Faithfully Yours

by Lois Richer

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, shocked at his admission. “I never meant…”

  “Don’t apologize. I don’t think you’re even aware of it. But nonetheless, it’s the way you see me,” he said tiredly, shrugging off the hand she laid on his shoulder. “I admit it. I’m attracted to you. You’re a very beautiful woman; what man wouldn’t want to possess all that beauty? To say to the world, this is my wife. But you’re not in love with me, not the real me.” He shook his head. “You don’t even know who I am. You’ve imagined a fantasy man that isn’t anywhere near reality.”

  “But I know you’ve changed…” she began, trying to make him see that she wasn’t dreaming anymore.

  “No,” he told her firmly. “I haven’t changed one whit. I’m the same person I always was; the same man who lives his life by the rules that you despise so thoroughly.

  “I am who I am, Gillian. In spite of all your daydreams and illusions. You can’t make me change into something I’ll never be, even if I wanted you to.” He sighed. “I’ll confess, I could easily allow myself to say what you want to hear. What we both wish could be true. But I know that someday you’d see me for who I really am and maybe even despise me.” He paused. “I don’t want either of us to be hurt that way.”

  “But I don’t want to change you,” she sputtered, standing where she was, mouth hanging open as she listened to his impassioned words.

  “Yes, you do.” His smile was dull and self-deprecating. “You don’t love me, Gillian. Not the real me. In time I believe you’ll agree that what I’ve said is true. In time,” he added in a husky tone, “you may even thank me.”

  The words were quietly spoken, but underneath that cold harshness, Gillian could hear a note of…pain?

  “In spite of your best attempts, I have to stick to my beliefs. You see, this is my aunt, my family we’re discussing here. All right, you’ve encouraged this stupid idea of hers. Fine. I’m not going to oppose it any longer. If Aunt Faith wants to marry Arthur Johnson, she’s free to do so. But don’t expect me to be happy about it. I won’t. Because it’s not best for her. It’s all wrong. Just like this ridiculous fiasco engagement you concocted to save your image.”

  Jeremy wheeled away, but felt her hand on his arm. He looked down. Perfectly shaped oval nails were buffed to a natural shine on delicate hands that could have graced a cosmetic ad.

  “I’m sorry you hate me so much, Jeremy,” he heard her murmur and felt a pang of remorse as he saw the diamond droplets that glimmered below her lashes. “I never realized that I was hurting you so badly. But for the record, I never considered you a challenge or a project. And I certainly don’t want to change you. I just want to love you.”

  She sniffed delicately, and his heart softened again. But he couldn’t allow himself to be moved by her tears. Not this time.

  “I know you don’t like my clothes. You’ve told me that often enough.” She sniffed. “I know you think there are rules for every occasion and that I break all of them. I’m sorry about that. Really sorry. I can’t help how I look, and even that seems to annoy you.”

  Her voice lowered as her huge emerald eyes met his. They were wide and guileless, and Jeremy felt he could drown in their depths. With every shred of willpower he had left, he restrained himself from taking her into his arms.

  “I think you’re a wonderful caring nephew and that Faith is so lucky to have you in her life. We all are. The way you’ve moved in and taken over with the youth group is a real pleasure to watch. And the school, even if I do say so, is far better run than any school I’ve taught in.”

  She lowered her voice, and he leaned in to hear her better. “I think I argued with you so much because you shook me out of my rut, made my perfect life very uncomfortable. You made me see things in a new way.”

  He heard the true regret in her voice and wondered at the wobble of emotion that he could discern beneath that calm facade.

  “But most of all, I want to apologize for embroiling you in this silly engagement. I really did have the best of motives when I went along with Faith’s error, but it’s gone on too long, and I can see that it’s time for me to set things right.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “I’m sorry, Jeremy.” She cut him off. “Truly sorry. I promise I won’t embarrass you again.” Jeremy watched as her face drew near to his and her soft lips brushed over his cheek. “Maybe someday you’ll believe that I truly didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  He stood there, transfixed, as she walked away down the hospital corridor. He saw Reverend Dave come bursting through the door and heard his hearty greeting. Gillian’s was softer but the words carried to him clearly over the shining floor tiles.

  “I’m not a bride-to-be, Pastor. I never was. I made the whole thing up, and it’s time I owned up to it. Could I talk to you? Privately?”

  Jeremy watched dumbfounded as the two walked back out the door. Instead of relief that the whole debacle was finally over he felt…what? Sadness? A sense of loss?

  He shook his head in frustration. It didn’t make sense. He should be feeling relieved that he and Gillian would finally be freed from this ridiculous pretense.

  Shouldn’t he?

  Chapter Fourteen

  “All right children, this is your big night. I want each of you to do your very best. Watch carefully when Mr. Nivens gives you directions. Pay attention. Is everyone ready?”

  Some looked painfully ill and others looked like overwound tops that just had to spin or they would burst. Gillian smiled gently at all of them and directed them out of her room and onto the stage. Jeremy had chosen her class to be the toys in his new revised Nutcracker and she was beginning to see how apt his choice had been.

  Each student wore a costume. There were tin soldiers and fairy princesses. Firemen with trucks and animals galore. The music for the entire play had been adapted from the original score, and she could hear Jeremy’s fine fingers in the light, bright recorded notes.

  “All right, children,” she whispered. “Let’s begin. Everyone at attention.”

  They plodded onto the stage and waited stiffly for the curtain to lift, but once it had they fell into their parts naturally, keeping still as mice when Fritz and Clara and all the birthday guests celebrated.

  As she watched from behind the curtain, Gillian felt a sense of pride fill her. The scenery was spectacular; Jeremy had arranged to catch all the essence of an old resplendent country house. A huge Christmas tree sparkled and glittered in the corner, lending a truly festive air to the proceedings.

  At last the Sugar Plum Fairy danced across the stage, pirouetting and prancing as if born to it. When it was time for Gillian’s toys to move, they twisted and turned and marched as briskly as they’d been taught without one faltering step. Their faces shone with enthusiasm, and if anyone heard the ping of the sword hitting the metal table leg, they didn’t let on.

  “It’s going okay, isn’t it?” Jeremy’s voice was hushed and faintly questioning in her ear, and Gillian smiled.

  “It’s going perfectly,” she acknowledged, smiling up at him. “You’ve done a wonderful job with all of it. The parents are just beaming.”

  He stood there, staring down at her for the longest time. And then his arms reached out and he tugged her into his embrace, his mouth hard and urgent on hers as he kissed with all the pent-up fury of a storm just unleashed.

  And Gillian kissed him back, uncaring that several of the lighting students stood nearby snickering at them from the sidelines. When he finally let go, his eyes were warm and caressing.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled back.

  He studied her quizzically for several moments before stepping away. “I have to go,” he murmured and turned around, striding back into the curtains without a backward glance.

  “I know,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone. “But I can wait.”

  It was an exhausting evening for the teachers. And everyone b
reathed a sigh of relief as the children in the last item on the program filed onto the stage. It was time for the carols with a different groups of singers. First the glee club, which included the entire school body, filed out to fill up the stage and overflowed onto the risers in front. They gave a rousing rendition of “Frosty” and then “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus.” Next were the choral singers clad in their festive red cummerbunds and bow ties.

  As she seated her students in the back of the gymnasium, Gillian noted their proud stance and careful scrutiny of their leader. They kept their eyes focused on Jeremy, who stood before them in his black suit, hand upheld, ready to give the signal to begin.

  Their voices rose in two of the older English carols so often heard in the vaulted cathedrals of Britain. Her own students were silent as every eye focused on the two soloists, whose clear, pure voices rose over the crowd.

  And then, the pièce de résistance. The select chorus. These were Jeremy’s hand-picked singers. Children who had displayed a natural ability with music. Their voices blended, falling and rising in a harmony of praise and thanksgiving for the miracle of the Christmas birth.

  After the thundering applause had died away, Jeremy stepped forward to the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, JFK Elementary would like to present their final number. ‘O Holy Night.’”

  Gillian stared. She thought they’d scrapped the idea weeks ago. Why was he now attempting this? It was complicated, not only for the singers who had a huge range of notes to cover, but also for the pantomimers who would play Mary, Joseph, shepherds and wise men.

  Lord, please give us a hand here, she prayed silently. And be with Jeremy no matter what happens.

  “It was fantastic! I’ve never seen such a masterpiece. Those kids deserve a medal.”

  Gillian grinned at the praise flowing from ecstatic parents around her. Thank you, Lord, she breathed, as one after another parent shook the principal’s hand.

  “Don’t know how you did it, Mr. Nivens,” one father exclaimed. “Never thought Josiah could sit still for that long.”

  Jeremy’s face shone with the praise. “Truthfully, neither did I. I guess practice makes perfect, right Josiah?” The little boy grinned, displaying a huge gap between his teeth.

  “It was a wonderful start to the Christmas holidays,” Hope congratulated her later. “You must be very pleased.”

  “Yes, I am,” Gillian agreed, stretching her toes against the fur-lined warmth of her boots. “It feels wonderful to know that he pulled it off.”

  A light tapping on her car window grabbed Gillian’s attention, and she rolled down the glass to see Jeremy standing outside.

  “I need to talk to you about this,” he said clearly, holding out the envelope with her resignation inside. “I’m going to be here for a while longer, but maybe I could pick you up in a hour and we could go for coffee.”

  Gillian smiled. “I’m sorry but I think I’ve just about had it for tonight,” she told him softly. “With the cookie bake planned for tomorrow and Faith’s wedding the next day, I think I need to go home and relax.”

  He frowned. “I’d forgotten about that. Cookies, eh? How long will it take?”

  “I suspect all day,” Gillian grinned. “You know that bunch. They eat as much as they can. But I’m sure we’ll have a few minutes to talk then, if you still want to.”

  He leaned his head down directly in front of hers and smiled grimly. “Oh, I’ll still want to,” he told her. “But I suppose it can wait.”

  “Why don’t you relax, too,” she encouraged. “Rest on your laurels. That was a fantastic closing number.”

  “It was good, wasn’t it,” he agreed. “The kids really got into it. I’ll bet you were surprised that we pulled it off.”

  “No,” she shook her head, the words coming easily. “I think you can do whatever you set your mind to. I was wrong to question that. And tonight was just the beginning for you.”

  “Well, we’ll see.” He leaned in toward her, and then glancing up at Hope, obviously thought better. He pulled his head away and straightened, staring at them both with a strange look on his face. “Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  As they drove away, Hope glanced at her niece curiously. “Why didn’t you go with him? I know you still love him. You don’t have to leave right away. Why not hear him out?”

  Gillian leaned her head back on the headrest and closed her eyes. No one, not even Hope knew how badly she wanted to be with Jeremy tonight. But she wanted more than he could give her. She wanted it to be his shoulder she leaned on, his arms holding her closely.

  “I can’t, Hope. He needs time to deal with Faith’s marriage, and I need to distance myself from him. He sees me as a manipulating, domineering foe. I don’t want to horn in on his limelight Besides—” she curved her gloved hand into a fist at her side “—what’s the point? I’m leaving Mossbank.”

  The normally immaculate home of Hope Langford was bursting at the seams with laughter, cookie dough and teenagers, who were all busily engaged in preparing little care boxes for the seniors in Mossbank and the surrounding area.

  Gillian had found little time to stop for even a sip of coffee let alone a discussion with Jeremy. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to speak to her. He had. Numerous times. And each time he approached she busied herself with yet another project which had resulted in more varieties of cookies than anyone had seen outside the local bakery.

  “Don’t you think we have about enough?” Myra asked doubtfully, casting a worried glance at the cookie sheets cooling over every available surface.

  “Yes,” Gillian agreed, puffing her bangs off her heated face. “This is the last batch. I purposely left the ginger snaps till last so I could bake them slowly.”

  It was a lie. She hadn’t even intended on baking so many cookies until he had shown up with several boys in tow. His eyes had a strange somber look to them that she couldn’t understand, but Gillian had no desire to get into it now. Not with more than twenty teens hanging around, listening in.

  “I really would like to speak to you,” Jeremy murmured from behind her shoulder. “Privately.”

  Gillian jumped, burning her hand against the hot pan as she jerked her head around to stare at him. “Ohh,” she groaned between clenched teeth.

  Without saying a word, Jeremy grasped her arm in his and led her to the sink. Seconds later her hand was beneath the tap and the cool relief of water removed some of the sting.

  He held it there until she was sure it would freeze and only allowed her to pull away when the red area lightened to a pinkish glow.

  “Sit down and relax for a moment,” he ordered. “I can handle the rest of this.”

  “But I…”

  “You’ve done enough. Relax.”

  So although she would have preferred to get away in private and have a good bawl, she sat there and sipped the hot sweet black coffee he had poured for her.

  And dreamed of what could have been. As she watched Jeremy move between the groups, she fantasized that this was their home and these some of their children. The tall, skinny boy who was laughing up at Jeremy looked a lot like him; he’d probably resemble any son Jeremy had. But it wouldn’t be her son.

  It was a long time before Gillian realized that the kitchen, indeed the entire house had quietened down to its usual relative silence. She gazed around at the messy kitchen, watching Jeremy scrubbing the cookie sheets. He looked perfectly at home, she decided, stifling the laugh that rose as she caught sight of the frilly white embroidered apron he wore.

  “Where did everyone go?” she asked at last in a voice no one would have recognized as hers. “Why is it suddenly so quiet?”

  He glanced at her over his shoulder.

  “They’ve gone home for lunch, although I’ve no idea how they can eat another bite. At two o’clock those who can are coming back and we’re going to deliver the cookies.” His sharp gray eyes took note of her pale face and then moved to
study the red patch of skin covering her hand. “How do you feel?”

  “I’m fine,” she told him, ignoring the whirl of her stomach as she stood to her feet. “I can do that.”

  He lifted the cloth beyond her reach and grinned. “Don’t be silly. You’ve been baking for hours. The least I can do is clean up a little. We’re supposed to be partners in this, remember?”

  The words rang hollowly in her ears, and Gillian had to swallow down the pain. They would never be partners. She’d spoiled all that.

  With a few economic moves, she had loaded the dishwasher with mixing bowls, spatulas and spoons that had littered her aunt’s pristine counters. As she started the pot wash cycle, she felt his hand on her arm.

  “Gillian?” His voice was low and husky and she couldn’t help the shiver of awareness that moved through her.

  “Yes?” She swiped the counter one last time in a businesslike fashion, drained the sink and hung up the cloth.

  “Will you please stop dashing about and sit down for a moment. I want to ask you something.”

  Dread filled her. He was going to tell her how sorry he was. That he didn’t love her. Never would.

  She jutted her chin out defiantly as she sat in the nearest chair. Jeremy sat down beside her, studying his hands where they lay on the tabletop. His jeans…jeans? She did a doubletake and then mocked herself.

  They were perfectly pressed jeans with a knife edge crease down the front. She wondered idly if they had a brand name tag on the back pocket.

  “What is it?” she whispered at last when the tension threatened to overwhelm her.

  “Why did you resign?” His face was a mass of confusion as he stared at her. “I know you like living here, and I’ve seen you with your class. You’re a natural at teaching. Why would you suddenly want to leave, when you said you intended to stay?” His eyes were a soft gray-blue, probing and searching her face for answers.