Faithfully Yours

“Really?” Gillian stared at him disbelievingly.

“I’m sure of it.” His eyes sparkled at some inner joke as he watched her.

“Well, anyway—” she shrugged “—if you don’t want to work with them, just say so.”

“I thought I had,” he murmured so softly she barely caught the words. He studied her face. “Are you going to fall in with Pastor Dave’s suggestions?” he demanded.

“I think I might,” she mused, deliberately ignoring that inner voice that quietly but firmly whispered NO. “They really need some direction, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone else.” All around them the rustle of wind through the drying leaves and the giggles of children romping in the playground carried in the night air. The musky odor of cranberries decaying in the nearby woods wafted pungently toward them on a light breeze.

“But you’re not that much younger than I am,” he objected.

“In some ways,” she said through gritted teeth. “You and I are light-years apart.”

“I suppose that’s true,” he admitted at last. He turned to leave. “Good night, Miss Lang—Gillian.”

As he walked away into the dusky night, Gillian stood with her mouth hanging open. For the first time in over a month, he’d called her by her first name. How strange! Perhaps the man really wasn’t as stuffy as she’d thought. Maybe, just maybe, he’d unbend with time.

Then she frowned.

He hadn’t outright refused to attend the organizational meeting, had he? Did that mean he intended to show up and offer his staid opinions?

“No way,” she muttered angrily. “I don’t care how much they need helpers. Mr. Jeremy Nivens is not going to work in the youth group, not if I have anything to say about it.”

As she turned to go back inside, Gillian tried to ignore the sight of Jeremy almost lost in the shadows up ahead, children racing along beside him, chattering eagerly as he ignored them.

She had not misread the situation. He wasn’t the youth leader type. Not at all.

Was he?

Chapter Two (#ulink_f912e7c5-5379-5fb2-af84-cd99d6ab71d0)

“Why are there two whole shelves of dog food and only one teensy section with tea?” Charity Flowerday muttered, as she hobbled up and down the aisles of Mossbank’s largest grocery store, searching for the ingredients she needed for lunch with her friends. Although why she should have to search for anything was a mystery. She’d lived in this small farming community for almost seventy years. She should know where every single item was kept, she chuckled to herself.

“Ah, tea.” She ran her finger along the shelf and plucked a package into her cart. “Now, dessert.”

It was impossible to ignore the young tow-headed boy in the junk-food aisle across from frozen foods. He looked much the way her own son had thirty years ago: freckle-faced, grubby, with a tear in both knees of his filthy jeans and his shirttail hanging out.

“School not started yet?” she asked in her usual friendly fashion. It wasn’t that she didn’t know. Why, her friend Hope’s niece had been teaching at the local elementary school for almost a month now, and she was well acquainted with the schedule.

“Buyin’ somethin’ fer my mom,” he muttered, turning his face away and hunching over to peer at the varieties of potato chips currently available. It was obvious that he wasn’t interested in carrying on a conversation. Charity shrugged before turning away to squint at the ice cream labels behind the frosted glass doors.

“Hmm, all pretty high in fat and cholesterol,” she murmured to herself. Heaven knew women of her age couldn’t afford either one, she thought grimly. “Arthur,” she called loudly, hoping the proprietor would hear her above the roar of the semi truck unloading outside.

When Art Johnson didn’t immediately appear, she shuffled over to the counter to wait for him. The grubby little boy was there ahead of her clutching a fistful of penny candy.

“Hello again, young man. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Has your family just moved to Mossbank?” Any newcomer to their fair town was a source of interest for Charity, and she couldn’t help the bristle of curiosity that ran through her. “What’s your name?”

“Roddy. Roddy Green.”

“Well, nice to meet you, Roddy. My name is Mrs. Flowerday. I live at the end of Maple Street in that red brick house. Perhaps you’ve noticed it?”

“Nope.”

Evidently young Mr. Green didn’t care to know, either, thought Charity with a tiny smile. Kids nowadays were so different. They didn’t bother with all the folderol of petty politeness and such. They just got down to the basics.

“Where’s the old guy that runs this place?” the boy demanded sullenly, tapping his fingers on the counter. “I haven’t got all day.”

“Oh, Mr. Johnson often has to stay at the back while they unload the truck,” she explained to him with a smile. “He counts the pieces as they take them off to be sure he receives everything he should. I’m certain he will be here in a moment.”

“I’m here right now, Charity. Sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I do for you?”

Arthur Johnson smiled at her the same way he had for the past thirty-five years, and Charity smiled back. He had always been a friendly man who took pleasure in meeting the needs of his customers. When he looked at her like that, his face jovial, his balding head burnished in the autumn sun shining through the window, Charity felt her heart give a quick little patter. He was still such a handsome man.

“I was here first,” Roddy piped up belligerently. He smacked the candy on the counter. “How much?”

Charity noticed Art’s eyebrows rise at the obvious discourtesy, but she shook her head slightly.

“Yes, he was here first, Art,” Charity murmured.

“All right, then. Twenty-nine cents, please, young man.”

As Charity watched the child’s hand slip into his pocket for the change, she noticed his other hand snitch a chocolate bar from the stand in front of him and slip it into his other pocket She motioned her head downward as Art glanced at her, but this time it was he who shook his head.

“Thanks, son. Now you’d better get back to school.”

“’Bye Art the fart,” the boy chanted, racing out the door and down the street. They could hear his bellows of laughter ricochet back and forth along the narrow avenue.

“Of all the nerve! Arthur Johnson, you know very well that child stole a chocolate bar from you,” Charity accused, casting the grocer a black look. “Why did you let the little hoodlum get away with it? Didn’t you see it clearly enough?”

“Oh, I saw it, Charity. My eyes are still pretty good, and that mirror really helps,” Art chuckled. “But this isn’t the first time I chose to do nothing about it. Not right now. Anyway, that chocolate bar will eat away at his conscience all afternoon. He’s not getting away with anything.” He pressed her shoulder gently as if to soothe away her indignation. “Now, dear lady, what can I do for my best customer?”

Charity preened a little at the complimentary tone, straightening her shoulders as she blinked up at him girlishly.

“Well, Arthur, I’m having guests for lunch today, and I want to serve ice cream. This may be one of the last really warm days we have this fall, you know.”

“I see.” Art led the way over to the freezers and tugged out a small round tub. “I have your favorite right back here, Charity. Double chocolate fudge pecan.” He beamed down at her

“Why, I can’t believe you remembered. It’s ages since I had this. It won’t do for Hope, though,” Charity said, grimacing. “She’s always watching her fat content, and this is bound to send it over the moon.” A tinge of frustration edged her words as she shoved the container back into the freezer. “Maybe we’d better have sherbet instead. A nice savory lemon.”

“Charity, Hope Langford is so scrawny she could do with a little fattening up. Besides, you know you love chocolate. And this is the light variety with one-third less fat It’s really quite delicious.” Art glanced at his hands self-consciously. “I tried it myself last week.”

“You ate chocolate ice cream, with your cholesterol level?” Charity frowned severely. “You need a woman to look after you, Arthur.”

They spent twenty minutes discussing their various health ailments before Charity strolled out the door carrying the container of chocolate ice cream and grinning from ear to ear.

Two and a half hours later Charity was welcoming her two friends to her cosy home and a scrumptious lunch.

“Isn’t it lovely out today.” That was her friend Faith Rempel who simply never had a bad day. “I can’t imagine more perfect weather for walking.”