The Highest of Hopes

by Susan Anne Mason

  Pain exploded in his left cheek, the force of the blow knocking his head to one side. Wainwright pounced on him, fists flying. Jonathan deflected the shots as best he could, but several found their mark. On a last surge of energy, he threw the man off him and their roles reversed. Through a haze of red, Jonathan pummeled the rat until someone again attempted to haul him off from behind.

  A crowd had formed around them. Jonathan struggled against whoever had a hold of him, swiping his sleeve across his bleeding mouth. One of his eyes had already started to swell shut. His breath came in ragged gasps, and beads of sweat dripped off his face.

  Wainwright rolled over on the ground and groaned. Someone came to help him sit up. His fingers grappled for the strap of his camera, and he looked down in disbelief. “You broke my camera, you heathen.” He pointed at Jonathan. “You’re going to pay for this.” He stumbled to his feet and staggered away.

  Pain radiated through Jonathan’s skull, but all he could think about was Emma.

  He needed to go to her. Comfort her. Make sure she was all right. He stumbled toward her. Tears stood out in her blue eyes, and her lip was swollen.

  “You knew how important this day was, and this is how you behave?” she cried, her trembling fingers hovering over her injured mouth. “How could you do this to me?”

  “Someone had to teach that bloke a lesson.” He blinked his one good eye, the anger draining as he realized in horror that he was the one who’d struck her. “I’m sorry, Em. I didn’t know it was you. You know I’d never deliberately hurt you.”

  She shook her head, disgust evident in her eyes as she walked away.

  “Emma, wait!”

  Behind him, a hand gripped his shoulder. “Let her go, pal,” Reggie said. “She’s too angry right now.”

  Jonathan watched Emma push her way through the crowds that were now starting to disperse. A groan ripped through him. He’d just ruined everything Emma had worked so hard to achieve—and hurt her physically in the process. Would she ever speak to him again?

  “Come on.” Reggie nudged him. “Let’s go get that face looked after.”

  “He’s not going anywhere except down to the police station.”

  Jonathan’s stomach sank as he turned to see a burly constable standing behind them with a smug-looking Wainwright at his side.

  The constable tapped a baton against his palm, his eyes hard. “You’re under arrest for assault and battery.”

  CHAPTER 24

  The next morning, after tossing and turning all night, Emma dragged herself down to the dining room. Her jaw still throbbed from the blow of Jonathan’s elbow when he’d pushed her off him. After several applications of ice, the swelling of her lip had receded, but nothing could banish the ache in her heart.

  Mrs. C. sat at the table, as though waiting for her. “Good morning, dear. How are you feeling today?”

  “Exhausted.” Emma reached for the coffeepot and poured a mugful. Tea would not do this morning. “I didn’t get much sleep.”

  “No doubt. I’m so sorry how it turned out yesterday.” Mrs. C. rose from the table and put her cup and saucer on the sideboard. “I do hope you won’t let that unfortunate episode ruin all the good that happened. Reverend Burke and I had a wonderful time, as did everyone else who attended. Especially the children.”

  Emma tried hard to hold on to that fact and remember the joy on the children’s faces. But the cloud would not lift from her soul.

  “That’s kind of you to say. Unfortunately, the only thing everyone will remember now is the brawl.” Emma sipped the bitter brew, not even bothering to doctor it with milk and sugar. “Speaking of which, has the morning paper arrived?”

  Mrs. C. looked away, busying herself with a platter of eggs. “I don’t think so.”

  Emma frowned. “You needn’t bother to hide it. I can walk down to the next street and buy one.”

  The woman released a long breath. “Very well, but it will only ruin your mood.”

  “It can’t get much worse.” Emma held out her hand.

  Mrs. C. opened the top drawer in the sideboard and removed a folded newspaper.

  Bracing herself, Emma opened it to the front page and just stared. Never had she imagined seeing herself on the front page, especially not in such an unflattering manner. The picture had captured her right after Jonathan had shoved her. Emma’s face was contorted in an ugly grimace, and Jonathan’s wild eyes gave him a deranged appearance. His face was twisted with anger, his fist raised. Underneath, a smaller photo showed Randall’s horrified reaction.

  The headline, however, was worse. Family Drama Ruins Event for Mayoral Candidate Moore. In smaller letters underneath, it read, Niece Assaulted in the Fray as Her Lover Attacks Member of the Press.

  Emma’s mouth fell open. Lover? That made her sound like some sort of harlot. And it made Jonathan sound like a jealous fool. She skimmed the article, which indeed made it seem that the men had been fighting over her in a romantic skirmish.

  Emma laid the paper down. “You were right. It’s worse than I imagined.” She put her head in her hands with a groan. What must her father think of her now? She’d been so ashamed when the police had hauled Jonathan away, but to have the whole sordid ordeal splashed on the front page of the paper was enough to send her scurrying to her room.

  “Did Jonathan spend the night in jail?” her landlady asked. “Mrs. Teeter was watching for him but said she didn’t see him come home.”

  “I don’t know.” Emma sighed, attempting to push away the niggle of guilt.

  “You didn’t go to see him? Or call the station at least?” Mrs. C. looked appalled.

  “After what he did?” Emma still couldn’t believe he’d struck her. Granted, he hadn’t realized it was her, but that didn’t excuse his boorish behavior. She lifted her chin. “His friend Reggie said he’d go. I’m sure he took care of him.”

  “That poor boy. You know he’d never hurt you on purpose.”

  “Poor boy?” Emma stabbed a finger at the newspaper. “He made me look like a fool in front of all those people. And he ruined the day for my father.”

  Mrs. C. set her cup on the table. “When everything settles down, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive him. Remember what Jesus said: ‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone.’”

  Emma pressed her lips together, her indignation slowly fading. She’d been guilty of allowing her temper to get the best of her in the past, and she knew that if their positions were reversed, Jonathan wouldn’t hesitate to forgive her—he’d done it often enough over the years. She released a sigh. Even though she wasn’t ready to let go of her outrage just yet, she ought to at least make sure he was all right. She’d go down to the police station as soon as she finished her breakfast.

  A loud knock sounded.

  “Goodness, who can that be?” Mrs. C. bustled off to answer the door.

  Emma listened from the dining room, certain it must be Jonathan come to make amends. She rubbed her aching jaw. Was she ready to accept his apology?

  “I don’t think Miss Moore cares to speak with you,” Mrs. C. said in a loud voice.

  Emma frowned. She couldn’t believe her landlady would turn Jonathan away.

  Mrs. C. appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Wainwright is asking to see you.”

  Hot tingles coursed through Emma’s system. Of all the nerve for him to come here.

  “I wouldn’t have let him in, but he says it’s about Jonathan.” Her landlady gave her a serious look.

  “Fine. But stay close by, Mrs. C., in case we need to call the police again.” Emma swept down the hall to the parlor.

  Giles Wainwright stood with his back to her, staring out the window.

  Emma paused to gain a foothold on her already raw emotions, then entered the room.

  “I don’t know what you could possibly have to say to me,” Emma said.

  He turned around, and Emma fought a gasp. Dark purple bruises marred his jaw and cheek. One eye was swollen
, ringed in red.

  “I came to apologize for my part in the fiasco yesterday,” he said quietly. “It was never my intention to ruin the day.” He seemed sincere, but Emma didn’t quite trust him.

  “Yet you’re determined to ruin the professor’s reputation. A bigger man would have reported on the benefit of the day for the community, not run gossip on the front page.”

  He stared at her, and it reminded her of when she’d caught a glimpse of him before her father’s speech began, when he appeared to have removed the mask he always wore. “It was my editor’s decision, not mine. You probably won’t believe me, but I tried to make him change the headline and the picture. He wouldn’t listen.”

  “You’re right. I don’t believe you.” She walked to the middle of the room, her arms folded in front of her. “My landlady said you wanted to talk about Jonathan.”

  His features hardened. “Right. I have a proposition for you.” He paused. “I’ll drop the charges against Mr. Rowe for doing this”—he pointed to his face—“and for ruining my best camera if you will do something for me.”

  Goose bumps erupted on Emma’s arms. She wished she could refuse outright, but she had to at least see what this rat wanted. “Such as?”

  “Grant me an interview and give me the honest story about your relationship to Professor Moore.”

  Not this again. “You already know everything. There’s nothing more to tell.” She turned her head and went to move away.

  In a flash, he was in front of her, so close she could smell the coffee on his breath. “We both know that’s not true, Emmaline. I will uncover the truth, and when I do, you’ll be sorry you didn’t accept my offer to tell it your way.”

  Emma tore her gaze from his and stalked to the fireplace, indecision eating at her. What if she granted his request? She could slant the facts of the story in her father’s favor, make him look like a martyr, a man who’d lost his true love and gave up his child in order for her to have a better life. How could that hurt his image?

  Perhaps she could finally tell the truth, and by doing so, help Jonathan go free. Even though she was still incredibly angry, she wouldn’t want to see him in trouble with the law.

  Emma bit her lip, her stomach clenching. But could she really trust Wainwright not to distort the facts to make her father look bad? She turned around, praying she was doing the right thing. “I’m afraid I can’t agree to your terms, Mr. Wainwright.”

  He came closer and reached out a finger to touch one of Emma’s curls. “That’s too bad, Miss Moore. I guess your boyfriend will have to suffer the consequences.”

  She sucked in a breath, ready to argue, but realized it would be a waste of her breath.

  Wainwright dropped his hand and moved swiftly to the door. “Have a pleasant day.” Then with a tip of his cap and a return of that smug smile, he was gone.

  Emma lowered herself to the closest chair, her legs suddenly weak. Should she have sacrificed her father’s image to save Jonathan? What was the punishment for assault? Would Jonathan go to jail? Maybe she hadn’t fully thought through this decision.

  She could ask her father. If anyone would know what type of punishment Jonathan might be facing, Randall would. However, the thought of going to speak with her father, of seeing the disappointment shadowing his eyes after recently gaining his approval, was almost too much to bear.

  But she couldn’t sit by and do nothing. No matter how convoluted her feelings were toward Jonathan, he didn’t deserve that. If she found out he was still in jail, she’d swallow her pride and ask Randall for help.

  Jonathan spent the night on Reggie’s sofa, ice packs on his eye and jaw. After being surrounded by drunkards for several hours in a jail cell, Jonathan had finally been released once Reggie paid his bail.

  Another debt Jonathan would need to repay. At this rate, his tuition fund would be nonexistent by the time he got back to England.

  Plus, the constable had made it clear that Jonathan would be expected to reimburse Wainwright for the cost of a new camera. Jonathan groaned. Why hadn’t he kept his fists to himself? Fighting with Wainwright hadn’t solved anything. In fact, it had only made everything much worse.

  “You doing all right, pal?”

  Jonathan opened his good eye to see Reggie staring down at him.

  “You need some aspirin? More ice?”

  “I’m fine. But I wouldn’t turn down a cup of strong coffee.”

  Reggie grinned. “Coming right up.”

  When Reggie crutched off to the kitchen, Jonathan pulled himself to a sitting position, the movement making his face pound. Ice might be a good idea. Maybe he’d just dunk his whole head in a bucketful.

  He rose from the sofa and crossed the cramped living area to the warped mirror hanging near the door of the apartment. Reggie must have gotten all his parents’ hand-me-downs for this place. Either that or he shopped at a secondhand store. The sofa had definitely seen better days, and the coffee table had more dents and scrapes than Jonathan’s face. However, Jonathan was grateful that his friend had recently moved into his own flat, since it would have been doubly embarrassing to have to impose on Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth in this condition.

  He peered at himself in the glass and groaned. With his hair sticking up at odd angles and bags under his eyes, he could scare small children. But that was nothing compared to the purple bruising on his cheek and eye. The swelling had at least gone down, though he couldn’t quite open his eye. No wonder the drunkards in the cell had left him alone. He looked like a demented prizefighter.

  All things considered, it was probably good that Emma hadn’t come to see him at the police station. Looking this rough certainly wouldn’t have helped his cause.

  In reality, however, Jonathan’s heart felt more battered than his face. He’d prayed that Emma would realize he’d only been trying to protect her from that blackguard, that he never intended to hurt her. He’d imagined her being so distraught over learning of his arrest that she’d rush over to the station and demand to see him. He imagined her pressing her face against the metal bars, tears in her eyes, telling him she forgave him.

  Maybe even admitting she loved him.

  He snorted. Right. There he went deluding himself again.

  Face it, mate. She doesn’t love you the way you love her. And she never will.

  He touched a finger to his cheek and winced. A half-mad derelict stared back at him. Was this the sort of man he’d become? Someone driven by enough jealousy and frustration to perpetrate physical violence?

  He blew out a long breath and turned away, too disgusted to look at himself any longer.

  “Coffee’s here.” Reggie’s cheerful voice didn’t help Jonathan’s foul mood. “And I brought you some aspirin in case you changed your mind.”

  Jonathan went over to take the cup from him. “Thanks.”

  Reggie lowered himself onto a chair, then pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket and set it on the table. “Any word from Emma?”

  Jonathan’s chest squeezed. “No.”

  “Aw, she’ll come around. She just needs time to cool off.”

  “I don’t think so.” Jonathan sank onto the sofa and took a long swallow of coffee. “There’s no point in fooling myself any longer.” He sighed. “I think it’s time to go home.”

  Reggie studied him. “Are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

  Jonathan shot him a wry glance. “As much as I loved sleeping on your lumpy sofa, I do have to go. Though I might need to bunk here for a few days until I can make arrangements for the trip back.”

  “Stay as long as you like.”

  “Thanks, Reg,” he said. “You’ve been a real friend.”

  “A real friend would have stopped you yesterday before you punched that reporter. I should have hooked you with my crutch and toppled you.” Reggie laughed, and Jonathan couldn’t help but join in.

  Then the laughter faded and silence hung in the room.

  Reggie s
cratched his chin. “On a serious note, what about your sessions with the doctor? You said they were helping.”

  “They are. Don’t worry, I’ll find someone to continue with back home.” Jonathan leaned back against the cushions. “Maybe Dr. Clayborne has a colleague in England.”

  Reggie groaned. “I don’t know what I’m going to do when you’re gone, Jon. You’ve made life bearable around here.”

  “I’ll miss you too, mate.” Jonathan hated the thought of relegating their friendship to a letter every couple of months. But unfortunately, it was the way it had to be. He cleared his throat. “Could you do me one more favor?”

  “Name it.”

  “Could you check on Emma every now and then to make sure she’s doing all right?” Jonathan’s heart felt like a deflated balloon at the idea that he’d never again have the privilege of doing that job himself. “In case her relationship goes sour with her father, I’d feel better knowing she had you.”

  “You got it, pal.”

  “Thanks, Reg. I knew I could count on you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  On Sunday afternoon, Corinne got off the streetcar at the stop nearest Will’s address, careful not to drop the armload of textbooks she carried. Even though school wouldn’t start for a month, she was on her way to tutor Will’s younger sister with her math and English. Will had told her that Kate needed a tutor, but they couldn’t afford one on the family’s limited income. And with Will’s own studies and his chores at home, as well as his job at the university, he simply didn’t have the time to do it himself.

  Seeing an opportunity, Corinne had offered to do it for free, glad to have a chance to meet Will’s family and get to know them. Each step would bring her closer to Will until one day, she hoped, he would have the courage to face her father and ask to court her.

  Though they weren’t dating, Will had at least accepted her offer of friendship. She owed that much to Emma. Whatever she’d said to him, Will had totally forgiven her for the spilled ink incident and had even come by to take her on a couple of walks. For that reason alone, Corinne would be forever in Emma’s debt.