Jamie watched in the darkened room as Dameon headed out of town with his pack on his back. Sleeping in the snow in a tent. She shivered just thinking about it. It didn’t seem right. He’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t compete with graciousness. He didn’t argue, blame anyone—just simply accepted it. His lean frame continued down the moonlit, snow-packed street.
Light flooded the room. Jamie blinked several times, helping her eyes adjust.
“Jamie?” her mother called.
“Sorry, Mom. I’ll be right there.”
“What have you been doing in here? Mrs. Dewey has been complimenting all your hard work, and everyone wanted to thank you.”
Jamie closed her eyes and let her shoulders slump. “Sorry.”
“Well, come along now, and stand up straight. That’s it, wonderful. Where’s that smile? That’s my girl,” her mother praised.
She didn’t deserve Mrs. Dewey’s praise. Dameon was right; she was proud and had wanted human compliments over the satisfaction of people enjoying her handiwork. Now if she could only find a hole to crawl in and hide for the rest of these games.
The attention given, Jamie sat at her mother’s table with a few of her mother’s closest friends.
“You really did a marvelous job, Jamie,” Mrs. Thatcher commented.
“Thank you.”
Jean Chesterfield asked, “Where’d you ever find all this fabric on such short notice?”
A warmth spread across her cheeks. “Well, the farmhouse we’re staying in is presently missing all its sheer curtains.”
Everyone giggled.
“Will they be able to go back up on the windows, or do I need to purchase new ones?” her mother asked, taking a sip of tea.
“All but one. It fell apart when I bleached them.”
“Not a bad deal, Sophia. Your daughter bleaches all the curtains, and your window dressings look like new.” Mrs. Thatcher bit off a tiny piece of the Scottish shortbread that had been served with the tea.
“Not a bad deal at all.” Her mother winked.
Jamie smiled as her mother’s right eyebrow rose slightly. She took hold of Jamie’s knee under the table and gently squeezed it. Her mother had a way of getting to the root of problems, and for some reason, Jamie had a problem hiding anything from her mother.
When the conversation hit a lull, her mother excused herself to go to the powder room. Jamie followed.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked Jamie in Greek.
Jamie responded in Greek and told her about Dameon and his sleeping in a tent.
“That simply won’t do. Your father and I can open a room for him.” She reapplied her lipstick in the mirror. “That is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Her mother narrowed her gaze.
“Yes, but I was going to ask. You just beat me to the punch.”
“Very well. Tell the young man to wait by our automobile.”
They had now slipped back into English. “He already left.”
Her mother straightened and adjusted her clothing with an efficiency that most would not notice. But Jamie did. All her shortcomings seemed magnified when compared to her mother.
“The evening’s nearly over. We’ll make our excuses and find him before he freezes to death.”
Her mother was on a mission, and nothing would stop her, including some butterflies taking flight in Jamie’s stomach. How can he affect me so?
Henri Preston was a formidable man. Thankfully, most of Dameon’s pride had vanished on the fourth day of his trek toward Lake Placid. Taking rides from strangers and accepting warm meals and a place to lay his head were becoming routine. But having a man upend his tent the night before and insist on Damon following him home was daunting, to say the least.
Dameon thanked the Lord for His provision once again. If nothing else, God had been showing him tremendous acts of grace on his journey. Today was opening day of the games. The air buzzed with excitement. It was hard not to get caught up in it. There was some scuttlebutt about one speed skater pulling out because they were playing by North American rules instead of the traditional two-man heats. But everything else was positive.
Dameon lifted the ax once again and forced it down on the log needing to be split. He’d noticed several chores left untended around the old farmhouse this morning, and he planned on doing as many of them as possible before heading into work with John Talbot.
Down came the thud of the ax against the solid oak log. Crack! It ripped open easily; the wood was so dry. He gathered the bundle of freshly chopped wood and headed into the house. He lit the woodstove and fed it fuel while fixing some eggs and bacon. It was the least he could do for the family who had given him a roof over his head and some protection from the bitter cold outside.
“Good morning, sir,” Dameon welcomed Mr. Preston as he walked into the kitchen.
“Smells great. Who cooked?”
“I did.”
“You?” The man looked from the plate back to him. “Any other hidden talents I should know about?”
“Don’t think so. Living on a farm, you’re taught to wake up early and get several chores done before breakfast.”
The older man forked some bacon and placed it on his plate, then some eggs. “Jamie said you came here wanting to compete. Any good?”
“I thought so, but just listening to the guys and all their hard work, I probably would have been left at the starting line by the time they crossed the finish line.”
Mr. Preston chuckled. “Probably not, but they do take their sports seriously. Didn’t Jack Shea skip the semester at Dartmouth to compete in these games?”
“That’s what he said.” The team seemed to be counting on Jack, but each man hoped to win his own Olympic gold. Dameon had learned more about the Olympics, amateur athletics, and the competition in two days than he’d learned in a lifetime in Windsor. Dameon sat down across from Mr. Preston.
“I understand you’re unable to get home.”
“No, sir.”
Henri Preston stopped eating and examined him more closely.
“I can go home,” he clarified. “But there are a few jobs for the asking around here, and I figured any income was better than no income.”
Henri nodded.
Obviously, Mr. Henri Preston didn’t know what it was to do without. Dameon looked down at his plate and proceeded to eat. No sense inflaming a situation, defending his own state in society. In the few days he’d been in Lake Placid, he’d heard more about—and from—wealthy people than he’d ever known. There were advantages to growing up on a farm. He had no idea what society expected of him. He simply grew up and enjoyed life. Some of the athletes came from well-to-do families, and they had little understanding of why buying new clothing or equipment was difficult for some of the other members of the team or how to work and save to earn the money to get to the competitions. It seemed people with money knew people with money who would sponsor and support their affluent friends or their affluent friends’ children.
But how does Jamie fit into this picture? he wondered. She didn’t seem anything like the others. She treated him with respect.
A mumbled sound passed his ears. “Excuse me?” he asked.
“I said, what’s on your agenda today?”
“Sorry. John Talbot has some work for me. Might be my last day, though.”
“Will you head home then?”
“Yes, sir. No work, no reason to stay.”
Henri nodded his head and finished his breakfast.
“Daddy,” Jamie called from the hallway, “what’s all the—?” Jamie screamed and slipped behind the corner wall to the kitchen.
Dameon held down a smirk. Her hair was rumpled from sleep and stuck straight out in the back. Her bathrobe hung loosely on her body, and she hadn’t bothered to tie the sash. Its sleeves went past her hands so that only the tips of her fingers were exposed. She looked adorable.
“Excuse me.” Dameon lifted his dish from the table and dumped it in the sink, giving Ja
mie freedom to enter her own kitchen.
Chapter 3
Three hours later, Jamie still felt embarrassed about having walked into the kitchen looking like something the cat might have dragged in. It was one thing for family to see her having just rolled out of bed and quite another to have been seen that way by a perfect stranger.
“Jamie,” Martha said, waving her down. Martha stood in a small group of women all around Jamie’s age, most of whom she knew from social gatherings.
Plastering a smile across her face, Jamie walked over. The dry snow crunched under her boots. “Hi, what are you up to today?”
“We’re ducking out of the ticket sales; the line is huge. Wanna come?”
Admittedly, working huge lines was more appealing than gossiping with Martha and her friends. “I promised my mother I would relieve her.” Which was true, but Jamie wasn’t due to start work for another hour.
“Suit yourself. Personally, I find the job tedious.”
Two of the girls huddled together and giggled. Are they talking about me? Jamie wondered.
“Deborah says your mother is Greek,” Martha stated. It wasn’t really posed as a question.
Jamie nodded.
“She really does speak Greek, huh?”
“Yes.” Jamie held back a chuckle.
“I can’t believe she didn’t say something.”
Why would she bother? “It’s just her way.”
Martha narrowed her gaze at Jamie. “Is that some sort of Greek custom? I mean, she could have corrected me rather than have me make a fool of myself.”
You’re doing a good job all by yourself. “I’ll let her know.”
“No hard feelings?”
“None.”
“Great. We’re off. Have fun meeting the locals.”
Why Martha even bothered to come to the games was beyond Jamie. The girl couldn’t care less about the kind of work that went into putting on one of these events or the personal sacrifice. And to put down everyone who did work so hard was …
Jamie closed her eyes and counted. Her temper would get the better of her yet. People like Martha were a dime a dozen, and she’d probably have a grand time. Jamie, on the other hand, would have a good time and work hard to help others enjoy themselves. She made her way up to the country club, where the tickets were on sale. “If only more people would catch on to the true meaning of the games,” she mumbled.
“Such as?” Dameon stepped up beside her.
Jamie jumped. “Where’d you come from?”
“I was working only ten feet from you. You didn’t notice the guy shoveling the entrance to the stadium?”
“No, sorry.”
“Wasn’t important.”
Jamie pondered his response. What did that mean?
“Do you think it’ll be a problem if I spend the night at your place tonight? I’ll be leaving in the morning. There’s no more work.”
“Ask Father, but I don’t see why not.”
“Thank you. I’ll look for him.”
Was Dameon equally unconcerned about the games? “Don’t you want to see the events?”
“Love to—but I don’t have money for a ticket. I’d love to see the guys on the speed skating team compete.”
Maybe he wasn’t like Martha and her friends.
“You didn’t answer my question,” he prompted.
“What question?” Jamie played back their brief conversation, recalling that she’d told him to find her father.
“The one about the games. What’s the true meaning of the games?”
“Unity, building a better world through peaceful competition, understanding others—those kinds of things.”
“Sort of like the Golden Rule?” Dameon asked.
“Yeah, but on a grander scale.”
“Ah, I think God’s plan is a little grander. No disrespect to the Olympics, but—”
“You’re so right. Sorry. I say things without thinking sometimes. Of course, nothing is more important than doing what God wants us to do, but isn’t showing charity at events like this to people who may not know God important, too?”
“I wasn’t arguing with that. I merely stated that God’s purpose was a little larger than the Olympics.”
“True, sorry. I stand corrected.” She bowed to accentuate her submission to his observation.
“I’ll see you later. I get off just before opening ceremonies. If it’s all right, I’ll simply go back to the farmhouse.”
“Of course.” She didn’t dare say another word to this man. Why was it that she so easily stirred up difficulties in talking with him? He seemed so easy to talk with, and yet there were times when the conversation just rubbed one or the other of them the wrong way. Why?
The last of the tickets sold, Jamie joined her parents and sat down to watch the opening ceremonies.
“Who’s sitting here?” Jamie pointed to the empty seat.
“No one; that was your brother’s seat.”
Her brother had decided to stay back in Princeton and work rather than come to this year’s Olympic Games.
“Mom, Dad, would it be okay if I invited Dameon to join us?”
Her mother’s eyes blazed a trail to her soul. Then she looked over to her husband. “All right, princess,” her father answered for the two of them. “But hurry; you’ve only got thirty minutes.”
Dameon worked his stiff back under the warm water. A long, hot shower was just what the doctor ordered—Dr. Dameon, of course. He closed his eyes and let the heated spray cascade over his head.
“Dameon?”
He pulled his head out of the water.
“Dameon?”
The voice seemed closer.
“Dameon? Are you in there?”
“Jamie?” He turned the faucets off.
“Hurry up!”
“What?”
“Hurry up and get dressed. Opening ceremonies are about to begin.”
He stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. “I know, but I thought I told you I couldn’t afford a ticket.” He walked closer to the closed door.
“You don’t have to. My father has an extra one. My brother didn’t come.”
“Huh?”
“My brother, you know, as in another sibling from the same parents.”
“I know what a brother is; it’s just …” He reached for the doorknob, then thought better of it.
“Hurry up.”
“Do you always get your way?”
“Most of the time.” Jamie giggled.
Dameon groaned. Women. What was it about the opposite sex that they always had a way of getting what they wanted? His own mother could get his father to do just about anything she wanted. Of course, she always seemed reasonable in her requests. Except for that silly pond in the back of the house. He still didn’t see the need for that. Dameon rinsed his head and briskly dried himself off.
Thankfully, he’d set out some clean clothes and a fresh pair of long underwear. He’d been planning on doing some laundry tonight if the Prestons didn’t mind. Fresh clothes for his trip home would feel mighty nice. Not to mention, it would get him a few extra lifts, he hoped.
Dressed, he exited the bathroom and discovered Jamie pacing the front room.
“Do you know you dress slower than a woman?”
“I do not. Besides, I had to rinse the soap out of my hair,” he defended.
“Excuses, excuses. Come on, the delegates will be marching in any second. You don’t want to miss that part.” She led them out of the house and to her automobile. It did seem strange seeing a woman behind the wheel, but he’d seen her driving more than once over the past couple of days.
She really was an intriguing sort. A man could get dazed just watching her run around. If he noticed one thing, it was how quickly she moved. Always busy, always on the go.
Her eyes stayed focused on the road ahead. “How many times have you seen the opening ceremonies?” he asked.
“Father and Mother have a
real passion for the games. I don’t know how many times, actually. I was so little the first time or two. We did miss a year here and there. But this one has been the most draining. Not that I’ve minded all the work,” she amended.
As they drove up to the stadium parking, Dameon noticed streams of people moving slowly to get in. The white canvas that encircled the arena exposed the upper half of the viewing stands, which were nearly full with people.
Inside the stadium, Jamie led them to her family’s spot. People lined the area, several layers thick. Dameon could feel the excitement. People talked and cheered. Officials sat at the stands. Everything captivated him. He sat on the edge of the bench in anticipation.
Dr. Dewey and the governor of the state of New York spoke. “He’s our president-elect.” Jamie pointed toward the governor.
“I’m aware of that.” Dameon bit down his frustration. Why did the rich assume everyone below them economically didn’t know what was going on in the world?
“Sorry, I …” Her words trailed to silence.
“The question is, will his New Deal be what we need?” Dameon whispered.
“I only pray that the man who goes to the White House will be the man God can use to bring an end to this Depression.”
“Amen,” Dameon agreed.
Jamie shivered.
He surrendered his wool car blanket and gave it to her.
“I’m fine.”
“Nonsense. You’re freezing, and I’d feel horrible if you caught a cold watching the opening ceremonies.”
“Thank you.” She wrapped the second blanket around her shoulders.
Dameon felt the cool breeze coming up through the bleachers. He stuffed his bare hands deeper into his wool jacket and inched closer to Jamie.
Guilt raked Jamie’s body as the warmth of the wool blanket helped her endure the long opening presentation. Roosevelt’s words were short and to the point, which probably endeared him to everyone who attended the opening ceremonies. No, no one had come to hear him; they had come for the games, for the athletes, for the excitement. Politicians were necessary but not why these people had come.
She glimpsed Dameon wiggling. “Cold?” she asked.
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 35