Loving Treasures (4 page)

Delving deeper, he drew out Claire’s gift. His chest tightened as he eyed one photo after another—each one of Jemma’s smiling face.

“Claire, what are you doing to me?”

The answer came from his heart. She’d done nothing. The problem was his. He lowered his eyes to one of the photographs and faced the truth. He was the one out of control.

In her small bedroom, Jemma tugged pantyhose up her legs, then rose and pulled a slip over her head. Moving to the mirror, she held the summer dress in front of her, hoping that the yellow print didn’t make her look too pale. It had been on sale and she couldn’t pass up the bargain.

Since moving into the Dorchesters’ residence, Jemma felt like a prisoner. The couple were tolerable, but demanding. Jemma had known when she accepted the job that the work wouldn’t be easy. She was used to hard work. But at the Dorchesters’, no matter how hard she tried, she was chastised for the
smallest mistake—while they seemed to ignore her efforts.

She looked toward heaven, asking God to forgive her. Gratitude was not a guarantee in life. Her reward would be in heaven. Rod Dorchester’s vile language made Jemma cringe each time she heard the Lord’s name in vain. Yet she’d grown fond of Stacy Dorchester’s elderly mother, for whom she cared. She wondered how long she could cope with the situation.

But her life had a bright side. Claire had made every effort to let Jemma know that all was forgiven, and from what she could tell, Philip had done an excellent job of explaining things to Claire. The monthly drawing idea was a hit and even tourists participated, leaving their address and hoping to win the colorful scarf Claire displayed as the prize.

But Philip? She hadn’t seen him for the past three weeks.

Her chest tightened, knowing tonight they’d be together. He’d called and invited her to join him and Claire for the make-up birthday dinner. One without interruptions. She missed him more than she wanted to admit.

Philip was not only a good businessman. He seemed to understand human nature. He’d helped her with Claire and guided Claire to think in a more businesslike manner. And he’d even guessed she would dislike her work with the Dorchesters. Had he known about Mr. Dorchester’s cursing?

Jemma dropped the dress over her head and studied herself in the mirror. Was it the dress or her hair she didn’t like? She grabbed a clasp, pulled her curls away from her face and secured it. A few wispy strands escaped. With the whisk of a facial brush, she added color to her cheeks and daubed on a bright lipstick. She’d pass.

She slipped on her lowest strap heels, grabbed her shoulder bag and hurried down the back steps. She’d agreed to wait for Philip and Claire out front, wanting no part of the Dorchesters’ curious stares.

Late afternoon sun filtered through the trees, spreading dark and light patterns on the ground that shifted and flickered with the breeze. She usually loved summer: it held promise of bright skies and warm days. But this summer left her feeling cheated. She barely had time to enjoy a moment of relaxation, let alone the outdoors.

Her one day off seemed to fly. And though her nights were free, the Dorchesters’ social calendar left Jemma in charge of the elderly woman many evenings. Grandma Agnes enjoyed her company, and Jemma couldn’t disappoint her.

Jemma headed down the block, away from the austere brick house. A neighbor’s rose garden sent its rich fragrance sailing on the air, and Jemma stopped, filling her lungs with the aroma that reminded her of Philip’s aftershave.

When an automobile turned the corner, Jemma recognized Philip’s car, and anticipation jarred her
senses. During the past weeks, she’d lived for this day—to see him again and enjoy his company.

Through the windshield, she could see his silhouette etched by the lowering sun. Her heart skipped. She forgot to breathe. She wanted to stamp her foot at her foolishness.

When he pulled to the curb beside her, Philip leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. She stepped forward, glancing into the back seat to greet Claire.

The seat was empty.

Philip answered her question before she asked. “Claire begged to be excused. She said she was tired and felt a cold coming on.”

Jemma knew better. Claire was being Claire. She’d hinted to Jemma when they visited her last that Philip would make a wonderful husband…for someone.

Since she’d found no point in arguing with Claire, Jemma had agreed. For someone, Philip would make a wonderful husband. But the
someone
wasn’t her.

Jemma wanted to be aggravated, but this was Claire’s way. Tonight Claire had generously given up a nice dinner to arrange this private rendezvous.

Claire’s manipulation made Jemma feel ill at ease. Still, she could do nothing now, so she slid into the passenger seat, closed the door and gathered her thoughts before facing Philip.

“I suppose I should have let you know Claire wasn’t coming,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

She avoided his eyes. “I’m just surprised.”

“We could call it off and wait until she’s feeling better.”

Call it off?
If he did, Jemma would be terribly disappointed. If he didn’t, they would spend the evening together and Jemma would spend the night fighting her foolish longings. “Is that what you’d like to do?” Jemma asked, shuffling through her conflicting emotions.

“Not at all,” he said, his voice soft and deep.

She faced him, afraid to look in his eyes, but she did. “Then, I’d enjoy having dinner with you.”

He smiled. “I’m glad.”

They drove in silence except for an occasional comment about the scenery or the day. In a short time they reached the inn’s parking lot.

Surrounded by large elms, the Inn on Spring Lake was a low, rambling stone building that sat on the edge of a rise overlooking the lake that eventually flowed into nearby Lake Michigan.

They were guided to a cozy table beside a window that looked out on the calm, bottle-green water. Afraid to look directly into Philip’s eyes, Jemma stared out at the landscape. Gulls soared and dipped, searching for their evening meal, and when the birds touched the silent water, concentric ripples rolled outward, tipped in gold from the setting sun.

Occasionally, Jemma gave Philip a sidelong glance, but his gaze seemed focused on her. The admiring look stirred her imagination.

“I’m always amazed at how quickly the sun goes down,” Jemma said, watching the golden orb touch the water, sending quicksilver arrows darting across the blue stillness. “Time is a strange phenomenon.”

With a questioning look, Philip tilted his head.

“If you’re happy, time flies…like this glorious sun. In the blink of an eye, it vanishes into night and returns as another fleeting day. But when you’re lonely or miserable, it drags like a funeral dirge. Unending.”

“I don’t want you to be miserable, Jemma. Tell me you’re not.” He moved his hand across the tabletop and rested it on hers.

His touch wrapped her in an unexpected calm. “Not miserable, exactly. But far from where I’d like to be.”

“And where would you like to be?”

She longed to tell him. She’d like to be close to him, protected in his strong arms and soothed with his deep, reassuring voice. “I don’t know,” she answered finally. “But not at the Dorchesters.”

“Then, resign.”

It was as simple as that.
Resign.
She pondered the thought. She could easily give her notice—give them time to replace her—but she wasn’t one to act rashly. “What would I do then? Go back to Claire’s?” She lowered her eyes. “I can’t. I really can’t.”

“I have a job waiting for you. Believe me, you can take your pick. Reservation desk, office clerk, waitress, housekeeper. You’re doing that now. A job
at Bay Breeze would be much better…and I guarantee a better wage.”

She needed to think. Even more, she needed to ask God what to do. “I don’t know. I just can’t—”

He pressed his finger to her lips, then turned her head with his free hand.

She looked through the window and witnessed a lake of fire and diamonds. A miracle of orange, gold and silver spread across the water in glinting prisms of refracted light. A gasp escaped her.

“So beautiful,” Philip whispered.

“It is,” she whispered. She returned her gaze to his and felt her head spin, seeing his tender, telling smile.

“The sunset, too, Jemma, but I’m talking about you. You’re like a spring day…all fresh and glowing with your golden hair and dress covered with sprigs of flowers.”

He touched the sleeve of her simple print gown, sending a shiver of excitement down her arm.

“So young…and expectant. I envy you. I wish I was young again.”

“You envy me?” Jemma stared at him with disbelief. “Me?” She shook her head. “Anyone would envy you. You have everything a person could want. Success, wealth, generosity, kindness, people who look up to you—”

“I have nothing.”

She stopped breathing.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not out of my
mind. My life is set. No adventure. No surprises. No family.”

Her mind shot back to their first birthday dinner. “Your brother?”

“No. Not that kind of family. A family of my own.”

Jemma couldn’t believe what she heard. “A while ago you told me to spread my arms and fly. How about taking your own advice?”

“My own advice is for the young. I’m old enough to be your father, Jemma. Could you see your father spreading his arms and flying?”

“He could be…in heaven. My father died years ago.”

His face blanched. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“That’s okay—but don’t you see? You’re only fifty. That’s still young enough for—”

“Not for what I want.”

Like a whirlwind, questions spun through Jemma’s mind. What did he want? Not her, that was clear. Was there some woman in his life? A woman he loved who didn’t love him? How could that be? She had no words, no answers that rose from the gale in her head.

She turned and faced the water, seeing the last of the golden rays spill across the horizon, the heavens shadowing to coral and violet. Like her dreams, the sky had glowed, then faded to nothing but black night.

One stark thought pierced the darkness. She could never work at Bay Breeze. Seeing Philip every day would weigh on her heart. And she’d already had enough sorrow for a whole lifetime.

“I
understand,” Philip said, controlling his discouragement. “I’ve heard the complaints myself.”

Ian Barry fiddled with the keys clutched in his hand and shuffled from one foot to the other. “You’re the boss, Philip, but I’m getting nailed every day for the positions we haven’t filled.”

“I know.” Philip’s focus riveted to the telephone. Why hadn’t Jemma called and accepted his job offer? He knew the time had come when he could no longer avoid filling the resort’s needs. He’d held open two particular jobs that he thought Jemma would enjoy.

Ian scowled at the wad of keys and dropped them into his suit jacket pocket. “We’re heading for the prime tourist season and—”

“Have Personnel fill the slots, Ian. I hear you,” Philip said, monitoring the stress in his voice.

“If I understood why we’ve waited so long, I’d—”

“Ian,” Philip said, rising, “I said notify Personnel to process the applications. You’ll have all the help you need in a couple of days.”

Ian adjusted his eyeglass frames and nodded. “All right, then.” With a final puzzled look, he strode from the office and closed the door.

Sinking into his chair, Philip shut his eyes. He had no other option. Now if Jemma wanted a job, he would have little to offer except a lower paying position like housekeeping. Why was Jemma so headstrong?

Philip swiveled his high-backed chair to face the window and Lake Michigan glinting in the late afternoon sun. In the distance, he watched resort guests lolling on the beach or standing on the pier enjoying the scenery. The tennis courts and golf tee-times were booked throughout the day, and in the evening, the resort restaurants had nearly reached capacity seating. Philip was awed that God had blessed him so abundantly.

But why him? What happened to God’s blessings for his brother, Andrew? From the same parental seed, Philip and Andrew were so different. His brother had been bored with the resort and longed for adventure and freedom, while Philip had stayed by his father’s side and learned the business. By the time his father retired and later died, Philip had been
experienced and well-trained in handling the resort. But Andrew…?

Guilt weighed heavily on Philip’s shoulders. His brother had not faired as well—and now what? What would he do if Andrew returned? Philip had sensed something in their telephone conversation a few weeks earlier, as if Andrew wanted forgiveness for breaking his father’s heart, for squandering his share of the family fortune, for walking away from everyone who loved him.

Philip would never understand that driving need for independence. Take Jemma. She’d rejected his offer. But why? Was it really a desire for this freedom Philip didn’t understand, or was she rejecting
him?
He wondered if she sensed he cared too much.

Refocusing on the lake, Philip watched the waves roll in. Hitting the shore, they dragged the sand back to sea, leaving debris behind in their wake. The symbolism smacked him. Did Jemma see him as dashing into her life and knocking her off balance?
I need to stand on my own two feet,
she’d said. Did she fear he would leave her floundering in the debris of his helpfulness?

Before he could think the question through, the telephone jolted him to action. He grabbed the receiver and, following his greeting, heard Claire’s exuberant voice.

“Philip, where have you been?”

“Busy, Claire.” He felt guilt over his neglect. “The first weeks of the tourist season are always like
this.” He rolled his shoulders in an attempt to dispel the tension. “How are things with you? No problems, I hope.”

“I’m great. Miss hearing from you, that’s all. I wondered if you’d like to drop by tonight for dinner. I’m making something you like.”

Her offer sent a buzz of thoughts whirring through his mind. With so many nit-picking details, he’d planned to stay in the office late that evening. Still, how could he refuse? “Give me a hint? What would I miss?”

“You’ll have to come and see,” she said, her voice teasing. “Any time that’s good for you, Philip.”

Philip eyed the wall clock. “How about eight, Claire?” With the late hour, he hoped for a counter-offer, a rain check for another day.

“Great,” she said. “See you then.”

When he hung up, Philip accepted that his ploy hadn’t worked. Yet, as well as a good meal, another positive side of the invitation came to him. Claire might tell him how Jemma had faired the past weeks. Was Jemma avoiding him?

As she dressed for dinner, Jemma’s cheeks burned with humiliation and anger. She’d willingly given up the past two evenings to stay with Agnes, but today when she had plans of her own, Rod Dorchester had upbraided her—using the Lord’s name—for her unwillingness to spend another night caring for his
mother-in-law. Had he asked her before Claire’s call, Jemma would have honored his request.

As Jemma slipped a knit top over her head, she wondered what God would have her do. Being in a subservient position, she felt unable to say anything about her employer’s sinful language. How much longer could she bear it?

Feeling no need to fuss over her appearance, Jemma splotched on fresh lipstick and clipped her unruly curls into a ponytail. Claire had seen her looking much worse, so what did it matter? She hurried down the back stairs, out the side gate and along the sidewalk toward Loving Treasures.

In the back of her mind, Jemma wondered why Claire had called in the afternoon to invite her to dinner so late, but she tossed it off to Claire’s incomprehensible abandon. In the blink of an eye, Claire reached out to whatever struck her fancy.

When the telephone had rung earlier, Jemma hoped to hear Philip’s voice. Weeks had passed since they’d been together and Jemma missed his warmth and good humor—even though seeing him made her pulse race. Why did she react so foolishly? Philip was a respected man. He didn’t need a poor shop girl clinging to his side for support. Besides, she wanted independence.

In the early evening breeze, Jemma breathed in a mixture of scents—summer flowers, dusty cement, and an occasional whiff of lake air drifting from the
Grand River that emptied into Lake Michigan only a couple of miles away.

Reaching Claire’s shop, Jemma took the side entrance. As soon as she opened the outer door, the rich scent of roast beef roused her taste buds. Curious why Claire would choose a warm summer day to make a roast, Jemma hurried up the stairs and, with a single tap, pushed open the door.

“Smells wonderful, Claire,” she said, stepping into the kitchen and witnessing Claire’s latest fashion statement: a floral magenta caftan.

“It’s the rosemary,” Claire said. “Rosemary and pork, rosemary and beef—they go together like love and marriage.” As the analogy left her mouth, a grin shot to Claire’s face. “Bad example,” she said. “How about Cupid and his arrows?”

Puzzled, Jemma stood for a moment wondering about Claire’s analogies. They both had a smattering of romance.

“I’m curious, Claire,” Jemma asked, “why are you making such a fancy dinner?”

“It was an inspiration.”

Inspiration? Jemma narrowed her eyes, studying Claire as she busied herself at the stove. Without questioning further, Jemma shifted her focus to the small table and counted three plates.

She understood. Claire had met someone.

But that surprised her. Although Claire had been widowed for years, her mother-in-law had vowed she would never again allow a man in her life. Jemma
had believed her. No man had ever appeared to catch Claire’s eye. Yet, Jemma hoped someday Claire would find love. Single life could be lonely.

Rather than ruin Claire’s surprise, Jemma veered the conversation in another direction. “May I help you?”

“No, I’m about finished,” she said, her long, pointed sleeve barely escaping a simmering pan on the stove. “I put the Yorkshire pudding in the oven just before you arrived.”

Hearing her statement, Jemma realized that Claire meant business. Yorkshire pudding was one of Claire’s specialities for important occasions. Puzzled, Jemma eyed the older woman. Why hadn’t she heard about this romance before?

Claire swung away from the stove, her caftan billowing around her ankles. “Let’s sit in the living room and talk.” She headed toward the doorway and beckoned Jemma to follow.

Chuckling to herself, Jemma was sure the
talk
would be the older woman’s romantic confession.

Claire sat in an easy chair and gestured toward the sofa. Jemma sank into the soft cushions and waited.

“Tell me about your work,” Claire said.

Her question threw Jemma off-kilter.

“Are things any better?” Claire asked, a sincere look settling on her face.

Not wanting to ruin the evening with her distress, Jemma gave Claire a sketchy picture of her week and dwelt on her enjoyment of spending time with the
elderly Agnes. She sensed that Claire was bursting with questions, but before Claire could prod Jemma for more details, the doorbell rang and Jemma breathed a relieved sigh. Her mother-in-law had an amazing knack for dragging the truth out of her.

Claire sent Jemma an unsettling look and rose, while the cat appeared out of nowhere to follow her. Without comment, she sailed toward the side door. Jemma listened and heard the murmur of a masculine voice drowned beneath Claire’s exuberant welcome.

Curious, Jemma watched the doorway for her first glimpse of Claire’s friend. When the man strolled through the archway, Jemma gasped. “Philip!”

“Jemma?”

The simultaneous acknowledgments made it clear that neither had known of the other’s attendance.

“Claire didn’t tell me,” Philip said, hesitating in the middle of the room.

His surprised face sent her heart sinking.

“Sit, Philip,” Claire said. “The sofa’s most comfortable.” She breezed past him and wafted her flowing sleeve in Jemma’s direction.

As Philip studied the empty space beside Jemma, Claire sank into the lone chair.

Regaining her breath, Jemma shifted closer to the arm. Obviously Philip wouldn’t have come had he known she’d been invited. Jemma noted the surprise in his voice and the discomfort in his expression.

“Isn’t this nice,” Claire said, ignoring the tension
that filled the room. “I’m pleased you could both come on such short notice.”

Philip edged forward. “I smelled the roast beef when I came in, Claire. Don’t tell me you’re making…”

“Yorkshire pudding,” she said, ending his question. “Your favorite.”

“It is,” he said, settling onto the sofa beside Jemma. “I haven’t had that in years.”

“You mentioned my pot roast one day in the shop,” she said.

“Yes, I did…and the Yorkshire pudding. It’s been years since I had it.”

Claire laughed. “It will be years longer, unless I finish up.” She rose and swept toward the kitchen.

Jemma seized the moment and rose. “Let me help, Claire.”

But before she could take a step, Claire shooed her back. “You and Philip talk. Everything will be ready in a minute.”

As the command left Claire’s mouth, Jemma saw the picture as clearly as a summer sky. The romance Claire was celebrating was one she’d contrived. Jemma and Philip’s. No wonder Claire hadn’t said a word about a new man in her life.

Rattled by the awareness, Jemma pivoted to face Philip. “How have you been?” she asked, sitting as close as she could to the sofa arm.

“Busy. Too busy,” he said. “I’ve wanted to call and see how—”

His excuse settled on Jemma’s ear. “Don’t apologize, please. I know your life is very complicated. Mine is, well, is quieter. Much more…” She couldn’t find the word. Simple? No, it was horrible.

Philip shifted and rested his hand on her arm. “To be honest, I’d hoped that you would call.”

She’d wished the same. But he hadn’t. “Me?”

He shrugged. “Well, besides missing your friendship, I hoped you’d change your mind about the job.”

Hearing his offer again, Jemma longed to give in and accept. Her heart thudded at the thought of telling him about Mr. Dorchester’s language and her unhappiness. But as she gathered courage, Claire appeared in the doorway, calling them to dinner.

Hearing Claire’s invitation, Philip drew in a deep breath, savoring the appetizing aroma that followed her into the room. He rose, and before he could be a gentleman, Jemma popped up and darted away as if her life had been threatened. Her reaction set him on edge.

Though the table was small, Claire filled it with roast beef and potatoes, boiled carrots, and great slabs of the pudding. Philip drenched the meal in thick, brown gravy.

As they concentrated on their food, conversation dwindled, and when they’d finished, Philip congratulated Claire on her culinary skills. Before he or Jemma could volunteer to help with the clean-up, she
directed them back to the living room, leaving Claire to deal with a meowing Bodkin.

“Go. Go,” Claire said, chasing them away. “When I’m finished here, I’ll bring in coffee and dessert.”

Her eagerness aroused his curiosity, but now he could take advantage of his time alone with Jemma. In a rare quiet moment during the meal, Philip had pondered how he would question Jemma. He longed to know what had upset her, and decided a direct approach was necessary.

Jemma left the kitchen, and Philip followed. Before she could sink into the farthest corner of the sofa, he captured her arm. “What is it, Jemma? Have I upset you in some way?”

“No. No, you haven’t done anything.”

Her arm stiffened beneath his hand.

“You’re not being truthful,” Philip said. “Please tell me what I’ve done.”

A look of defeat settled on her face and she sank onto the sofa. “It’s me, Philip. You’ve made me a job offer, and I’ve refused because I want to help myself instead of having everyone bail me out of my troubles. I already told you that.” A look of panic filled her eyes. “But I’m very disturbed about my current job…and I really need some advice.”

Sitting beside her, he slipped his arm comfortingly around her shoulder. “What is it? Tell me.”

As if he’d opened the floodgates, Jemma poured out her story—her efforts to make the family happy,
her pleasure in tending to Agnes, yet her overwhelming misery at Rod’s scolding and cursing.