The Highest of Hopes Read online

  “Thank you.” She folded the paper and placed it in her handbag.

  Mr. Olsen didn’t need to know that she had no family left. That Grandad was gone, leaving her with nothing but lies and deception.

  Emma swallowed the hurt that rose in her throat.

  She only prayed that once she met her father, he would provide her with answers to the questions that haunted her. Otherwise this arduous voyage would all be for naught.

  Jonathan entered the dining car of the train and steadied himself with a hand to the wall. A low din filled the room. Seated at the cloth-covered tables, various passengers chatted over plates of food, their conversation punctuated by the clink of silverware and china.

  Jonathan’s stomach, however, rebelled at the variety of smells that assaulted him. Bacon, beef, and a hint of barley soup. He wished he were up to eating something solid, but tea seemed the only thing that could ease the constant nausea that had plagued him since leaving the shores of England.

  He made his way to the bar, where a large balding man in an apron was wiping the counter. Jonathan sat down in one of the chairs. “A cup of Earl Grey tea, please.”

  The man blinked. “How about orange pekoe?”

  “That will do. Thank you.”

  The fellow turned, lifted a pot from behind him, and grabbed a cup with the other hand. He studied Jonathan while he poured the hot beverage. “Didn’t I see you in here this morning with your wife? Couldn’t help but notice her.” He winked at Jonathan.

  Jonathan had been in with Emma for breakfast but had only been able to get down a few swallows of tea. “She’s not my wife. Just a very good friend.”

  “Oh, I get it.” The man waggled his brows.

  Jonathan held back a groan. He’d come on this voyage to keep Emma safe, not sully her reputation. “No, sir. I don’t believe you do. Emma considers me a brother.” He poured some milk into the tea and took a quick sip. “Not that I’d mind changing that opinion.”

  “A brother, eh? You must have known each other a long time.”

  “Indeed. Since the age of ten when I moved next door to her. Emma and I were both orphans—or so she thought at the time.” He lowered his cup. “She helped me cope with the loss of my family. We’ve been best friends ever since.”

  The man peered at him. “I’m guessing your feelings changed once you got older?”

  “For me, yes. But not for her. I’m trying to figure out how to remedy that.” Jonathan shifted his gaze to the counter. Why had he just spilled his innermost thoughts to this hefty stranger with coffee stains on his shirt?

  “Ah, unrequited love. I totally understand.” The big man’s belly hung over the bar as he leaned forward, ready to share a confidence. “There was a girl in my hometown. Never could get her to notice me. Hope you have better luck, pal.”

  “You and me both, sir.” He raised his cup in a mock salute and drained the contents, then rose to make his way back to the next car.

  Emma had taken his spot by the window and was dozing in the seat, her long lashes a dark smudge against her skin. Jonathan sat beside her and inhaled deeply. The stuffy air in the train did nothing to help his stomach, nor could it calm his worry.

  His dearest friend was in for a huge disappointment, and Jonathan had no idea how to prevent the crushing blow she would soon receive. Emma seemed blinded to the fact that her father did not appear to want her in his life. If he had, he would have made more of an effort to contact her. More than a handful of letters that Emma had never received until the day she’d cleaned out her grandfather’s desk.

  Yet Jonathan couldn’t blame her for wanting to meet the man. He just wished she’d waited to correspond with him first, to better ascertain the chance at being well received, but she claimed she needed the element of surprise in her favor. From Jonathan’s experience, the sort of surprise she had in mind rarely worked out the way one intended.

  Something he would do well to remember himself.

  He reached up to pat the breast pocket of his jacket where the envelope that held his future rested. A measure of guilt weighed on his conscience at keeping this information from Emma. But if he’d told her before they left, she would have demanded he stay behind. He’d had a hard enough time convincing Emma that Aunt Trudy would be all right without him for the summer. In truth, Jonathan hated leaving his aunt to manage her dress shop alone, especially after just returning from four years at war, but in the end, he’d had no choice. There was no way he could allow Emma to travel halfway across the world alone.

  His news could wait for a more opportune time. In fact, if everything went according to his expectations, they might be on a ship home within a few weeks. He pressed a hand to his still tender abdomen. Not a trip he was looking forward to, but it would be worth the seasickness to have Emma home where she belonged.

  With him.

  Jonathan snuck a glimpse at Emma’s profile as she slept. Dark curls framed her heart-shaped face, and her pert nose was peppered with light freckles. But it was her stunning blue eyes that captivated him the most. Those eyes could turn from mischievous to furious with little warning, reflecting every thought and emotion that flitted across her delicate features. He still found it difficult to comprehend how the girl he’d grown up with—the one he used to view as a little sister—could have turned into the woman who had captured his heart so completely.

  Yet the question remained. How would he ever get Emma to see him as anything other than her best friend and surrogate brother?

  Jonathan rubbed a hand over his whiskered jaw. He must look a sight after being sick the whole voyage over. He’d thought he could use the time on the ship to get closer to Emma, to reestablish their bond that was somewhat strained after the war. And then there was her relationship with some baron that had started near the end of the hostilities, while Jonathan was recuperating in France. Thankfully, she’d come to her senses and written to Lord Terrence the Terrible—as Jonathan had secretly taken to calling him—before they set sail, turning down his proposal of marriage. One less obstacle for Jonathan to overcome.

  However, he would now have to make up for lost time and begin to woo the woman he was determined to make his wife.

  If only he could be sure there was a chance Emma would one day reciprocate his feelings.

  CHAPTER 2

  “I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t take gentlemen boarders.” Standing in the doorway of the boardinghouse, Mrs. Chamberlain, the gray-haired proprietress, gave Emma a sympathetic look, then turned to Jonathan. “You might try the YMCA on College Street. They have a very nice facility there.”

  Emma’s spirits sank. She’d barely seen Jonathan on the ship. Now he wouldn’t be able to stay at the same boardinghouse? With a determined huff, she grabbed her valise off the porch. “Could you recommend another establishment nearby that would take us both?”

  Mrs. Chamberlain’s eyes narrowed as she studied them. “Are you two related?”

  “Not by blood, but we grew up together. Jonathan’s practically my brother. I can vouch for his good character.” It wasn’t as if the woman had cause to mistrust him. With his freshly shaven face and clean shirt, Jonathan appeared eminently respectable.

  The woman smiled. “I have no doubt you’re a fine young man, Mr. Rowe. But my other boarders are all women, and they wouldn’t feel comfortable sharing facilities with a man.”

  “I understand.” Jonathan laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “You get settled here, Em, and I’ll find somewhere else to stay.”

  “No.” Emma tightened her grip on the bag. “We’ll find a place together.”

  Jonathan shook his head. “It’s getting late, and you’re exhausted. I’ll check out the YMCA and come back to get you in the morning.”

  Despite her brave front, the burn of tears bit the back of Emma’s eyes as the toll of the past two weeks caught up with her. She clamped down on her bottom lip that had begun to tremble, unable to speak a word.

  Mrs. Chamberlain wiped her h
ands on a towel that hung from the waist of her apron and stepped onto the front porch. “How are you at yard work, Mr. Rowe?”

  “I can get by. Why do you ask?”

  “My grounds keeper recently quit—as you can tell by the length of my grass—and I’m having a difficult time finding a replacement.” She tilted her head, her gray eyes matching her tight curls. “If you care to take the position temporarily until I find a new man, you can stay in his old quarters above the garage.”

  Emma’s heart pinged with hope. She turned to Jonathan with a beseeching look.

  “That seems like a fair proposition,” he said slowly. “Just how much work would this entail?”

  “No more than a few hours each day, I’m sure.”

  “Very well. I’ll take it.”

  Emma’s shoulders sagged with relief. She wouldn’t be alone. Jonathan would be nearby if she needed him. “Thank you, Mrs. Chamberlain. We appreciate it very much.”

  “Glad I could help.” She smiled at Emma. “You may take your bags upstairs to the third floor. Second door on the right. I’ll get Mr. Rowe the key to his quarters.”

  Emma picked up her valise and stepped inside. “Oh, can you tell me if Grace Abernathy is staying here? We met on the boat from England. She was the one who recommended your establishment.”

  A faint shadow crossed Mrs. Chamberlain’s features. “I’m afraid you just missed her. She took a job as a nanny and moved out.”

  “That’s a shame. I’d hoped we’d have more time together.”

  “You and me both, dear.” The landlady smiled. “But Grace has promised to come back on Sundays if she’s able. Maybe we can all attend church together.”

  “I’d like that very much.”

  The thought cheered Emma as she climbed the stairs to the third floor. Upon entering the room, she found it to be decorated in lovely shades of pink and rose with a cozy window seat that overlooked the street below. Emma eyed the quilt-covered bed with longing. Perhaps tonight she’d have a full night’s sleep, the first real one since she’d found the pack of letters among her grandad’s belongings and learned that she wasn’t an orphan after all. The unfamiliar hurt and anger still simmered beneath the surface at the thought of her grandparents’ betrayal. How could the two people who’d raised her since infancy lie to her like that and keep her from her father?

  She hated being mad at them, hated that they weren’t alive to explain their reasons for hiding the truth from her. But one way or the other, Emma planned to find out what had transpired after her mother had died and why her grandparents had felt the need to perpetrate such a deception.

  Filled with renewed resolve, Emma unpacked and freshened up with the water in the pitcher on the nightstand, then went in search of her landlady.

  It stood to reason that if Randall were running for the mayor of Toronto, Mrs. Chamberlain would know something about him. And Emma needed every tidbit of knowledge she could dig up before she met the man.

  After all, knowledge was power, was it not?

  Jonathan climbed the rickety wooden steps to the living quarters above the building that Mrs. Chamberlain had called the garage. A misnomer for sure, since he doubted the building had ever housed a vehicle of any kind. It now served as a large storage area for a variety of tools. Clearly the former caretaker had been a master of all trades. Jonathan hoped he hadn’t exaggerated his skills too much and could do the work required to earn his keep.

  Using the iron key, Jonathan fiddled with the lock until the door opened, then entered the apartment. A wall of musty air met him the moment he stepped inside. Immediately he crossed to the small window at the front of the room, flipped the latch, and pushed up the sash. Then he took a look around the space.

  It was sparsely furnished with a round table and two wooden chairs, a cot against the far wall, an armchair, a table, and a lamp. Lacking a kitchen and a restroom, the place was not ideal; however, in order to remain near Emma, he would make do with the inconvenience of using an outdoor privy and taking his meals in the kitchen with the cook.

  His gaze fell on a black wood stove in the corner. Beside it, a basket contained the remnants of kindling. Jonathan forced his feet to cross the room. He supposed there had to be some means to heat the quarters, given the harsh Canadian winters. With any luck, though, it would now be warm enough that he wouldn’t need to light it.

  Beads of perspiration popped out on his forehead. Ignoring his discomfort, he forced himself to grasp the iron handle and open the door. The interior had been swept clean of debris and ash, yet the lingering odor of burnt wood caused a spasm in his chest. He banged the door shut and rose, willing the flood of memories to fade. He would not have an episode now. He inhaled deeply and exhaled through his mouth. Usually fireplaces and wood stoves didn’t trigger this type of reaction, but ever since the war, the tremors had come back with a vengeance, brought on by seemingly innocuous circumstances. The worst part was never being able to predict when they’d hit.

  Jonathan crossed the room and deposited his bag on the floor by the bed. Since there wasn’t much he could do here at the moment, he supposed he should find out exactly what work would be required of him. He left the room and returned to the rear door of the boardinghouse, hoping he wasn’t breaking any rules of etiquette by entering the kitchen without permission.

  A stout woman stood at the large stove, stirring a pot. The delicious aroma of freshly baked bread and boiled beef filled the air. Jonathan’s stomach growled, the first sign of an appetite since he’d boarded that dreaded ship. Judging by the way his ribs protruded, he must have lost weight on the trip. He intended to make up for it as soon as possible.

  “Hello,” he called out, not wishing to startle the woman.

  The cook turned to peer over her shoulder, her rhythmic stirring never faltering. Under her white cap, where wisps of gray hair stuck out like porcupine quills, lines furrowed her brow. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my kitchen?”

  “My name is Jonathan Rowe. Mrs. Chamberlain hired me as the temporary grounds keeper.”

  The woman’s frown relaxed. “I see.” She looked him up and down as she wiped her hands on her apron. “I’m Mrs. Teeter, the cook here. I assume you’re looking for something to eat.” She shot a glance at a clock on the wall. “Dinner is over, but I can rustle you up some bread and cheese and maybe a little beef.”

  “That would be most kind. Thank you.” Jonathan gave a small bow. “We’ve been traveling for weeks it seems.”

  “We?” The woman opened the icebox and removed a round wheel of cheese.

  “My friend and I. Emma is staying upstairs.”

  At the disapproving set to her mouth, Jonathan rushed to help her carry the food. “Emma and I grew up together. She looks on me like a brother.” He was getting very tired of explaining that. But for now, it seemed to be working in their favor, considering it was unusual for an unmarried woman to travel with a male who wasn’t a relative.

  “What brings you to this side of the world?” Mrs. Teeter pulled out a loaf of bread and grabbed a large knife.

  “Emma has come to visit some . . . distant relatives.” He gestured vaguely with one hand.

  “And you?” She squinted at him.

  “I’m just along to keep her out of harm’s way.” He gave the woman his most charming smile and was gratified to see a slight lift to her lips.

  “Like a good big brother should.” She arranged the bread and cheese on a plate. With a grunt, she went back to the stove where she scooped a bit of beef from the pot. She handed him the plate, and then poured out a cup of black coffee.

  Jonathan didn’t have the heart to tell her he preferred tea. “I do plan to look up a friend of mine while I’m here. We met in the military infirmary in France while we both recovered from our injuries. He made me promise to look him up if I ever came to Toronto.” Jonathan prayed Reggie was doing well. He’d been more severely injured than Jonathan, deemed unfit for combat, and sent back to Canada.r />
  Mrs. Teeter paused to study him. “You fought in the war?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He broke off a piece of bread and chewed the hardened crust. “I was wounded near the end. Spent the last few months in hospital.”

  “You were one of the lucky ones, then. To make it home alive.” A sheen of moisture appeared in her eyes. “My poor nephew wasn’t as fortunate.” She bent her head and swiped the back of her hand across her cheek.

  Jonathan frowned. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” How many times had he repeated that phrase since the war had ended? And why did he feel so guilty that he had lived while others had not? He tried to swallow the bread that had lodged in his throat, washing it down with a quick sip of coffee. He fought to keep the grimace from his face. How did people drink this tar?

  “Philip was a good lad. The apple of my dear sister’s eye. I don’t know how she’ll go on without him.” A huge sigh escaped the woman’s pinched lips.

  Jonathan nodded. “I lost my good friend, Danny, as well as many fellow soldiers, so I understand a little of what you’re feeling. When I got back, I had to face Danny’s widowed mother and give her his few belongings. Never had to do a harder thing.” Visions of Danny’s body draped in a white sheet danced behind Jonathan’s eyes. He took another swig of the thick brew in an attempt to dislodge the ever-present lump in his throat.

  Mrs. Teeter went to the icebox and took out a plate. She cut a large slice of pie and brought it over to him. “Any man who’d fight for his country is a gentleman in my eyes, Mr. Rowe.” She laid a fork beside the plate.

  “Thank you. Apple pie is a luxury I’ve had to do without for the past four years.”

  She went back to stirring her pot. “Tell me, do you have much experience being a grounds keeper?”

  “A little,” he said cautiously.

  “After you’re done eating, I’d like to show you the vegetable garden out back. I’ve planted most of the seeds, but I’d be glad to turn the upkeep over to you.”