The Highest of Hopes

by Susan Anne Mason

  Emma’s mouth fell open. “What’s he doing here?”

  “Wainwright.” Will scowled.

  Emma tightened her grip on her napkin. “That fellow has some nerve. Coming to the ceremony is one thing. But this is a private function.” She jumped up from the table. Mr. Wainwright had gotten past her once. She wouldn’t allow him to do it again.

  “Emma, wait.”

  She evaded Jonathan’s hand and marched over to the reporter. “Mr. Wainwright. What are you doing here?”

  “Miss Moore. How nice to see you.”

  “This event is by invitation only, and I’m fairly certain you haven’t been granted one.”

  He gave her a look of cool regard as he set his satchel down on the floor. “Actually, I’m here to take photos of the graduate.”

  “On whose authority?” Emma couldn’t imagine her father hiring the man who was trying so hard to ruin his career, unless he’d adopted the ideology of keeping your enemies close.

  “Mrs. Moore herself. Sorry to disappoint you.” He gave her a cocky grin and removed the lens cap from his camera. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m on the clock.”

  Emma walked back to her table. “He says Vera hired him,” she told Will. “I don’t know if I believe him or not, but I suppose we’ll know soon enough.” Would her father throw the man out or would manners dictate that he go along with the ruse?

  Surprisingly, Randall shook Mr. Wainwright’s hand and gestured him toward Corinne. He didn’t appear the least bit distressed, which meant he must have sanctioned his wife’s decision to hire the man. Either that or he was an excellent actor.

  Emma, along with the rest of the group who still sipped their tea and coffee, watched the man take an assortment of photos—first just of Corinne, who posed like a true model, and then of the whole family together.

  Finally, he lowered his camera, then turned to look over his shoulder. Emma swore he stared right at her.

  “Are you certain you don’t want any other members of the family included in some of the pictures?” he asked in a voice loud enough to be heard at the back of the room.

  Emma’s heart stuttered in her chest. He wouldn’t—

  “You’ve got all the family right here, Mr. Wainwright.” Her father’s clipped response spoke to his dislike of the man.

  “But surely you’d want your lovely niece included?” He pointed toward the back of the room. “After all, she’s working in your office now, so you obviously think highly of the girl.”

  Heads turned in their direction. Emma wished she could slide under the table, especially at the furious look on Vera’s face.

  “I didn’t hire you to give opinions, Mr. Wainwright.” Vera’s shrill voice echoed in the suddenly quiet space. “If you’re done with us, you may leave.”

  Mr. Wainwright shrugged, seemingly unfazed by her reprimand. “As you wish, ma’am.” He snapped the cap back on the camera and bowed to Corinne. “Congratulations, Miss Moore. I hope you’ll be pleased with the photos. I’ll contact you when I have them ready.”

  In his cocky manner, he strutted past the tables toward the door, stopping to nod at Emma. “So sorry, Miss Moore. I wasn’t aware of the strained family dynamics. Until next time.” He tipped his hat at her, then sauntered out the door.

  Jonathan clenched his hands into fists and fought to keep from running after the arrogant oaf and decking him. Only because he didn’t wish to cause Emma any more discomfort did Jonathan force himself to remain seated.

  Emma sat frozen beside him, her cheeks ablaze. “Jonathan, would you mind taking me home, please? I’m suddenly feeling . . . indisposed.”

  “Of course. I’ll get your wrap.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Emma slid a small packet across the table. “Will, would you be so kind as to give this to Corinne? I’d like her to have it tonight.”

  “Certainly. I’ll pass on your good wishes as well.” Will picked up the box and tucked it in his jacket pocket. He gave her a sympathetic smile.

  “Thank you.” She rose from her chair. “I hope you’ll excuse me,” she said to the table at large. “It was lovely sharing the meal with you.” Her strained smile tore at Jonathan’s heartstrings.

  “Good evening, everyone,” he said. Then he took Emma’s arm and led her out of the room.

  They crossed the hall to the coat check and retrieved Emma’s wrap. He helped her put it on and proceeded farther down the carpeted corridor toward the bank of elevators.

  “That Wainwright chap better not be anywhere around,” he muttered under his breath. “Or I might be tempted to create a scene worthy of front-page news.”

  Emma shook her head. “He’s not worth the trouble. In his own slimy way, he’s just doing his job.”

  The elevator doors opened, and they stepped inside.

  “You’re much more forgiving than I am. He singled you out in front of everyone on purpose, just to get a reaction from Randall.”

  “And he got what he wanted,” she said. “He stirred the pot quite well.” Emma wiped the corners of her eyes with her gloved fingers. “I don’t know why I expected anything different. Just because my father invited me tonight doesn’t mean he wanted to announce my existence to the world.”

  When the door slid open, they walked out into the lobby of the grand hotel. Jonathan scanned the area to make sure the vile reporter wasn’t hiding in the wings, ready to jump out and take their photograph. But like a true snake, it seemed he had slithered away.

  Emma was uncommonly silent during the cab ride back to the boardinghouse. Jonathan searched for the appropriate words that might bring her comfort. Lord, help me say something to ease her pain.

  “I’m so sorry, Em. I know you had high hopes for tonight. I wish your father could appreciate the gift he’s been given to have a daughter like you.”

  “It’s all right, Jonathan. We don’t know what type of pressure he’s dealing with at home. I can’t expect him to jeopardize his marriage and his relationship with his other children—not to mention his career—for a stranger he’s just met.” She turned to look at him. The sadness in her eyes made his throat ache.

  “No, it’s not all right. Doesn’t he realize what he’s doing to you?” Especially after Jonathan had made it abundantly clear to the man how much was riding on his acceptance of Emma. He blew out a harsh breath, then deliberately softened his features. “You say the word and we can take the next ship back to England and forget all about Randall Moore and his pretentious life.” He wanted nothing more than to take Emma back home where no unfeeling father could hurt her again.

  She stiffened on the seat beside him. “I don’t want to forget about him. He’s my father.” Her voice quavered, and Jonathan mentally berated himself for succumbing to a moment of weakness. “I’ll just have to be patient a while longer. He’ll come around. Eventually.”

  He took one of her hands in his. “You’re remarkable, you know that? I’ve never met anyone braver than you.”

  “I’m not brave. Simply stubborn.”

  He held her gaze. “Emma, no matter what happens with your father, please remember that you’ll always have me in your corner.”

  “I know that, Jon. And I thank God for you every day. You’ve been my lifeline since I lost Grandad. I wish—” She clamped her lips together.

  “You wish what?” he prompted gently.

  She shook her head. “Never mind. Just know that I appreciate you more than you can imagine.”

  In the cocoon of the back seat, with her hand warm in his, he’d never loved her more. His heart beat an unsteady rhythm in his chest. If he moved just a few inches closer, their lips would touch. Would she welcome his embrace or push him away, as Will had done with Corinne?

  Before he could act, the cab drew to a halt in front of the boardinghouse.

  “One dollar and twenty-five cents, please,” the driver announced.

  Emma slid out of the back seat. By the time Jonathan had paid the man, she was standing just i
nside the front door, where she waved to him. “Good night, Jonathan. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  Biting back another flood of frustration, he waved back. “Sweet dreams, Em.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, lowered his head, and made his way around back to the garage, ruing another missed opportunity.

  Randall Moore wasn’t the only one not brave enough to claim Emma.

  Would Jonathan ever gain the courage to bare his heart to her, no matter the consequences?

  Time was running out for him to decide.

  CHAPTER 17

  Corinne stretched luxuriously in her bed and hummed to herself, remembering the wonderful events of the previous day. Her graduation from high school. The ceremony at the Academy and the grand party afterward.

  It was everything she’d hoped for—except that she’d had no time alone with Will. In fact, she’d barely gotten to say hello or acknowledge the gifts he’d brought. One had been from Emmaline, which Corinne had pointedly ignored, gushing instead over Will’s present: a new edition of the Oxford dictionary, inscribed Affectionately yours, Will.

  Corinne glanced at her dresser, where the book sat beside the unopened box from Emmaline. Why had Papa even invited her? Didn’t he realize that Corinne wouldn’t want her there? At least he had the good sense to seat her at the farthest table, where she wouldn’t interfere. That is, until that horrid photographer had pointed her out. Why did Mama hire him to take the pictures? Surely there were more qualified professionals she could have engaged. Knowing Mama, there was another reason why she chose him, though Corinne couldn’t begin to fathom her mother’s motives.

  Fifteen minutes later, she headed down for breakfast, amazed to find her father at the dining table. The delicious aroma of pancakes and maple syrup filled the room.

  “Good morning, Papa. What are you doing still home?” Even though it was Saturday, he usually went in to work for several hours.

  He laid aside the newspaper and smiled at her. “I wanted to spend some time with my daughter. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  Her father took the day off work to be with her? Excitement filtered through her chest. “Really, Papa? I’m so glad. What shall we do?”

  “I thought we’d take a little drive around the city, then I’ll treat you to an early dinner at Chez Marie’s.”

  “That sounds wonderful.” She took a seat and pulled a napkin across her lap. A maid appeared with the platter of pancakes and placed some onto Corinne’s plate.

  Papa cleared his throat. “Tell me, Corinne, do you still enjoy painting?”

  “I haven’t done much lately, but yes. Now that I have more time, I’d like to start sketching again.”

  “Wonderful. Then perhaps we should visit the museum today. I hear they have an amazing Impressionist exhibit on display right now.”

  “That sounds perfect.” She leaned to one side while the maid filled her juice glass. “Thank you, Ellen.”

  Papa poured himself another cup of coffee, the rich aroma wafting over to her. “After that, perhaps we can drop in to the English department at the university. Collect some brochures and see what courses are available.”

  Corinne set her fork down with a clunk. “I thought I made myself clear. I have no desire to attend university.” She reached for the teapot, annoyed to find her hands unsteady.

  “If English isn’t to your liking, I’m sure we can find something more suitable. Perhaps some courses in fine art?”

  “No.”

  Papa’s brows thundered together. “Then what do you plan to do with your time? You’re far too intelligent to just sit around this house all day long.”

  “I intend to enjoy the summer, and in the fall I will join Mama with her charity work. She can always use the help.” She glanced up at her father. “I also thought I could assist Will with your campaign. I think we’d make a great team.” If she couldn’t work with Will at the university, then this was her next best option. She hoped Papa would be thrilled with her interest in his political career.

  However, his mouth pulled down at the edges, and he released a slow breath. “I don’t know, Corinne.”

  “Papa, what on earth would I do with an English degree? Join Mr. Wainwright at the newspaper?” She gave a light laugh to cover her discomfort and smiled brightly, her tried and true method of getting her way with her father.

  Sure enough, he shook his head and chuckled. “I guess you have a point. But my darling girl, you have so much potential. I want you to do something great with your life. Please promise you’ll give the matter some serious thought.”

  “That’s one thing I can do.” She smiled again and took a quick sip of tea to hide the gleam in her eye.

  Little did he know that she’d given her future a great deal of consideration and had come to one unavoidable conclusion: The only thing she planned to accomplish was becoming Mrs. William Munroe.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to spend more time with you yesterday, Emma.” Marianne maneuvered her chair farther back into the hospital elevator car while Emma pushed the button for the third floor. “I wish you were at our table. Then we could have talked all night.”

  As the elevator jerked into motion, Emma banished her disappointment from the evening before and forced a smile. “It’s a good thing that we have all day together today then. I was so happy when you asked me to come to your therapy session.”

  The girl’s invitation had indeed lifted Emma’s spirits considerably. She’d been in her room, attempting to write in her journal. Wallowing in her disappointment, Emma could barely put pen to paper, and instead had spent most of the morning staring out her bedroom window. She’d even briefly considered taking Jonathan’s advice and booking a ticket back to England. After all, if her father was never going to accept her in his life, what was the point in staying where she wasn’t wanted?

  Two things stopped her. First, the idea of disappointing Marianne. And second, the subtle and disconcerting shift in her relationship with Jonathan. On two separate occasions now, she’d sensed he’d been about to kiss her. The jumble of emotions that had rioted through her both times had left her shaken and unsure of where their relationship stood.

  Jonathan had always been her best friend, her honorary brother.

  Then why did his nearness scramble her pulse lately? Make her palms sweat and her breathing shaky?

  Now that she thought back, there’d been a change in Jonathan’s reaction to her ever since he returned from the war. Heat warmed her cheeks as she recalled the embrace he’d given her upon their reunion at the train station, the way he’d held on to her as though she contained the very air that sustained him. He’d actually wept, which had rattled her, but Emma had simply put it down to the effects of surviving the atrocities of war. Could it have been more? And if so, how did she feel about that?

  Her heart fluttered at the thought.

  Until she had time to sort through her feelings, she could not commit to going back to England with him.

  “Emma?” Marianne’s voice broke through Emma’s confused thoughts. “The elevator has stopped.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Emma grasped the handles of the wheelchair and steered Marianne into the hospital corridor. “Which way?”

  “To the right. Follow the signs to the physical therapy room.”

  A few minutes later, they entered the designated area, and Emma was immediately fascinated with the array of equipment. When she glanced down at Marianne, however, the girl’s face had drained of color, and she clutched the arms of her chair with white-knuckled anticipation.

  “Are you nervous?” Emma asked softly.

  Marianne shook her head. “I just don’t like the exercises they make me do. They’re painful.”

  Emma bent down to eye level. “I always find a reward helps me endure something unpleasant. How about we go for an ice cream sundae when you’re finished?”

  “With whipped cream and cherries on top?” The spark of life in her sister’s eyes brought a smile to Em
ma’s lips.

  “Absolutely.”

  “And don’t forget the nuts,” a male voice said. “Sundaes aren’t complete without crushed walnuts.”

  Emma straightened quickly to see a tall, handsome man dressed in a white coat enter the room, his gray eyes twinkling. He didn’t appear much older than Emma, yet he must be to have finished medical school.

  “Hello. I’m Dr. Hancock, Marianne’s therapist.” He held out a hand to Emma.

  “Emmaline Moore, Marianne’s . . . cousin.” She shook his hand.

  “And where is Mrs. Moore today?”

  “She had an emergency board meeting to attend,” Marianne said. “I asked if Emma could take me today, and Mama said it would be all right.”

  Dr. Hancock turned his smile on Emma. “I’m very glad she did.” He pointed to a chair on the far wall. “You may have a seat over there while I get started with Marianne.”

  “I’d like to observe a little closer, if I won’t be in your way,” Emma said. “I thought that maybe I could learn some of the simpler exercises so I could practice with Marianne at home.”

  “Do you live with the family?”

  “No,” she replied quickly. “But I could come over several times a week and work with her, unless that would be stepping on anyone’s toes.” She looked at Marianne. “Does your mother like to help you with that?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, Mama doesn’t like to do anything physical. Sometimes Papa makes me do exercises, but only when he’s not working or out at meetings.”

  “What about Corinne?”

  “Heavens no.” Marianne giggled. “She doesn’t even like coming here with me.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” The doctor grinned. “For a while I thought it was me she was trying to avoid.” He wheeled Marianne’s chair over to a set of parallel bars and a bench with some weights. “Let’s get your muscles warmed up first.”

  The doctor elevated the girl’s legs onto the bench. Then he opened the lid of a metal box, reached inside with a pair of tongs, and lifted out a towel. “We use heated towels to relax and loosen the muscles before we begin,” he explained to Emma. He folded one towel and laid it across the length of one leg, then repeated the procedure with a second towel. “Now we wait five minutes for the heat to do its work.” He winked at Marianne.