Lois Richer - Faithfully Yours

Why did Michael have to die? she asked God for the zillionth time. If he were alive, they would be married, and she would be in her happy, carefree position at St. Anne’s, blissfully oblivious to the presence of Mr. Jeremy Nivens and his immense book of rules.

But there was nothing to be gained by going down that road. She would just have to learn to accept it and get on with living. The past was no place to dwell, and time was flying by.

Gillian laid out the work she had planned for the next day and checked to see there were enough copies of the Thanksgiving turkey she planned to begin in art class next week. At least she had the children, she consoled herself. She would never have Michael’s child, but she had twenty-eight needy ones in her classroom every day, and she intended to see to it that they got the best education she could offer.

Gillian was about two blocks from her aunt’s house and dreaming of relaxing for the weekend when she saw the smoke. Thick, billowing, dark gray clouds of smoke rolling out the window of a house. Gillian raced across the street and dashed inside the open front door. This was Faith Rempel’s home, she was pretty sure. And if she remembered her aunt’s description correctly, Mrs. Rempel lived alone.

Gillian found the woman in her kitchen, slumped over a counter, the smoking remains of a pan with something resembling cherries bubbling blackly on the stove. She snatched a dish towel and grabbed the pan, dumping the entire contents into the sink and pouring water over it. Steam and smoke combined to cover her in a cloud of acrid odors.

“Mrs. Rempel? I’m Hope’s niece. Are you all right?” Gillian checked the elderly woman’s pulse and was relieved to find it seemed strong and healthy. When the green eyes opened, they stared at Gillian blankly. “Come on, Mrs. Rempel. We’ll have to get you out of this smoke.”

“Yes, thank you, dear. That would be lovely. I’m afraid my cherries jubilee didn’t quite turn out. Such a pity.” Faith Rempel’s English accent was pronounced as she rose from the table with alacrity and waved her apron back and forth briskly, whooshing the air as she walked.

“Cherries jubilee?” Gillian couldn’t believe her ears. Who made cherries jubilee at four-thirty on a Friday afternoon, for goodness sake? And wasn’t the sauce supposed to be set on fire when the dish was served, not hours before?

She left Mrs. Rempel sitting on a patio chair outside and checked for further damage in the kitchen before opening all the windows and doors. Thankfully the light, afternoon breeze soon whisked the smelly fumes and billows of blue-black smoke away.

“I’ve brought you a glass of water, Mrs. Rempel. Are you sure you’re all right?” The puffy lines in the woman’s face had been there before, Gillian decided, checking her patient once more.

“Of course, dear. I’m perfectly fine.” Faith’s green eyes stared into hers. “Do I know you?” she asked curiously.

She grinned. “I’m Hope’s niece, Gillian. I’m here teaching school.”

“Oh, yes,” Mrs. Rempel smiled brightly. “You’re Jeremy’s new girlfriend. You two make the sweetest couple.” She stood suddenly and moved briskly to the back door. “I’ll have to clean this mess up before he gets here. Jeremy hates a mess.”

“I’ll help you,” Gillian offered, remembering that this woman, according to her aunt, had slight lapses in memory. That would account for her erroneous linking of their names. How strange that such a lovely woman should be old sourpuss’s aunt.

“Does he come every day?” she asked curiously. It seemed odd to think of her boss checking up on his aunt. More likely he came for a free meal so he wouldn’t have to dirty his own kitchen, she decided, still fuming at his biting remarks.

“Almost every evening. We have dinner together. I was hoping to surprise him with a new dessert Piffle,” she grunted, glaring at the charred remains of the cherries. “Should have turned the heat down sooner.”

Gillian grinned. So Jeremy Nivens came for a free dinner every night. Somehow she had known human kindness wasn’t the reason for Jerry’s visits. She wondered what he’d think of his aunt’s messy kitchen right now.

“You know,” she told Faith, smiling as she wiped down the counters and stove. “In our family we had a standing joke whenever Mom burned something. We always said she thought we must be little gods because she was serving us burnt offerings.”

Faith giggled appreciatively.

“Underneath all this smoke, something sure smells good,” Gillian told her seriously. She opened the oven door and sniffed appreciatively. “What is that?”

The older woman blushed, her salt-and-pepper head bending forward shyly.

“Oh, just a little rouladin. Jeremy loves beef, you know. I imagine you’ll be cooking it often after you’re married, dear.” She scurried about, putting the last of the now-dry dishes away. “I just need to get a salad together and check the potatoes.”

“Uh, Mrs. Rempel, Jeremy and I aren’t getting…”

“Oh, silly me. Of course you aren’t announcing it right away. I can understand that. You both being so new to the community and all,” Faith twittered happily as she rinsed the lettuce and set it carefully in a colander to dry. She grasped Gillian’s hand in her own and glanced at her finger. “Oh, you haven’t found a ring yet?”

“No, we haven’t,” Gillian searched for the right words, but she needn’t have bothered. Jeremy Nivens’s aunt was lost in a world of her own, green eyes sparkling with happiness as she stared at her own rings.

“It seems just last week when Donald and I became engaged. He insisted that I choose my own ring, said it was going to have to last a good long time and he didn’t want me wearing something I didn’t like. It has lasted, too.” She didn’t say it, but Gillian could almost hear her thinking that the rings had outlasted the husband.

“He gave me that cabinet over there,” Faith pointed to the corner china cabinet in the next room. “For our anniversary it was.” Her green eyes grew cloudy. “I forget which one, but I remember Donald saying it was my special place for my little china dolls. He sent them to me from overseas during the war.”

“Auntie Fay? Are you all right?”

The anxious tones of her authoritative boss jerked Gillian from her happy daydream of the past. It was strange to hear that note of concern in his voice, but moments later she decided she must have imagined it as he glared across the room at them.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, staring at Gillian. “Oh, never mind right now. Auntie Fay, the neighbors phoned me to say that there was smoke coming from the house. Are you all right?”

“Oh, I’m just fine, thank you, dear. A wee bit early for dinner, aren’t you?” Faith blinked up at him innocently as her hands tore the lettuce apart and placed it in a crystal bowl. “I’m afraid I haven’t got the table set yet.”

“There’s no rush,” he told her softly, his gray eyes gentle. “As you say, I am early. I’ll talk to her while I wait.” His head nodded at Gillian, who felt an immediate prickling of anger.

“Yes, I suppose you two lovebirds do have some catching up to do. Go ahead out on the balcony and relax. I remember young love. Why, your fiancée and I were just talking about it.” Her benign smile left Gillian smiling back, until Jeremy’s rough voice roused her.

“Yes,” he agreed, frowning severely as he grasped Gillian’s arm in his firm fingers and tugged her from the room. “I think Miss Langford and I definitely need to have a discussion.”

Obediently Gillian preceded him out the back door and sank onto one of the wicker chairs Faith had placed under the awning. She slipped off her new, black patent shoes and wiggled her feet in the fresh air as she summoned enough nerve up to glance at his forbidding face.