Faithfully Yours. Lois Richer
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impressed with him. She says he’s very old-fashioned.”
They sat around the table, munching on the low-fat ham sandwiches and crunchy green salad as they discussed the newest educators at the local elementary school.
“Well,” Charity murmured. “You must admit your niece is very advanced in some of her ideas. Why, just the other day I heard Gillian complaining about the textbooks. Said they were too passé to be any good!” Her white eyebrows rose with indignation. “We’ve had those textbooks for years, as you well know, Hope Langford.”
Hope hid her smile behind her napkin. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was the same soft tones they had come to expect from her. “Yes, I know the age of some of those books very well. I myself tried to have them replaced just before I retired from teaching. Unfortunately, some folk in the community felt they were adequate, so the money was not forthcoming.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mirth at Charity as she smoothed a hand over her blond, chin-length bob. As usual, there wasn’t a hair out of place.
“I can’t imagine why anyone thinks the children of the nineties still need to focus so completely on President Kennedy’s administration,” Hope murmured. “Several things have happened since the early sixties, Charity.”
“Oh, piffle.” Faith stared at them vacantly for several moments, her brow furrowed. Her English accent became more pronounced as she spoke. “I’ve forgotten whatever it was we were going to discuss today.”
“It’s all right, dear,” Hope whispered, squeezing the other woman’s hand gently. “We were going to discuss our Christmas project. Isn’t that right, Charity?” She glanced across the table warningly, her thin body rigid in her chair.
“Yes, indeed,” Charity murmured gaily. “But not before we’ve had my special dessert.” She rose to stand behind Faith’s chair, her tiny frame hidden by the larger woman. “And of course, we’ll have tea. You pour, dear.” She squeezed the rounded shoulders affectionately.
It was difficult to scoop out the ice cream with her arthritic hands, so Charity took the carton and dishes to Hope for help. They both watched as Faith’s faded green eyes lit up with excitement as she tasted her first spoonful.
“Nuts,” she crowed. “This ice cream has nuts.” She sighed with pleasure. “I do love nuts,” she murmured happily.
As they basked in the warm, afternoon sun, sipping tea, chatting desultorily and ignoring the dirty dishes sitting nearby, Charity held her hands out for them to see.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to quilt this year, girls,” she murmured, staring at her gnarled fingers and twisted knuckles. “I just can’t manage the needle anymore.”
They were aghast.
“But, Charity,” Faith exploded. “You’ve always made a special Christmas quilt every year for as long as I’ve known you. It’s a tradition in Mossbank.” Her eyes were huge and filling rapidly with tears. “You can’t just give up.”
“Well, this year I am choosing something else for my Christmas project.” Charity’s brown eyes sparkled with a secret.
Hope cleared her voice, curiosity widening her china blue eyes. “What?” she enquired softly.
“I’ve been praying about it, and this morning I got an answer. I’m going to take on a different kind of project—a person. A little boy named Roddy Green. I watched him steal a chocolate bar at the grocery store this morning when he should have been in school.” Charity shifted her feet to rest on a nearby rock, exposing her puffy, swollen ankles. “And I decided he could use a friend,” she murmured quietly. “Art told me a little about the boy, and I think we could both benefit from the relationship.”
“I don’t like that word,” Faith told them both, absently pulling a weed from the huge pot of yellow begonias that sat nearby. “It’s what Jeremy always talks about when I ask if he has a special girlfriend he’s interested in.”
“What word is that, dear?” Hope asked mildly confused.
“Relationship. My Donald and I never had a relationship, not once in thirty-five years. We had love and friendship and care and concern and sometimes arguments, but we never had anything as cold as a relationship.” Faith spat the word out with disgust.
“Young people today do have a different way of looking at things,” Hope agreed. Her blond brows drew together as she asked curiously, “And does Jeremy have a relationship with someone?”
Charity watched Hope twist her fingers together as she lounged in her chair. It was that unusual activity that gave the younger woman away, she decided. Hope never fidgeted. Charity wondered what her friend was up to.
“No,” Faith answered the question sadly. “Jeremy says he’s far too involved in his career to bother with females right now. He really wants to make a success of this school year.” Her face drooped as she told them about her great-nephew’s visit two or three nights before. “He was most uncomplimentary about my natural garden. Said it resembled a weed patch more than a flower garden. He even pulled up a few of my special species.”
“He would.” Hope’s tones were dry. “He’s got his nose buried so far into his policy-and-procedure manuals he can’t see real people in front of him. Jeremy Nivens needs to realize that life is about more than school and books.”
“He doesn’t like me to have the fireplace going, either,” Faith told them solemnly. “He said I’m liable to kill myself with it.”
“It’s gas,” Hope cried. “It shuts itself off. What in the world is he so concerned about?”
Faith shrugged her shoulders tiredly, a wan smile curving her full lips.
“Jeremy worries about me, my dears. He’s much like his father was, always fussing about things.”
“Well,” Hope drawled, staring thoughtfully up at the deep blue sky, “I think he needs something else to engage his mind. Something slightly more challenging ”
“What are you up to?” Charity demanded finally. “Don’t bother to deny it, I can see that glint sparkling in your eyes.”
“Oh, tell me, too.” Faith clapped her hands in glee. “I love it when you have a plan, Hope. It’s always so wonderfully organized, just like you.”
Hope smiled a peculiarly smug grin as her eyes moved from one to the other.
“You have to promise not to say a word,” she said seriously. “Not a whisper to anyone. If this gets around, he’ll never forgive me.”
“Who?” Charity demanded irritably.
“Jeremy,” Hope told them proudly. “I’ve decided to make Jeremy my Christmas project. I’m going to find him a wife so he’ll be too busy to bother Faith anymore.”
Her two friends sat in their lawn chairs, mouths gaping as they absorbed her news. The birds happily chirped around them as a neighbor’s lawn mower hummed industriously.
“You mean,” Charity asked, “you’re going to throw him and Gillian together? I don’t think—”
“Of course not,” Hope said, cutting her off. “Gillian is a free spirit. She needs a man who can understand that, and not try to fence her in with a lot of silly restrictions. Besides, Jeremy’s too old for her.”
“Oh, piffle. Jeremy’s not that much older than your Gillian,” Faith chided, her eyes sparkling at the thought of her great-nephew married.
“In his approach to life in this century, Jeremy rivals Moses,” Hope muttered dourly. “I was actually thinking of Letitia Chamberlain. She’s a quiet little thing, and she’d do whatever he told her to.”
“Well,” Charity murmured, staring off into space, “I suppose if you’ve made up your mind, there’s no point in me trying to change it. I do think