Faithfully Yours. Lois Richer
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“Well, it’s just a bit late for regrets, Miss Langford,” Jeremy said. “Especially now that the whole town thinks we’re about to be married!”
“Look,” she began, angry at the way he was hinting that this was all her fault, “I was only trying to spare your aunt. She was just a little confused and I didn’t want to make it worse.”
“Well, you’ve made it much worse,” he complained. “Now we’ve got the minister planning our wedding. What are you going to do about this situation now?”
Gillian felt tears press against her eyelids. But there was no way she was giving in to them—not with him standing there watching.
LOIS RICHER
credits her love of writing to a childhood spent in a Sunday school where the King James Version of the Bible was taught. The majesty and clarity of the language in the Old Testament stories allowed her to create pictures in her own mind while growing up in a tiny prairie village where everyone strove to make ends meet. During her school years, she continued to find great solace in those words and in the church family that supported her in local speech festivals, Christmas concerts and little theater productions. Later, in college, her ability with language stood her in good stead as she majored in linguistics, studied the work of William Shakespeare and participated in a small drama group.
Today Lois lives in a tiny Canadian town with her husband, Barry, and two very vocal sons. And still her belief in a strong, vibrant God who cares more than we know predominates her life. “My writing,” she says, “allows me to express just a few of the words God sends bubbling around in my brain. If I convey some of the wonder and amazement I feel when I think of God and His love, I’ve used my words to good effect”
Faithfully Yours
Lois Richer
But the Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart.
—I Samuel 16:7
To my husband, Barry, on our fifteenth wedding anniversary, with much love and appreciation for your unwavering support.
“That man will turn my hair gray,” Gillian Langford sputtered, twisting the emerald engagement band around the ring finger on her right hand in frustration.
“Not yet, I hope,” Mary Teale teased, her eyes flashing. “This is only your third year teaching—your first at JFK Elementary.”
“And it may be my last in the fair town of Mossbank, North Dakota,” Gillian retorted. “I’m not kidding! Mr. Nivens is so strict, I’ve forgotten half of the six thousand rules he’s made in the past five weeks.” There was a sudden silence in the staff room, and Gillian turned around in her chair to see why, her heart sinking as she did.
“That fact is very evident, Miss Langford.” Her nemesis stood behind her, his face hardened into the usual stern lines. “I would like to speak to you privately, please. In my office.”
“Now?” Gillian heard the squeak of surprise in her voice and wished she had been able to control it. He didn’t need to know how badly her feet were aching.
“If you please?”
She forced herself to follow his tall form and noted the short, precise cut of his hair above his stiff white shirt collar. Jeremy Nivens was at all times perfectly groomed with never a hair out of place or a spot on his tie. Gillian hated that. She felt like a grubby child when she stood next to all that neatness.
“Be seated, Miss Langford.” He sat stiffly behind his massive desk, his back ramrod straight, arms resting on the desktop. “I wanted to discuss this afternoon’s unfortunate incident with you.”
Gillian frowned. What in the world was old Jerry talking about now, she fumed, and then corrected herself for using the term bestowed on him by the other teachers. Actually, Jeremy Nivens wasn’t all that old, her aunt Hope had assured her. But you couldn’t tell it from his unyielding demeanor.
Gillian had noticed other aspects about him, too. He was