The Highest of Hopes

by Susan Anne Mason

  Doris threw the rag down. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”

  Emma’s mind swirled. Only one person came to mind. Well, two really, but she doubted Vera would stoop so low. It was entirely possible, however, that her daughter might.

  “Good morning, ladies.” Will entered the office whistling to himself.

  Emma rose from her chair and followed him to his desk. “Good morning, Will.” She attempted to keep her voice even. “Do you know if anyone was in the office either last night or on Saturday?”

  He removed his cap and put it on the coat hook. “I was here on Saturday. Around dinner time. Why?”

  “Did you see anyone lurking about?”

  “Lurking?” He frowned. “No. Why? Is something wrong?”

  Emma inhaled and lifted her chin. “Someone spilled a whole bottle of ink in my top drawer.”

  For a split second, Will’s eyes widened, then he looked away, busying himself with his satchel. “Why would anyone do that? I’m sure it must have just tipped somehow.”

  “Was anyone else in the office, Will?”

  He pressed his lips together. “I only came back for a minute to get my bag. I didn’t see anyone in here.”

  Emma studied the streaks of red across his cheeks. He was lying to her, she was certain. But why? Surely he wouldn’t have done such a thing. Would he?

  The professor’s door opened, and a scowling Randall poked his head out. “Is anyone here planning on working today?”

  Will plopped into his chair, still not meeting Emma’s eyes.

  Emma hurried back to her desk. “Good morning, Professor,” she said. “Is there something you need?”

  Randall turned piercing blue eyes on her. “As a matter of fact, yes. I need those minutes from the board meeting. Have you finished them yet?” His irritated tone indicated that he thought she’d taken more than enough time already.

  Her stomach sank. There was no escaping this now. “Unfortunately, there’s been a slight accident.”

  His dark brows crashed down. All noise in the office seemed to cease.

  “A bottle of ink spilled in the drawer.” She lifted the trash can. “Everything was ruined.”

  He stared at the pile of ink-stained pages. “How could a bottle of ink spill on its own?”

  “I have no idea. When I left on Friday, it was on my desktop. I don’t know if one of the cleaners put it away or how it got in my drawer.”

  “The cleaners usually come in on Friday night,” Doris said with an rueful glance at Emma. “But they never remove anything left out on the desk.”

  “Then I have no explanation for how this could have happened.” Emma gave a miserable shrug.

  Randall moved into the outer office. “Will, you were here on Saturday. Did you see anything out of the ordinary?”

  “No, sir. Everything was fine when I was here.” Will’s voice was tight, and he barely looked up from his desk.

  Randall’s lips pinched until they were white. “I suppose the handwritten minutes were ruined as well?”

  Emma nodded.

  He blew out a loud breath. “Excuse me while I make some unpleasant phone calls.” The door slammed behind him.

  Emma sank onto her chair, any hope of impressing her father with her abilities now darker than the inky mess in her trash bin.

  Randall replaced the receiver on the telephone and rubbed his temples. The board members were understandably upset that the minutes of their last meeting were ruined. The head of the faculty told him he’d call around to see if anyone else had taken notes. If they were lucky, they might get a rough outline of the topics discussed—enough for his secretary to transcribe, which is what Randall should have requested to begin with. The board usually took turns having the different faculty staff prepare the minutes. Randall should have been up-front about Emma’s abilities and not given her something so challenging until she’d gained more experience or at least completed some secretarial courses.

  He shoved away from the desk to look out the window at the grounds below. This was not the way he’d wanted the day to begin. His head already hurt from another argument he’d had with his wife that morning over hiring that good-for-nothing Wainwright to take pictures at the graduation. Randall had almost lost his cool when the man had walked into the room at the hotel. But Vera claimed that it was an effort to get on the man’s good side, to garner favor in the hopes of getting him to cease his efforts to discredit Randall.

  Sometimes his wife overestimated the power of money to get her own way.

  Randall stared out at the peaceful scene below. Students walking across campus to their classes. Some reading on the benches beneath the trees. All so serene, while up here, Randall was gripped by unrest. He hated what he had to do next, but there was really no other choice.

  He crossed to the door and peered out at Emma, who was trying to clean her drawer. “Emmaline. May I have a word, please?”

  She lifted her head, misery swirling in her eyes.

  He knew just how she felt.

  He went back to his desk to wait for her. A few seconds later, she entered, notebook in hand, and took a seat across from him.

  “I’m terribly sorry about the ink,” she said immediately. “I don’t know what could have happened.”

  Randall forced a smile. “I’m certain you never intended any harm.”

  “Of course not. I want to help you, not cause more problems. Yet that’s all I seem to do.” She lowered her head to gaze at the notebook on her lap.

  “It’s not your fault.” He inhaled and then slowly let out his breath. “Do you remember the deal we made when I agreed to let you work here? That if either one of us found the situation . . . unsatisfactory, we’d be honest with the other?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m afraid that time has come.” He straightened in his seat. “This arrangement isn’t working, Emma, and not just because of the ink spill. You have many good qualities, but not ones suited to being a secretary.”

  Her shoulders slumped. She looked so defeated that he had to bite his tongue to keep from rescinding her termination. But common sense told him this was the best thing for both of them.

  Perhaps he could salvage the situation somewhat by helping her figure out her next move. “Emma, what is it you envision for your future?” he asked as gently as he could.

  She sniffed and took a handkerchief from her sleeve. “I-I don’t know. I’ve never really allowed myself to think about it. I always assumed I’d be working with Grandad until the day I got married. Maybe even after that, if my husband didn’t mind.”

  Randall studied her. On one hand, Emma was feisty and independent, yet in some ways she’d lived too sheltered a life. Why hadn’t the Bartletts encouraged her to dream big, to spread her wings and leave that tiny town?

  “Did you ever consider going to college?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Grandad depended on me to help run the shop. I never could have left him.”

  “All right. Let’s look at this another way. If money were no object and there was nothing to stop you from doing what you wanted, what would you choose?”

  She raised her eyes to him and blinked. “I suppose I’d be a bookkeeper. I love working with numbers.”

  “There. That wasn’t so hard.” Randall smiled. “You might consider taking a few accounting courses. That, combined with your previous experience, would put you in an excellent position to find a job.”

  “I suppose.” Emma bit her lip, obviously still not convinced.

  “Sometimes we have to be open to the different turns our lives can take,” Randall said gently. “For instance, when I finished law school, I expected to become a top-notch attorney. Imagine my surprise when I found teaching made me the happiest.” He picked up the letter opener with The City of Toronto engraved on the handle. “Of course, my interest in politics came later on, after I understood how local government worked and garnered some ideas as to how to improve conditions in the city.�
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  “I’m sure you’ll become mayor one day.” Emma gave a tremulous smile.

  “Enough about me. We’re trying to figure out your next step.” He tapped the blotter.

  Emma tilted her head, a new spark of interest in her eyes. “I do have one thing I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “Why does that make me nervous?”

  She laughed. “Jonathan always says the same thing. I hope you’ll think my idea has merit.” She fiddled with the notebook on her lap. “Marianne’s doctor showed me some of the simpler exercises he uses and suggested I work with her at home, which I am more than happy to do. He believes the extra practice will strengthen her muscles faster and might even lead to her being able to walk with braces. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  “It certainly would.” The very thought of his little girl being able to walk at all made Randall’s throat tighten.

  Emma leaned forward on the chair. “Would you speak to Vera and see if she’d allow me to work with Marianne at the house?”

  Instant tension radiated down Randall’s spine. Doing battle with Vera was not something he enjoyed. In fact, he mostly deferred to his wife, simply because it was easier than fighting. They’d already had numerous arguments over Marianne’s treatment, and each time he’d given in. Could he really bring up the issue again, this time with Emma in the mix? Yet how could he not try if it meant a chance to help Marianne?

  “Very well. I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not promising anything. Vera has set ideas about Marianne and her treatment. It took a lot to get her to concede to the therapy Marianne is presently receiving.”

  “That leads me to another question.” Emma paused. “Why does the doctor seem to feel that Vera doesn’t want Marianne to improve?”

  Randall froze. “He told you that?” If so, the man was more astute than Randall gave him credit for, though the doctor wasn’t entirely aware of Vera’s motives and shouldn’t be putting ideas in Emma’s head.

  “He implied as much, yes.”

  “It’s not that she doesn’t want Marianne to walk again,” he said carefully. “It’s more a fear of pushing her too far and causing a relapse. After almost losing her to that dreaded disease, we have become somewhat overprotective.”

  “But Marianne is older now. Shouldn’t she have some say in the matter?”

  “You have a point.” He studied Emma, amazed at her resilience for someone who had just lost her job. His daughter had a lot of fine qualities. If only Vera could come to see Emma as he did. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The first true smile bloomed on Emma’s lovely face. “Thank you. It means a lot to me.”

  Randall nodded. Maybe Emma’s devotion to Marianne would be the key to unlocking his wife’s hardened heart. Then he’d only have Corinne to worry about.

  “Did you spill ink in Emma’s desk the other day?” Will’s question extinguished Corinne’s excitement faster than a snuff to a candle.

  She’d been thrilled to learn that he’d come over to the house on his lunch break, certain that he meant to ask her out on a real date. Every moment spent with Will on Saturday was etched with startling clarity in her mind. And even though he’d said he couldn’t court her, the longing in his eyes told her he wanted to do just that. One way or another, Corinne was determined to change his mind.

  But now, seated on the sofa in her living room, Corinne’s palms grew damp. “Wh-what did you say?”

  “You heard me,” he said quietly. “Emma swears she left the bottle of ink on top of her desk. When she came in this morning, it had been spilled in her drawer.”

  Corinne dropped her gaze to the floor, clasping her hands together in her lap. How could she get out of this without lying to him?

  “It ruined several valuable documents,” he continued. “Ones that were very important to your father, and it got Emma in a whole pile of trouble.”

  Sudden outrage shot through Corinne’s system. Why was he taking Emma’s side over hers? She jumped to her feet. “If they were so important, she should have put them somewhere safer than a desk drawer. She’s probably just trying to save face for ruining them.”

  Will stepped toward her, close enough for her to see the golden flecks in his eyes. “You were standing by her desk on Saturday. Did you perhaps knock the bottle over accidentally?” A frown furrowed his brow, but his eyes shone with sincerity. Was he trying to give her a plausible way to explain her actions?

  A horrifying thought hit her. “You didn’t tell my father I was there, did you?”

  “Of course not. I wanted to talk to you first to find out the real story.”

  She bit her bottom lip and wrung her hands together, pacing away from him. Will was too honorable to lie to her father. He would eventually tell him of her presence at the office last night, and Papa would know what she’d done. How was she going to get out of this one?

  The back of her throat burned. She stopped pacing and faced him. “Oh, Will. Something just came over me, and before I knew it, the ink was everywhere.” Tears bloomed in her eyes, blurring his features.

  With a sigh, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. “Please don’t cry, Corinne. It’s going to be all right.”

  The tension eased from her muscles. He didn’t hate her. He understood. She pressed her face into the wool of his jacket, drinking in the comfort of his embrace. The scent of his sandalwood soap mixed with a hint of smoke. “I’m sorry, Will. It was a foolish thing to do.”

  He rubbed a hand over her back in a soothing motion. “Everyone makes mistakes,” he said in a gentle voice. “I’m sure if you explain it to your father—”

  Tell Papa?

  She jerked out of his arms. “Absolutely not. Will, you have to promise me you won’t tell him. Please. Our relationship is finally getting better. If he thinks I did something to hurt Emma, it would ruin everything.”

  Will’s shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes, let out a long breath, and then opened them. A mixture of sympathy and distress shone in their depths. “I’m pretty sure your father fired Emma this morning. Are you really going to let her take the blame and lose her job over something you did?”

  Her lips trembled to match her shaking legs. She tried to answer but couldn’t form the words. Did Will care about Emma more than her?

  When he looked at her, the disappointment radiating from his eyes nearly stole her breath. “I’ve always admired your spirit, Corinne, but I never thought you’d be deliberately cruel to another person. And Emma is your sister.” He shook his head. “I have to get back to work. I’ll see myself out.”

  He picked up his hat and walked out the door, never once glancing back.

  She rushed after him into the hall. “Wait, what are you going to tell my father?”

  But it was too late. He’d already left the house.

  Corinne walked back to the parlor and sank onto the sofa, a hand over her stomach.

  What had she done?

  She’d wanted to get rid of Emma, but instead she’d effectively destroyed any feelings Will might have had for her. What was she going to do now? Could she salvage the situation without earning her father’s wrath?

  “You might as well be good, Corinne. Your sins will always come back to haunt you.” Papa’s words rang in her ears.

  He was right.

  This was one sin that surely would haunt her forever—especially if it cost her Will.

  CHAPTER 20

  “I don’t know about you, but I had a rather interesting day.” Emma leaned against the fence by the garden where Jonathan was digging up weeds. “I lost my job at the university.”

  For some reason, she wasn’t nearly as upset as she’d expected to be over that occurrence. The one thing that did bother her was that someone might have purposely set her up to look bad in her father’s eyes.

  Jonathan’s head jerked up. “What did you say?”

  “My father sacked me.”

  “Oh, Em. I’m sorry.” He brushed the dirt off
his hands and straightened. “What happened?”

  “A bottle of ink spilled in my desk and ruined some important documents. I have no idea how that bottle ended up in my drawer.” She blew a curl off her forehead. “But I can’t really blame Randall for firing me.”

  “Are you kidding? An accident is hardly grounds for dismissal.”

  She sighed. “The truth is I’m a terrible secretary. It takes me at least three tries to get one letter typed. And I can barely take dictation.”

  “He didn’t give you very long to learn the ropes.” Jonathan swiped the dust from his trousers. “What are you going to do now?”

  She paused, recalling the conversation with her father. Despite the fact that he’d let her go, it hadn’t ruined their relationship. “I’m hoping to work with Marianne to do physical therapy at home, if Randall can convince Vera to allow it.”

  “That’s not what I meant. How will you make money? If you’re going to stay in Canada, you’ll have to earn a living.”

  “I’m not sure.” She tilted her head, and the sun blazed into her eyes. “But I have an idea for a campaign project that might keep me busy, if Randall agrees. I haven’t shared it with him yet. I didn’t want to overwhelm him all at once.”

  Jonathan scratched his forehead, leaving a smear of dirt. “You surprise me, Emma. I would have thought you’d be devastated by this.”

  She shaded her eyes with her hand. “To tell the truth, I’m a little relieved. And after my father sacked me, we had a rather good chat. Discussed possibilities for the future. I think he felt bad for having to let me go.”

  “That’s something, at least.” He walked over to stand near her at the fence. He smelled of fresh earth and sunshine. Her gaze fell on his physique, so much fuller now after a few weeks of Mrs. Teeter’s good cooking. His forearms and face were tanned from his hours spent in the garden. He radiated good health and . . . masculinity.