âWell, itâs just a bit late for regrets, Miss Langford,â Jeremy said. âEspecially now that the whole town thinks weâre about to be married!â
âLook,â she began, angry at the way he was hinting that this was all her fault, âI was only trying to spare your aunt. She was just a little confused and I didnât want to make it worse.â
âWell, youâve made it much worse,â he complained. âNow weâve got the minister planning our wedding. What are you going to do about this situation now?â
Gillian felt tears press against her eyelids. But there was no way she was giving in to themânot with him standing there watching.
LOIS RICHER
credits her love of writing to a childhood spent in a Sunday school where the King James Version of the Bible was taught. The majesty and clarity of the language in the Old Testament stories allowed her to create pictures in her own mind while growing up in a tiny prairie village where everyone strove to make ends meet. During her school years, she continued to find great solace in those words and in the church family that supported her in local speech festivals, Christmas concerts and little theater productions. Later, in college, her ability with language stood her in good stead as she majored in linguistics, studied the work of William Shakespeare and participated in a small drama group.
Today Lois lives in a tiny Canadian town with her husband, Barry, and two very vocal sons. And still her belief in a strong, vibrant God who cares more than we know predominates her life. âMy writing,â she says, âallows me to express just a few of the words God sends bubbling around in my brain. If I convey some of the wonder and amazement I feel when I think of God and His love, Iâve used my words to good effectâ
âThat man will turn my hair gray,â Gillian Langford sputtered, twisting the emerald engagement band around the ring finger on her right hand in frustration.
âNot yet, I hope,â Mary Teale teased, her eyes flashing. âThis is only your third year teachingâyour first at JFK Elementary.â
âAnd it may be my last in the fair town of Mossbank, North Dakota,â Gillian retorted. âIâm not kidding! Mr. Nivens is so strict, Iâve forgotten half of the six thousand rules heâs made in the past five weeks.â There was a sudden silence in the staff room, and Gillian turned around in her chair to see why, her heart sinking as she did.
âThat fact is very evident, Miss Langford.â Her nemesis stood behind her, his face hardened into the usual stern lines. âI would like to speak to you privately, please. In my office.â
âNow?â Gillian heard the squeak of surprise in her voice and wished she had been able to control it. He didnât need to know how badly her feet were aching.
âIf you please?â
She forced herself to follow his tall form and noted the short, precise cut of his hair above his stiff white shirt collar. Jeremy Nivens was at all times perfectly groomed with never a hair out of place or a spot on his tie. Gillian hated that. She felt like a grubby child when she stood next to all that neatness.
âBe seated, Miss Langford.â He sat stiffly behind his massive desk, his back ramrod straight, arms resting on the desktop. âI wanted to discuss this afternoonâs unfortunate incident with you.â
Gillian frowned. What in the world was old Jerry talking about now, she fumed, and then corrected herself for using the term bestowed on him by the other teachers. Actually, Jeremy Nivens wasnât all that old, her aunt Hope had assured her. But you couldnât tell it from his unyielding demeanor.
Gillian had noticed other aspects about him, too. He was certainly good-looking with that tall, lean, wide-shouldered body under a perfectly tailored suit. He had the long, straight, haughty nose of an aristocrat with the same high cheekbones and patrician features.
As she stared across at him, Gillian almost grinned. This situation reminded her of her own schooldays and the times she had been reprimanded by the principal. Only this time it was more serious; her job was at stake. Mr. Nivensâs chilly blue-gray gaze was focused directly on her. Again.
âIâm sorry, I donât quite follow,â she said softly, rubbing her shoeless foot against the carpet on his office floor. âDid something unusual happen today?â