Authors: Brenda Minton
“Now, then, Morgan, Miss Guilland, to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?”
“We've just come from the hospital, Aunt Hypatia,” Morgan informed her, “and Brooks says that Simone must have rest, good nutrition and peace and quiet for at least two weeks, and preferably six.”
“Oh, dear!” Magnolia exclaimed.
“It's a great deal of bother about nothing, I assure you,” Simone said quickly, sitting forward on her chair.
Morgan sent the girl a quelling glance. “She fainted again.”
“It was a busy morning. I've had a stressful week. Things will settle down.”
“Her rooming house is one of those noisy, crowded conversions just off campus. One of those praise bands that plays at the campus chapel lives there. You know the sort.”
Hypatia couldn't help smiling, as God must smile whenever those young people lifted their raucous music in praise of Him. “I do indeed.” She looked to her sister then, understanding what was needed now. “I imagine they practice all hours of the day and night.” She looked to Simone, smiling. “It must be great fun, but you can't be getting much sleep.”
Simone opened her mouth as if to protest, but she obviously couldn't deny the truth of the matter. Finally, she said, “I don't want to impose on anyone.”
Magnolia snorted. “Don't be silly. We have ten bedrooms here, and that doesn't include the carriage house, where the staff live. A quiet little thing like you will hardly be noticed. Our last guests were a lovely lady and her three children. Now,
they
made themselves known.”
“And we grew so fond of them that we decided to keep them,” Hypatia added. “Our nephew Phillip married the lady, you see.”
Simone ducked her head. “I heard that, yes.”
Hypatia sent a twinkling glance at Magnolia. “I think the east suite is the most private, don't you?”
“A suite?” Simone yelped.
Magnolia pursed her lips, obviously onto Hypatia's little ploy. “I don't suppose she has any use for two bedrooms, though,” Magnolia mused. “The bed-sit combo beneath the attic stairs ought to work just fine.”
“Oh, yes,” Simone chimed in eagerly. “That sounds fine.”
Hilda came in with the tea tray just then, allowing Hypatia to hide her smile of satisfaction. Simone seemed to shrink in on herself, but she perked up again after the tea was poured and Magnolia passed her a plate filled with finger sandwiches, cookies and Hilda's famous ginger muffins. Simone nibbled at first, but once Morgan sat down next to Magnolia, filled a plate for himself and got to talking, Simone quickly ate everything on her plate and drained her cup without even realizing what she was doing. It was obvious to Hypatia that Simone hung on Morgan's every word, as so many of his students did. Was a crush developing? When she sat back and swiped a hand across her brow, however, Hypatia felt a curl of a different kind of concern.
“I think it's time our new houseguest took a nice, long nap.”
Morgan set aside his plate and rose at once. “Let us take you upstairs.”
Simone nodded, a sign, to Hypatia's mind, of just how weary and weak she was. The girl rose and walked toward the door, thanking Hypatia and Magnolia.
“You're very kind.”
“It's our pleasure to be kind,” Hypatia told her. Both she and Magnolia rose to follow along. “It's just across the foyer and up the stairs.”
“IâI don't have anything with me,” Simone said as she crossed the parlor and then the foyer.
“That's quite all right,” Hypatia said. “I'll be glad to loan you some things until you can pack your bags.”
“I'm really not planning to stay for long,” she murmured at the foot of the stairs, looking up at the ceiling.
“We'll leave that to God, shall we?” Hypatia suggested gently, smiling at the blue sky, wafting clouds, fluttering white feathers and the suggestion of sunshine that the unknown artist had created on the vestibule ceiling overhead. She looked down in time to see Morgan nudge the girl, a hand under her elbow.
Simone sucked in a deep breath and started to climb. After only four or five steps, she faltered, bowing and gulping for breath.
“I'm sorry. I seem to be light-headed all the time lately.”
She took another step and another, sinking lower with each one. Magnolia placed a hand on Hypatia's arm, and the sisters traded glances.
With the next step, Morgan swept Simone up into his arms.
“I can walk,” she protested feebly. “Just give me a few minutes.”
“Hush,” he told her, climbing the stairs steadily.
Again, the sisters traded looks. Morgan was a scholar, a mature, disciplined, moral man with a strong calling, but a man, nonetheless, and very much a man, obviously.
Simone looped an arm loosely about his neck as they made the turn in the staircase, but she didn't seem to have the strength even to hold on. Her head lolled against his shoulder.
“I'm so sorry,” she said in a husky voice. “I thought I could manage. I really did.”
“Hush,” Morgan told her again. “Just relax.”
“Pills,” she mumbled. “Must be the pills.”
“Take her to her room,” Hypatia instructed as soon as they reached the landing. “I'll meet you there in a moment.”
Rushing to her own room in the suite that she shared with Magnolia at the front of the house, Hypatia grabbed a pair of her own pajamas and hurried across the upstairs to the combination sitting room and bedroom tucked beneath the attic stairs, overlooking the patio and pool. Morgan had set down Simone on the royal-blue velveteen sofa, his back to the curtained alcove where the four-poster bed stood. Magnolia sat beside her, patting her hand.
“Let's get you changed and into the bed,” Hypatia said, offering the tailored navy silk pajamas that she favored. “Morgan, will you stay in case we need you?” If Simone should faint again, Hypatia wasn't sure that she and Magnolia together could get her into bed.
“I'll be just outside,” Morgan said.
Hypatia and Magnolia helped Simone change from her jeans and T-shirt into the silk pajamas. The child was skin and bones. And scars. Magnolia clucked her tongue, but neither she nor Hypatia said a word. Hypatia's heart bled for what she saw, however, for what she knew the child had been through. She had to button the top for Simone, and it hung on her, much too large. Nevertheless, it would have to do. After gently herding their new houseguest to the bed, Hypatia folded back the covers, and she and Magnolia aided as best they could while Simone laboriously climbed beneath the bedspread and top sheet.
“Thank you,” she whispered, tears of sheer exhaustion standing in her eyes.
Impulsively, Hypatia bent and kissed Simone's ivory brow. She would spend much time in prayer for this one and, unless she missed her guess, for her nephew, too. Suddenly, she feared for Morgan. He'd lost one woman to another man and disease; Hypatia didn't want to see any part of that scenario played out in his life again. Straightening, she called out to him.
The door opened at once, and he came striding into the room. He bent over the bed, smoothing Simone's short hair. It struck Hypatia that she'd seen that unusual reddish-brown color before, but she couldn't think where or on whom.
“I can trust you to rest now, can't I?”
Simone sighed. “Yes.”
“All right. Comfortable?”
“Very,” Simone replied, stifling a yawn.
“Good. Now, stay there and sleep.”
“Yes, sir, Professor Chatam, sir.”
“I'll see you later.”
Nodding, Simone closed her eyes and was asleep before they had tiptoed all the way across the sitting room to the door, but Hypatia waited until they were a good way along the landing before she asked, “Did you see it?”
“If you mean the scar just below her collarbone,” Morgan replied grimly, “yes. She had a chemotherapy port.”
“That would be my guess.”
“And extensive abdominal surgery,” Magnolia added softly.
Morgan sighed. “I knew something was wrong. From the way Brooks behaved, I'm guessing the cancer is behind her but that she hasn't fully recovered her strength yet.”
“We'll see to it that she has the peace and quiet that she needs to recover,” Hypatia promised.
They walked to the head of the stairs before he slipped his arms about each of their shoulders and said, “Have I mentioned lately that I thank God for my special aunties?”
Hypatia smiled fondly up at him. “Not lately.”
“Well, I do,” he told her with a squeeze. “Routinely. This world would be a much more difficult place without you. I'm especially thankful for you today. Simone needs a safe, quiet, comfortable haven right now.”
“She has it,” Magnolia told him.
“She has more than that,” Hypatia added. “God is going to be hearing from us
routinely
about Miss Simone Guilland.”
“I was counting on that,” he told her with a smile.
“As you should. Now, will you stay to lunch?”
“I think I just might,” he agreed, winking. “After all, you've got the best cook in town.”
Hypatia smiled. Morgan was in and out of Chatam House all the time, and he often stayed for meals. Hypatia wondered if they'd be seeing him even more often now that Simone Guilland was in residence, however. She only hoped that it wouldn't lead to heartbreak. He'd already lost two women he'd loved to cancerâhis stepmother and the woman he'd intended to marry. Surely God wouldn't raise that number.
Would He?
Chapter Four
A
n itch pulled her out of a dense fog and into a feeling of light. Only as she stirred in an effort to reach that place between her shoulder blades where the skin begged to be scratched did she come to realize that she was awakening from sleep. Rolling onto her back with a little noise of exasperation, she wiggled her shoulders to alleviate that bothersome niggle once and for all, only to find herself assailed with a fearful disorientation.
This was not her bed, not the too-hard mattress in the boardinghouse, not the thin, lumpy pad in the hospital, not even the cool, impersonal guest bed at the Guilland house in Baton Rouge. This was the warmest, softest, most comfortable bed she'd ever known. Simone sat up and opened her eyes in the same swift movement, and found the creams and gold and royal-blues of Chatam House all around her.
Memory came rushing back, how she had fainted at the coffeehouse, been rushed to the emergency room in an ambulance, drugged by that nice Dr. Leland and then bullied into coming here by Morgan Chatam. She vaguely recalled her aunt bringing in a tea tray at some point and gobbling down those delicious ginger muffins that had been such a highlight of her childhood, and she vividly remembered being carried up the stairs by Morgan Chatam. College professors weren't supposed to be that strong and fit, that masculine. They were supposed to be bookish and stuffy and...not wildly attractive.
She flopped down onto the pillows with a huff. Her life wasn't going at all according to plan. When had it ever?
No matter. She felt fully recovered now. In fact, she felt wonderful. And ravenous. It was time to go home and back to work. Or possibly to class.
She looked around for a clock and found the backpack that she carried in lieu of a handbag on the nightstand next to the four-poster bed. Evidently, someone had fetched it from the coffeehouse. Reaching inside the partially unzipped front pocket, she pulled out her seldom-used cell phone and flicked the screen with her thumb. Six a.m. Oh, my. Apparently she had slept nearly around the clock. No wonder she was so hungry. A casual glance at the calendar icon brought her bolt upright in bed again.
Monday! Monday? How could it be Monday? That would mean that she'd slept completely through Saturday
and
Sunday.
“You were more tired than you thought,” said an amused voice.
Simone jerked to her right. At the same time, she grabbed for the covers, yanking them up around her throat. Hypatia Chatam smiled at her from the wing chair at her bedside. Garbed in a white silk dressing gown piped in navy and matching pajamas, she had caught her long, silver hair at the nape of her neck with a narrow white ribbon.
“My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you. We were concerned because you slept so long and thought someone should sit with you.”
Clapping a hand over her galloping heart, Simone huffed out a relieved breath. “I'm so sorry to have worried you.”
“It's of no matter. You look much refreshed. I'll have your breakfast sent up. You can shower and dress whenever you like, and Chester will drive you over to the rooming house to pack your belongings.”
“No!” Simone insisted automatically. The last thing she wanted was for her uncle to drive her around town. “That is, IâI should be going to class. Dr. Leland said particularly that I am able to attend school a-and master my studies.”
Hypatia inclined her head. “In that case, I'll call Morgan.”
Simone opened her mouth to protest but could think of no better option, so she closed it again.
“Your clothing has been laundered and put away,” Hypatia informed her, rising from the chair. “You'll find toiletries in the bathroom. Is there anything else you need at the moment?”
Escape,
Simone thought. She said, “No, thank you.”
Nodding, Hypatia moved toward the foot of the bed. “As you've been working in a coffeehouse, I take it you drink the stuff.”
“Yes, of course, but if you don't mind, I prefer tea this morning. My stomach's been empty too long, I think, for coffee.”
Hypatia beamed at her. “I prefer tea every morning. It is more soothing, isn't it?”
“I think so,” Simone said.
“I'm sure you would know,” Hypatia told her kindly before turning away.
That comment seemed a little odd, but Simone put the thought aside for the moment. Slipping from the high bed, she padded on bare feet to the antique dresser, surprised to find her legs a little shaky. A few moments later, as she undressed to shower in the small but richly appointed bath, she glanced up into the mirror and saw the many scars that she bore on her too-thin body. She hazily recalled undressing in front of the Chatam sisters, and a little shiver of foreboding went through her. Her secrets, she feared, were no longer entirely her own.
Returning to the outer chamber minutes later, dressed and clean, she felt strong but starved. The sight of Hypatia fussing over a heavily laden round tray was welcome indeed. Simone gave her short hair a final rub before draping the towel over the back of the nearest chair. She plopped herself onto the seat and surveyed the contents of the tray in wonder. Fluffy scrambled eggs, crisp bacon, toast, fruit salad, apple juice, a pot of tea and two cups, butter, jelly andâunless her nose and memory deceived herâAunt Hilda's famous ginger muffins, warm from the oven.
“I hope you didn't carry this upstairs yourself,” she declared, quickly filling one of a pair of delicate china plates.
“No, no. We are blessed with a dumbwaiter just along the landing,” Hypatia told her. “When you are done here, we'll send everything back downstairs, and anytime you want anything from the kitchen, all you have to do is call down.” She pointed to the bedside table, where she had laid a paper with telephone numbers written on it. A sharp rap on the door had her bustling in that direction. “That will be Morgan,” she said over her shoulder. “He was already on his way when I phoned.”
As Simone realized for whom that second plate was intended, her stomach fluttered. She told herself that it was hunger, but she was not as good at lying to herself as she had used to be. Morgan came through the door wearing khakis and a collared knit shirt about the same color of rusty brown as his eyes. He carried a disposable cup of coffee in one hand and seemed as cheery and robust as it was possible to be before seven in the morning.
“Good morning, all.” He bent to give his aunt a kiss on the cheek before nodding to Simone. “You look well rested.”
She touched her damp hair self-consciously, murmuring, “I should.”
He chuckled as his aunt reached for the extra teacup. “Since you brought coffee,” she said, “I'll just help myself to some tea, if you don't mind.”
“Please do,” Simone replied.
At the same time, Morgan pulled out the other chair, saying, “Allow me.”
Hypatia waved away the chair, chose a muffin and wandered toward the sofa, teacup and saucer in hand. “No, no, don't mind me. I'll just relax over here while the two of you enjoy your breakfast.”
Morgan waited until she had lowered herself onto the couch, then he parked himself on the chair, rubbed his hands together enthusiastically and dove in. “Good thing I brought an appetite.”
Simone gave him a noncommittal “um” and began to eat. The eggs were delicious.
“Sour cream,” he said.
“What?”
“Hilda whips them with a dollop of sour cream,” he explained, as if reading Simone's mind, “and parsley. I stole the recipe ages ago. At home, I add a touch of paprika and garlic powder.” He winked, deepening his voice to add, “More manly that way.”
Simone laughed. She couldn't help it. “Don't let Hilda hear you say that. She can't abide garlic powder.” He straightened at that. Realizing what she'd let slip, she hastily added, “I imagine. Most
real
cooks can't.”
He looked down at his plate. “Your family has cooks, do they?”
A heartbeat too late she said, “The Guillands keep three cooks, one for weekdays, which is four days a week, another for weekends, which is three days a week, and the third for special occasions.” It wasn't a lie. The Guillands did have three cooks, and she hadn't said that they were her family. Not anymore, anyway.
“They sound prosperous.”
She nodded, smiling slightly. He put down his fork, staring at her openly until she reached up a hand to smooth her hair again.
“You look fine,” he told her, trying to read her mind again. “The short hair becomes you.”
“Thank you. IâI sometimes think it makes me look too much like a child.” She shook her head, wondering why she'd told him that. “I, ah, used to wear it long.”
He looked down, picked up his fork again and said very casually, “Lost it to the chemotherapy, I suppose.”
And there it was. Big secret number one exposed.
She gulped, made herself stay calm and waited until he looked at her. “Yes.”
He sat back, touched a napkin to the corners of his mouth and asked, “Why didn't you want to tell me?”
“I was afraid the college would deny my admission application if it became known that I was recovering from cancer.”
“But you're cancer free at this time, or so I assume.”
“Yes, and I have been for nearly six months.”
“But you're still weak and vulnerable.”
She quietly said, “I've had a lot of upheaval in my life.” Clamping her lips together, she looked him squarely in the eye. If he wanted anything else out of her, he'd have to pry it out with a crowbar and a scalpel. She'd saidâand been throughâenough. His cinnamon eyes plumbed hers for several seconds until finally he chuckled and shook his head.
“All right. Keep your own counsel. After breakfast, I'll drive you to class, and after class, I'll take you to the boardinghouse to pack your belongings.”
“That isn't necessary,” she said, shaking her head. “I'm fine now. You said yourself how well rested I look.”
“And I intend for you to stay that way until you're fully recovered.”
“Butâ”
“No buts, Simone,” he told her firmly. “That's my price for keeping your health issues between us. You move in here until you are fully recovered, according to Dr. Leland and myself, or I go to the BCBC administration with a recommendation that your studies be delayed for at least a semester.”
She gasped. “That's blackmail!”
“That's my considered judgment as your faculty adviser.”
Curling her fists against the urge to throw something at his handsome head, she huffed out a calming breath, saying bitterly, “You leave me no choice.”
“None at all,” he admitted shamelessly. Sitting forward, he covered her hands with his much larger ones, saying, “Simone, I'm trying to help you.”
Heat rolled up her arms, melting her fists into compliant little curls and filling her with an urgent need for...comfort, protection...something. That
something
felt alarmingly dangerous, like every mistake she'd ever made. She pulled her hands free, sitting back and folding her arms. Frowning, he blinked at her as if trying to decide what had just happened.
Picking up his fork again, he all but growled at her, “Eat your breakfast.”
Her appetite had gone, but she cleaned her plate anyway. The sooner she regained her strength and put on some weight, the sooner she could get out of here. Hopefully that would happen before she stumbled across her sister. Perhaps, if she kept to her room here, she could avoid everyone who had any reason to know her.
Oh, Lord, let that be enough,
she prayed desperately.
I just can't face Carissa now, not after everything that's happened. Please, just give me some time to get my strength back, at least. Then...then if she hates me, maybe I can bear it.
Tears filled her eyes at the thought, but she willed them away, dug down deep for the strength that the hospital chaplain had told her was now hers and repeated silently one of the verses he had taught her from John 16.
“I have told you these things so that in Me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.”
Those words of Christ calmed her. She recalled how far she had come, off the streets and out of bad relationships, through life-threatening disease to earn a degree and press on for another. One day in the not-too-distant future, she would do something real and significant with her life to make up for all the pain, sorrow and foolishness of her past. Then maybe she could approach what was left of her family, confess all and show them that she could be trusted to take part in their lives once again. Then, maybe, Carissa could forgive her and they could be the kind of sisters they always should have been. But if not, Simone would have something to return to, something to give her life to, something worth laying at the feet of Christ when she joined her father in Heaven one day.
That was all she wanted now, and no handsome, overbearing, if well-meaning, college professor was going to get in her way.
* * *
Clearly, Morgan had misread Simone at their first meeting. She wasn't interested in him. Far from it. With every door that he opened for her, every hand of assistance that he offered, she gave a twitch of her chin that practically shouted, “Stay clear! Back away!”
He'd have happily obliged her if he could have, but for some reason he felt literally compelled to watch over her. Much thanks he received for his trouble. She grumbled and groused like the petulant child he was increasingly aware she was not.
“I don't see why I should take ski clothes to Chatam House.”
“Why leave them here when you're not going to be staying here?”
The boardinghouse was even more shabby than Morgan recalled, but Simone's room was as neat as a pin, perhaps because most of her clothes were of the winter variety and remained packed away in boxes.