Faithfully Yours. Lois Richer
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I’ll still be knitting,” she murmured. “And while I am, I can think of new plans for Jeremy.” Charity watched the glint of mischievousness sparkle in her friend’s eyes and wondered what she was up to.
“It isn’t fair,” Faith wailed sadly. “You have both chosen your projects, and I don’t have one. What shall I choose? I’m not very good at matchmaking but maybe I could try for Gillian.”
Charity met Hope’s wary glance with her own.
“No!” They both said it together.
“What we mean, dear, is that you’re such a good cook and you always do those wonderful dainty trays for the Christmas hampers. Maybe you should do that again.” Charity nodded as Hope’s soft voice soothed their friend.
“Of course I will continue with that,” Faith told them firmly. “But I want a special project. Something really different.” Her green eyes narrowed as she pondered the subject. Finally she stood to her feet.
“After all, I do have a bit of time yet. It is only the first week of October, isn’t it? I shall think and pray about it. Perhaps the good Lord has some special work that I can do.” Faith ambled out the front door, completely forgetting her purse and sweater as she strolled along, mumbling to herself.
“We should have thought of something for her to do, before we announced our ideas,” Charity muttered, gathering up their teacups and setting them on the tray. “It’s not fair to leave her like that.”
Hope carried the dishes back into the house and set about washing them carefully in the old-fashioned sink. She had most of the work done before Charity hobbled in.
“Faith is a strong, competent woman,” she stated firmly. “She’s not senile, just a little confused sometimes. I think it will be good for her to think about a Christmas project rather than Jeremy’s odious meddling, for a while.” Hope shook her head with disgust. “That man would drive a saint up the wall.”
“He’s certainly been hovering around Faith since he came,” Charity agreed. “I heard him telling her not to use the oven unless he was there. You know how she loves to bake. I can’t imagine that she’ll listen to him.”
“It might be best if she did,” Hope muttered finally. “I hate to say it, but her memory is getting worse. I’ve been checking up on her myself lately, just to make sure she gets home safely.”
“Funny,” Charity mused absently, rubbing liniment on the aching joints of her hands. “Arthur mentioned something about seeing her home the other night. Said he found her in the park, gathering leaves for her collection. In the dark.”
“Well, I think we’ll just have to be especially careful to keep track of her with Jeremy around,” Hope said with a frown. “I don’t like the way he keeps telling her not to do this or that, fussing if she goes for a long walk. She’s not in prison, for heaven’s sake.”
“Yes, I’ll watch her, too,” Charity agreed, sinking into her easy chair. “Now about this project of yours? Do you really think you can find someone suitable for him? He’s rather, er, old-fashioned, dear.”
Hope grinned smugly.
“I know. That’s why I’ve decided to hook him up with Flossie Gerbrandt. She’s exactly the same.”
“Flossie?” Charity shuddered. “I hate that name. Can’t understand why Clara called her that. Always reminds me of a rabbit, for some reason.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Hope. I just can’t picture Flossie in her support hose and caftans going to church with the elegantly turned-out likes of him.” She coughed discreetly behind her hand. “Anyway,” she murmured repressively. “The Lord has his own plans for Jeremy Nivens. He doesn’t need you to meddle.”
“I’m just going to give the man a helping hand,” Hope told her, stacking the plates in the cupboard. “Nothing wrong with that, is there?”
Hope sipped her tea pensively, staring at the embroidered Lord’s Prayer on the wall. She was lost in thought until Charity’s voice called her back to the present.
“Pardon?” she asked softly, enraptured by the picture her mind had drawn.
“I just wondered when you were going to get to work on your new project?”
“Soon, dear. Very soon.” Hope returned her gaze to the figure of Jesus holding a sheep in his strong arms. “The sooner the better—for Faith, for Jeremy and for Gillian.”
Gillian stared at the cut on the boy’s knee.
“Jed, I told you to stay with the rest of us. How did you do this, anyway?” She dabbed at the injury carefully, noting the dirt imbedded in the cut.
“I had to go pee” she was told in no uncertain terms. “When I was doing up my pants, I tripped on somethin’. It made me fall.”
Gillian grinned. No responsibility for Jed. If something had cut him, it certainly wasn’t his fault. She grimaced. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Nivens would believe that the cut was all her fault.
“Come, children,” she called, ushering them ahead of her onto the path through the woods. “We have to get back to the school now. It’s almost time for the bell. Quietly, Rowena.”
Who are you kidding? she asked herself sourly. Quiet? First-graders? Not likely. As they stumbled and pushed and shoved their way back into the classroom, she glanced round surreptitiously. Her heart fell as she noticed the man in the blue pin-striped suit heading directly for her.
“Come along, children. Let’s get your things together now. Don’t forget to collect as many leaves as you can this weekend.” She handed out knapsacks and lunch bags, just managing to grasp Jed’s arm before he headed out the room as the bell rang. “Just a minute, Jed. We’ll have to see to that knee.”
“Miss Langford? What is the meaning of this bedlam?” Mr. Nivens’s voice was raised to counter the excitement coming from the rest of the children now pouring into the hall.
She ignored him as she drew Jed over to the sink and began dabbing antiseptic from the first aid kit onto the child’s knee. She held one bony little shoulder firmly as the boy wriggled.
“Ow!” His bellow was loud and angry.
“Has this child injured himself on school property, during school hours, Miss Langford?”
Old Jerry was in a cranky mood, she decided glumly. There was no way he would let her off easily for this one.
“We went on a nature hike, and Jed cut his knee,” she told him, still gripping the child’s wriggling shoulder. “If you could assist me with this, I’d appreciate it. I have to cleanse the area.”
“He should be seen by a doctor,” Jeremy Nivens began firmly, but he knelt beside the boy and peered at the affected area. “At least it won’t require stitches,” he muttered, taking the cotton from her hands and briskly wiping the grit and particles of soil away.
“That hurts, ya know,” Jed shrieked. His face was red with anger.
“Nonsense. A great big boy like you wouldn’t feel a little nick like this. You have to be strong when these things happen—stiff upper lip and all that.” His finger slapped a Band-Aid across the knee with surety, and he pulled Jed’s pant leg swiftly down.
“Huh?” Jed sat staring at the older man in perplexity.
Gillian bent down and stared into Jed’s puzzled face. “He means that you were very brave for handling that so well, Jed. Here’s your knapsack now. You’d better run and get that bus.”
As the boy scurried