Her aunt smiled thoughtfully as she stared at the tattered shreds of her niece’s panty hose. “Well, those stockings would certainly qualify, my dear.” She chuckled.
“Don’t you start now,” Gillian ordered. “I’ve had enough for one day. Petty little man.” She glared at the cement walkway as if it was to blame for her problems.
“My dear, there are bound to be adjustments with a new principal. You may just have to bite your tongue and accept the changes. Not all change is bad, you know. The possibilities that are ahead of you are endless. Open your eyes.”
“I don’t want to. They’re too tired.” Gillian faked a snore. “Thank heavens it’s Friday. I intend to relax tonight.” She sprang to her feet and leaped up the three stairs. Gillian was almost through the door before she remembered her manners and turned back. “Is that OK with you, Hope, or have you something special planned?”
Her aunt swept the rest of the crackling red and gold leaves into the huge black bag and neatly tied the top. Gillian noticed that her aunt’s pale aquamarine pantsuit was as pristine as it had been this morning; her shiny blond hair swaying gently in its neat bob as she lifted the bag and deposited it at the curb.
“Gillian,” her aunt chided her softly. “You don’t have to keep asking me that. I want this to be your home, too. Please don’t feel pressured to involve yourself in my activities. Feel free to go out with people your own age, dear.”
“Then you are going out,” Gillian muttered, dropping her shoes in the hall and curling comfortably on her aunt’s pale floral sofa. “What has bustling Mossbank scheduled for the inmates tonight?”
Hope favored her with a look that spoke volumes about her niece’s attitude, but she answered, anyway.
“The church has a fowl supper on tonight. I offered to help in the kitchen.” As she spoke, she lifted a huge roaster from the oven. Immediately the house was filled with the succulent aroma of roasting bird and tangy sage dressing.
“I always thought it was a ‘fall’ supper. Doesn’t matter, I’m starved,” Gillian breathed, closing her eyes. “Maybe I should go with you. I could help wash up afterward. Who all goes?”
“Almost everyone,” her aunt chuckled. “It’s an annual event. If I were you I’d get there early.” Her astute eyes watched as Gillian twisted the glowing band around her finger. “Please don’t think I’m trying to boss you or anything, dear.”
Gillian felt her body tighten at the sad but serious look in her aunt’s eyes.
“You know you can say anything to me, Hope. I won’t mind.” Gillian examined her aunt’s serious countenance. “What is it?”
“Don’t you think it’s time to put Michael’s ring away, Gilly? He’s gone and he’s not coming back,” she said in a soft but firm tone. “You have to move on.”
“I’m not sure I can.” Gillian stared at the floor, her mind flooded with memories. “We would have been married by now,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
“Oh, darling.” Her aunt rushed over and hugged her. “I’m so sorry. I know it hurts. But, dear—” she brushed Gillian’s burnished curls off her forehead and pressed a kiss there “—Michael loved life. He wanted to experience everything. Now that he’s with God, I don’t think he would want you to stop living. There are marvelous things in store for you. You have to accept the changes and move on…go out and find what God has planned specially for you.”
“I already know my future,” Gillian whispered at last, pressing herself away and straightening the hated brown suit. “I’m going to teach, Auntie. I’m going to focus my energies on my students and their needs.” She smiled sadly at her aunt’s worried look. “You and I have a lot in common, you know. We’ve both lost the men we loved—you in the Viet Nam war and me because of some stupid drunk driver.
“I’m sure I couldn’t do better than follow your example. Teaching will be enough for me. It has to be.” Gillian choked back a sob and smiled brightly.
“Sweetheart,” her aunt began slowly. “Don’t use me as a role model for your life.” Her eyes were shadowed, and Gillian saw her aunt’s face grow sad. “I have had opportunities to marry that I sometimes wish I had taken.” She shook her blond head and focused on her niece. “Be very sure of what you ask out of life. You may just get it.”
“Right now,” Gillian said, grimacing. “I’d settle for Mr. Jeremy Nivens moving to another country. At the very least, another school.” She made a face. When Hope chuckled, Gillian jumped up and plucked at the repulsive brown fabric disparagingly. “I’ll just go change and we can go to the fall or ‘fowl’ supper.”
Which was probably how she ended up pouring tea for Jeremy Nivens that evening, she decided later.
“Miss Langford,” he murmured, his gray-blue eyes measuring her in the red-checked shirt she wore tucked into her denim skirt. “You look very, er, country tonight.”
Gillian knew he was staring at the spot of gravy on her shirt, and she would have liked to tell him how it got there, but instead, she swallowed her acid reply with difficulty. After all, this was the church.
“It’s comfortable,” she told him shortly. “Do you take cream or sugar?” She held out the tray, knowing perfectly well that he took neither. When he waved it away she turned to leave.
“The meal was excellent.” His voice was a low murmur that she barely caught. “Is there anything I can do to help out? As a member here, I’d like to do my bit.”
“I didn’t know you went to this church,” Gillian blurted out, staring at him aghast. School was bad enough. A person should have the sanctity of their church respected, she fumed.
“It is somewhat less formal than the English one I’ve attended for years, but I find it compatible with my beliefs. Besides, my great-aunt goes here.” He nodded his head at a woman Gillian identified as Faith Rempel.
Although Gillian certainly knew of Faith from her aunt’s vivid description of one of the two ladies she called her dearest friends, she herself had never actually met the woman formally.
“Oh, yes,” she murmured. “Mrs. Rempel. She’s your aunt?” It was strange to think of such a happy-looking woman as the old grouch’s relation. Gillian watched in interest as a grin creased the principal’s stern countenance.
“Apparently my aunt, your aunt and another lady have been great pals for years. I believe the other lady is Mrs. Flowerday. They seem to get along quite well. It must be nice having friends you’ve known for a long time.” His voice was full of something—yearning?
Gillian stared at him. He’d sounded wistful, just for a moment. “It must? Why?”
“Oh, I suppose because they make allowances for you, afford you a few shortcomings.” He smiled softly, glancing across at his aunt once more.
“Why, Mr. Nivens,” Gillian sputtered, staring at him in shock. “I didn’t know you had any.”
He looked startled at that; sort of stunned that she would dare to tease him. A faint red crept up his neck, past the stiff collar, to suffuse his cheeks.
“There are those,” he muttered snidely, glaring at her, “who say that I have more than my fair share.”
It was Gillian’s turn to blush, and she did, but thankfully the effect was lost in Pastor Dave’s loud cheerful voice. “Just the two folks I was most hoping to corral at this shindig.”
Gillian winced at the stomp of the cowboy boots that missed her bare toes by a scant inch and the thick beefy arm that swung round her shoulder. Pastor Dave was a cowboy wannabe and he strove constantly to perfect his image as a long, tall Texan, even when he remained