek and a splash, she turned, holding her clasped hands high in the air. “Bet you never caught a frog with your bare hands before.”

  He thought she must be joking, but sure enough, a long greenish leg twitched between her dripping palms. When she climbed back onto the grass and handed him the bewildered amphibian, he couldn’t help but laugh. Just like that, they’d become inseparable, and the river their favorite place to escape for some solitude.

  “Jonathan and I had a lot in common.” Emma’s voice broke into his thoughts. “We were both orphans with no siblings. My grandmother and his Aunt Trudy were close, and our two families often had dinner together. It was inevitable that we’d become best friends.” She turned to smile at Jonathan.

  “How nice that you had each other for company.” Mrs. Chamberlain set her glass down, a faraway look on her face. “I used to be close to my sister before I came to Canada.”

  “Did you grow up here or in England, Mrs. Chamberlain?” Jonathan asked. Judging by her faint accent, she’d lived in Canada for a long while now.

  “Please, you must call me Mrs. C. All my boarders do.” She smiled. “I came to Canada when my sister and I were still young. But ours was not a happy childhood. I won’t ruin the day by talking of it now.” With a determined set to her mouth, she rose from her seat and gathered the dishes. “Besides, you two must be getting on with your walk before the day is gone.”

  Clearly the conversation was over, and Jonathan was not one to pry.

  “Where do you suggest we head, Mrs. C.?” He took Emma’s hand and helped her up from the sofa.

  “A walk along the water is always nice.”

  “Or . . .” Emma bit her bottom lip, her mind obviously spinning. “How about the university? I understand the grounds are lovely.”

  “Yes, indeed,” Mrs. C. replied. “The buildings have beautiful courtyards with lots of shade trees. Your uncle works in one of those buildings, though I’m not sure which one.”

  Emma’s face brightened. “That sounds perfect. Just let me get my hat and I’ll be ready to go.”

  Jonathan held back a groan. He knew that expression. She had something up her sleeve for sure. But at least her mood had improved, and if that’s what it took to make her smile, then he would gladly put up with her schemes. Besides, he wouldn’t mind seeing the campus. From the way Reggie had described it during their conversations at the infirmary, it did sound lovely.

  Not long after, with the directions to the university memorized, Jonathan escorted Emma down Jarvis Street. She looked every inch the lady in her light blue walking suit, with her matching hat perched at a jaunty angle atop her dark curls. He had to force himself not to stare.

  She cast him a sideways glance as they walked. “All that talk of the past has made me a trifle homesick. Have you heard from Aunt Trudy? Any word on how her shop is doing?”

  “I haven’t heard anything yet, but I’m sure she’ll write soon.” He raised a brow. “Though you might be more likely to get a letter than me, since she knows you’ll write back immediately.”

  Ever since Emma’s grandmother passed away, Aunt Trudy had taken Emma under her wing. The two had always gotten on famously, a bond that only became stronger while Jonathan was away at war.

  “Well, we all know how deplorable you are at writing letters,” Emma said. “By the way, how are you faring in your cubbyhole above the garage? It sounds rather barbaric to me. Nothing more than a bed and a table from what I understand.”

  “It’s comfortable enough. After sleeping in a foxhole, anything else seems like a palace by comparison.” He forced a laugh to cover the underlying revulsion his comment evoked. The mere word foxhole conjured up the worst nights of his life—cold and wet, shivering in his damp boots and uniform, praying for the rise of the morning sun.

  “Was it really so terrible there?” The sympathy in Emma’s voice reminded him exactly why he never spoke of the war.

  “It was. But it’s not something you need concern yourself with.”

  “Of course I’m concerned. You haven’t been the same since . . .” She left the rest of her thought unfinished.

  Jonathan stiffened. There was no denying the war had changed him, but he thought he’d done a better job of hiding it. Apparently not. “All the more reason not to speak of it. Now, why don’t you tell me what you’re really up to on this outing?”

  She scrunched her nose and looked ahead. “I’m not up to anything. I simply thought it would be nice to see where my father works.”

  “You’re not going to barge in on him again, I hope.”

  She set her jaw and continued walking.

  “Emma, you said you were going to give him time to adjust to the idea of a new daughter.”

  “I have. I just didn’t specify how much time.”

  Jonathan released a slow breath, inwardly preparing for whatever might come next.

  Knowing Emma, that could be anything.

  Emma stepped through the high stone archway onto the path that traversed the university grounds. “Oh, this is so beautiful. You can almost smell the history here.”

  “Indeed.” Jonathan squinted upward. “It’s as picturesque as Reggie described.”

  Emma stopped to simply admire their surroundings and breathe in the clean air. Large elm and maple trees shaded the grassy area that flanked the path leading to the magnificent stone buildings. The stately architecture bore witness to the atmosphere of education and elegance, of pomp and circumstance. It was very reminiscent of some of the buildings she’d seen on a trip she’d taken to London with her grandparents.

  “Speaking of your friend,” she said. “Have you contacted Private Wentworth yet?”

  Jonathan had told Emma about the wounded Canadian soldier he’d met during his stay in the military infirmary and how he hoped to get to see him while they were here. His friendship with the brave young man was one of the only things about his time abroad that Jonathan had actually shared with her.

  “Not yet. I’ll have to borrow Mrs. C.’s telephone and try his number. I don’t even know for certain that he’s still in Toronto.”

  “Didn’t you say he hoped to study at the university here?”

  “He did. In his last letter, though, he was still waiting to be accepted. And he was having a hard time adjusting to living back with his parents.”

  Emma plucked a leaf from a bush as they passed and twirled it through her fingers. “Wouldn’t it be funny if he was one of my father’
s students?”

  Jonathan smiled. “I know it’s a small world, but I doubt it’s that small.”

  Emma strolled by the large rectangular windows. She could just imagine her father standing in front of a classroom of eager students, mentoring them in the ways of the law and economics. A feeling of pride swelled in her chest. Her father was someone important, a man of learning who helped shape the minds of the next generation. A man who hoped to become mayor of the city, where he could benefit even more people. A truly noble man, just as she’d pictured him.

  The air wisped by her, bringing with it the sweet scent of roses. Above her in the trees, a sparrow called out for its mate. Emma smiled. Coming out in the fresh air had been the perfect cure for her slight melancholy. And seeing the place where her father worked definitely had given her fresh hope. It wasn’t the end of the world that he hadn’t been overjoyed to see her. He just needed some time to process her arrival. With a renewed sense of purpose, Emma set aside her disappointment and focused instead on what she could do to form a bond between them.

  “I wonder which building my father works in.”

  Jonathan glanced over at her. “I suppose that would depend on what subjects he teaches.”

  “Economics and law, I think, according to an article Mrs. C. showed me in the newspaper.” Emma squinted to read the sign by one of the arched doorways. “The Faculty of Mathematics. How many buildings are there, do you suppose?”

  They continued along the path, nodding to several people they passed, presumably students on their way to class. She assumed professors would stand out by the long robes they wore, much like their barristers back home.

  “Emma, let’s sit for a minute.” Jonathan pointed to a bench under one of the trees.

  Frowning, she slowed her steps and huffed out a sigh as she smoothed her skirt under her. Was he trying to distract her from finding the right place?

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t been off my feet since early this morning.”

  Oh. How thoughtless could she be? She felt a stab of guilt at being concerned only with her own agenda. “There’s no rush. We have most of the afternoon ahead of us.”

  They sat for a few moments in silence, soaking in the atmosphere around them. There was a soothing nature about this place, almost like being a world apart from everything else.

  “Something’s been bothering me, Em.” Jonathan stared straight ahead. “I’ve been trying to understand why you’re so obsessed with your father.”

  Stunned, she turned to face him. “How can you ask me such a thing?” As someone who’d also grown up without his parents, he must understand how important this was. Learning her father was alive had changed everything for her.

  In the bright sunshine, his eyes appeared more the color of whiskey than chocolate. “I don’t mean now,” he said. “I’m talking about years ago. Ever since you were young, you were fixated on him. Wondering what he’d looked like. If he had dark hair like you. Even making up stories about him. Never your mother. Only him.”

  Emma stiffened against the hard bench, heat rushing to her cheeks. “I don’t know why exactly. I had pictures of my mother, and my grandparents told me stories about her, but I knew nothing at all of my father.” She shrugged, as memories flooded back of the stories she’d made up to comfort herself about her departed father. “When Gran told me he’d died of a broken heart over the loss of my mother, it sounded so romantic. A tragic tale, like Romeo and Juliet.”

  Jonathan nodded. “I can see that.”

  “I used to comfort myself with that idea. I’d daydream about his romance with my mother, about a love so great that going on without her was impossible. And that if he’d lived, he would have loved me that way too.” Her voice quavered.

  Jonathan took one of her hands in his. “Don’t you think your expectations might be a little unrealistic?” he asked softly. “You don’t really know anything about Randall. There’s a good chance he might not live up to your storybook ideal.”

  She released a sigh. “I’ve thought about that. And I’m trying my best to keep an open mind.” She looked up at him. “I’ve prayed hard every day since I found those letters, trying to reconcile my fantasy to the reality that maybe my father didn’t love me—at least not enough to keep me.” She drew in a shaky breath. “I only know I have to do everything I can to reach out to him. And I have to believe he’ll come around eventually.”

  “I hope so, Em. I truly do. You deserve that type of man in your life.” He raised her hand to his lips and smiled into her eyes.

  Her heart fluttered strangely. She’d never shared her innermost thoughts of her father with anyone before, certain that her friends would make fun of her romantic views. But Jonathan had been nothing but caring and sympathetic. As always.

  “Shall we continue our walk then?” he asked.

  She wet her suddenly dry lips and nodded.

  “There are a few more buildings over there.” He helped her to her feet.

  Grateful for his attempt to return the conversation to normal, she fell into step beside him and shook off the tension as they walked.

  When they reached the next building, the sign out front read The Faculty of Law. Emma’s pulse gave a nervous leap. For all her brave talk moments ago, she hesitated. Did she dare go in?

  She glanced at Jonathan. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to walk through the halls,” she said. “Just to see what it’s like inside.”

  He pinned her with a stern look. “Only if you promise not to make a scene. You don’t want to make matters worse.”

  She opened her mouth to protest that she’d never do such a thing, but then stopped. As usual, he had a point. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

  He studied her for a moment and then, seemingly satisfied with her sincerity, opened the heavy wooden door. “After you.”

  She entered the building and found herself in a wide corridor. The walls were lined with official portraits, likely of prominent men who had hallowed these halls. Would her father be honored this way one day? Certainly if he were ever elected mayor, he would.

  They came to a staircase on the left that led upward, but Emma continued down the corridor until it opened into a reception area. A middle-aged woman sat at a plain wooden desk. The sign in front of her indicated that she was Mrs. Anderson, Receptionist for the Department of Economics.

  She looked up as Emma approached. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  For a split second, Emma considered her possible responses. “Good afternoon. I’m looking for Professor Moore’s office.”

  “It’s on the second floor.” Mrs. Anderson scanned Emma from top to toe and frowned. “If you’re here for the interview, you’re much too early.”

  Emma blinked. “I’m afraid you’re mistak—”

  “Professor Moore clearly indicated he wouldn’t be available until after his last class finishes at four o’clock.” The woman’s nostrils pinched.

  Jonathan came up beside Emma and gave her elbow a slight squeeze. “We’re not here for an interview,” he told the woman with a smile. “We’re visiting from England and thought we’d stop by to see where Professor Moore works.” He waved a hand to indicate the vaulted ceiling and arched columns. “Such a prestigious institution. The architecture alone is simply breathtaking.”

  The woman’s face brightened. “Why, thank you. And I’m sorry for assuming you were the candidate for the personal secretary position. Are you relatives of the professor?”

  Emma’s mind raced. She didn’t want to make the same blunder as she had at her father’s house. “We are related, yes, but he left England shortly after I was born.”

  “Ah, I see the family resemblance.” Mrs. Anderson seemed ready to ask several more questions about their connection. Questions Emma did not relish answering.

  She looked at the clock on the wall. “I’m afraid we can’t wait until he returns. We’ll have to come back another time.”

  The woman slowly stood. “I�
��m sorry, I didn’t catch your names.”

  “Forgive our lack of manners.” Jonathan stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “I’m Jonathan Rowe, and this is Emma.”

  She shook his hand and then Emma’s. “A pleasure to meet you. I’ll be sure to tell the professor you came by.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” A feeling of dread rolled in Emma’s stomach. She should never have come in here. Now her father would think she was trying to cause problems at his workplace.

  “If you’re still here in July, you must attend the rally.” Mrs. Anderson lifted a piece of paper off her desk and handed it to Jonathan. “Professor Moore is already campaigning for the next election.” She chuckled. “He’s determined to become mayor one day.”

  Emma’s thoughts spun. What a perfect way to see her father in action and maybe get a chance to talk to him again. If he hadn’t contacted her before then, she would definitely be in attendance. Perhaps there would be other public events she could go to as well.

  “Thank you,” Jonathan said. “We’ll keep it in mind.” He tipped his hat, and with a hand to Emma’s back, ushered her firmly down the hall.

  Once they were outside, Emma let out a sigh of disappointment. “So much for seeing my father.”

  “You’re lucky Randall wasn’t there. He wouldn’t take well to being put in an awkward position at his workplace.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Emma turned onto the walkway. “Can I see that flyer?”

  Rather reluctantly it seemed, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She unfolded it and scanned the information.

  “‘The Great Debate. Friday, July 25th. 7 p.m. Come out and hear our own Professor Moore debate the Mayor of Toronto, His Worship Tommy Church. Freewill donations to the university and campaign contributions gratefully accepted.’”

  Jonathan shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not? It’s open to the public. Anyone can attend.”

  “Emma, if you insist on hounding the man, you could alienate him altogether. Besides, July is a long way off. Who knows where we’ll be by then?”