Loving Treasures

by Gail Gaymer Martin

"Nothing big. Maintenance, if that's all you have."

  His brother would never be a partner, but Philip could certainly give him work…a job he could hold with pride. "We'll talk when you get here."

  "Thanks. You'll never know how good it feels to hear you say that."

  "Andrew, when will you come?" Philip lifted his eyes and saw Latrice standing in the doorway, her brown skin ashen.

  "I'm not sure. A few months if that's okay. I have some things to settle first."

  "Call me when you decide."

  Andrew said goodbye before Philip had to end the conversation. Philip set the telephone in the cradle and beckoned to Latrice.

  "I hear Jemma resigned," she said, her eyes wide and concerned.

  "Did you talk with her yesterday?"

  The housekeeper nodded. "In the hallway upstairs. But she was fine then. We were joking and laughing."

  "Laughing?" He couldn't imagine Jemma being lighthearted, as sick as she had been. "What was so funny?"

  "Well, I saw her barreling down the corridor like someone held a whip…"

  Latrice told her story word for word, and Philip's chest ached with despair. The poor woman had no idea what she'd done.

  "She did know, Mr. Somerville, didn't she? No one thought anything of it. No one."

  A look of grief filled her dark eyes, and Philip shook his head. "No, I'd never had the courage to tell her, Latrice, but it's not your fault. It's mine. I should have."

  "But what can I—"

  "Nothing." He rose and came around the desk.

  "You can do nothing, but I can. Go back to work and don't worry. I'm glad you told me what happened. Thank you."

  The woman lowered her face into her upraised hands. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Somerville. So sorry."

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulder with as much comfort as he could give and walked her to the doorway. When she'd gone, he closed the door and braced his back against the sturdy wood. He had no idea what to do. He needed to talk with Jemma.

  But what would he say? He had no excuse. His feeble alibi sailed away like chaff. He closed his eyes and prayed that the Lord would give him the answer.

  His chest ached and his lungs felt as if they would burst. He needed air. Opening the door, he walked past his secretary and into the corridor. He took a side exit and strode across the grass, around the building and down the path to the beach.

  Looking behind him, he saw his balcony jutting from the building—the place where he'd first said "I love you" to Jemma. Sorrow squeezed his heart.

  He turned away, unable to bear the pain, and scanned the horizon, watching the waves roll in churning with white foam. He'd have to put the boat in dry dock soon. His focus drifted to the sailboat, rocking in the surf—and he walked along the path and took the stairs down the hill to the boat dock. Standing on the pier, his gaze riveted to the large black letters. My Lady.

  He'd been wrong thinking the boat would be the last woman in his life. Jemma had pried open his starving spirit and nurtured it with her love. She was his lady…and the only one that would live in his heart.

  Jemma steered her car toward the resort. She prayed that Philip would speak with her. She'd acted horribly—so unforgiving, as Claire had pointed out. How could she say that she was a Christian and be unwilling to forgive?

  The problem had been her pride, her fear that people were laughing behind her back. An old insecurity. But her talk with Claire had put everything into perspective. Latrice hadn't said her co-workers had laughed at her. Only that she and Carrie had giggled about Philip so obviously falling in love—in love with her.

  His generosity and goodness filled her mind. Philip had stepped into her life and made her feel like a woman. Made her feel whole and complete. Yet she'd run away without a word. Without giving him a chance to defend himself.

  A defense that was unnecessary, since the problem had been hers. Pride.

  Thanking God for returning her to reason, she'd listened to Claire and then faced the truth. Philip had done nothing but behave like himself. A humanitarian. A man filled with kindness and compassion. A man who cared so much about her that he chanced his own workers' scorn by giving her a good job.

  She treasured him…loved him more than she loved herself.

  The scenery blurred as she pulled into the resort parking lot. She turned off the engine and brushed the tears from her eyes. What would she do if Philip said he'd had his fill of her? Her bullheaded determination, her lack of patience, her pride.

  Bowing her head, she lifted her fear to the Lord. Even if Philip turned her away, she would fall to her knees and ask his forgiveness and thank him for all he'd done. With his help, Jemma felt able to find a job and to live on her own—and to feel good about herself.

  Except right now.

  Sitting in the car, Jemma looked at the building, quiet today with fewer guests and cooler weather. She took a deep calming breath, then grabbed her shoulder bag and slipped from the car.

  Lord, let him be in his office and alone. She couldn't bear to sit in the waiting room with former co-workers gawking at her and wondering why she'd come back. The thought humbled her. She deserved nothing more.

  Drawing her shoulders back, she hurried inside the employee door and headed toward Philip's office. His secretary only shrugged when she glanced into his empty room. Disappointed, Jemma turned and followed the corridor, wondering which way to head. In the lobby, she stopped and looked out at the water—lonely and deserted. The way she had felt since she'd walked away.

  "Jemma."

  She turned and faced Ian. "Hello, Ian. Have you seen Philip?"

  "A while ago…through the window. He looked like he was headed for the beach."

  "The beach? Thanks." She turned toward the door.

  "Jemma?"

  She swung back and looked at him.

  "I just want to say…" Obviously uncomfortable, he looked down at the floor. "Well…I think you're the best thing that ever happened to Philip." He lifted his eyes. "I just wanted you to know."

  Her heart swelled at his comment. "Thank you," she said, moving forward and embracing him. "He's the best thing that ever happened to me." She spun around and hurried through the door.

  Following the path, Jemma searched the pier and shoreline without success. And then she thought about the sailboat and turned her eyes toward My Lady.

  Philip stood on the dock, his hands in his pocket, his head bent, looking as desolate as she felt. Hurrying across the sidewalk, she headed down the hill and when her shoes hit the boat dock, Philip turned around.

  "Jemma," he cried, racing toward her.

  She flew toward him, leaping into his arms, tears flowing down her cheeks. "Forgive me. I've been stupid and stubborn—"

  "And bullheaded and unapproachable…and I love every contrary inch of you. There's nothing to forgive. You're my lady. My woman. My wife…if you'll have me."

  She pulled her cheek away from his tear-dampened shirt and gazed into his tender eyes. "I treasure you…always. You're my life. My love."

  Slipping his finger beneath her chin, Philip lifted her face to his and brushed his lips against hers. "I love you."

  His words tangled in eager lips and trembling sighs, and when they drew back, Philip nuzzled his cheek against her windblown hair and thanked God for opening his eyes and his lonely heart.

  He turned Jemma to face the gray waves. Together they watched them dash to the shore, dragging debris and sand into the swirly foam. Yet over it all, the sun had sprinkled gold dust on the water, just as the Lord had wrapped Philip's life with Jemma's bright smile.

  Philip encircled his arms around her slender frame.

  Love was wonderful.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Seven months later

  Jemma gazed at herself in the full-length mirror, admiring the lovely gown that Claire had helped her select for the wedding. She swept her hand down the soft pink fabric. A few seed pearls and beads adorned the bodice; otherwise, the gown was
simple but elegant. Maybe there was hope for Claire, after all.

  When Philip's guest room door swung open, Jemma jolted. Claire darted into the room, her arm filled with flowers. "The florist got here finally. I've been waiting on pins and needles."

  "Look how beautiful," Jemma said, burying her nose in the stephanotis, ivy and lily of the valley. The rich fragrance filled the air.

  "And this—" Claire held up her tiara of pink flowers. "So much better than a veil."

  Jemma faced Claire, who lowered the garland onto Jemma's hair and secured it with pins.

  "What do you think?" Jemma asked.

  "You look beautiful. And it's not just the gown and flowers, Jemma. It's you—your eyes, your smile. I've never seen you look more content and happy."

  "Or more loved," Jemma added. She rose on tiptoes and kissed Claire's cheek. "Thank you for everything. For your love and—" Her voice caught in her throat and she couldn't speak.

  "No tears today, my dear. Today's for smiles and celebration."

  Jemma caught her arm. "Did Andrew make it? Is he here?"

  Claire shook her head. "No, but he called and apologized. Something came up and he's been delayed. Philip will tell you. He'll come home eventually."

  "Is Philip terribly disappointed?" A twinge of sadness settled in her chest for Philip and the brother-in-law she had yet to meet.

  "How could he be disappointed today?" Claire brushed a wisp of curl away from her cheek. "The man's thrilled."

  Claire headed for the door. "I'll be back in a minute. Take a deep breath, because it's just about that time."

  Jemma did as she was told. She primped one more time in the mirror, catching the flash of the lovely diamond that Philip had given her the same day she'd ran to him seven months earlier, ready to fall on her knees. He'd had it weeks earlier and had planned to propose on the sailboat.

  Instead, they'd proclaimed their love on the windy boat dock where she'd had no need to beg for forgiveness. Philip had overlooked her behavior and understood. And he'd apologized for his own actions. Yet, Jemma loved her work and, in her heart, was pleased that he'd entrusted her with the responsibility of being his new Specialties Director.

  That same evening they'd sat in Philip's rooms talking until the wee hours of the morning about their future—children, hopes and dreams. With her head on Philip's shoulder, Jemma had felt rich with God's blessing.

  When they planned the wedding, Philip had expected to have the ceremony at the church, but Jemma had other thoughts. The first time he told her he loved her had been on the spacious penthouse balcony. He gave little argument when she suggested they be married there.

  She and Philip had arranged it all. They'd replaced the wrought-iron furniture with chairs facing the French doors so that they could look at their guests and the lake they both loved.

  "Ready?" Claire said, swinging through the door. "Everyone's seated."

  Jemma closed her eyes, calming her heart and thanking the Lord for the gift—her second chance at living and loving.

  Claire held the door, and Jemma stepped into the hall. She could see Philip waiting for her, and she longed to run and throw herself in his arms, but she reined her joy and walked regally like the bride she was.

  He looked so handsome in his dark suit and white shirt with a silk tie. In his buttonhole, he wore a sprig of stephanotis, and when he saw her, his face glowed as brightly as the sun shining through the French panes.

  "Are you disappointed about Andrew?" she asked.

  His smile answered her question. "I'm happy he called. When he does come home, I'll throw a party."

  Jemma kissed his cheek.

  Arm in arm, they walked forward, Claire ahead of them, and when they reached the doorway, the smiles of friends and co-workers warmed Jemma's heart. She looked beyond the guests to the sun-speckled lake, today calm and peaceful—so much like her heart.

  A spring breeze rustled her gown and the scent of new growth hung on the air. Standing along the lake, trees were bursting with leaf buds and new blossoms sprouted everywhere—fitting on the day when just as she and Philip would begin their new life together.

  Philip took her hand, his gray hair glinting in the light. She loved every silver strand, every crinkle at his eyes, the curve of his mouth. She feared her heart would shatter with her overwhelming joy.

  "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…" The words lifted and swelled, rising on the breeze.

  "I take you, Jemma…" Philip's hand held hers, his love-filled eyes capturing hers as he spoke.

  Then, above the beating of her heart, Jemma heard her voice speaking the words. "I give you this ring…"

  And when the last prayer soared to heaven, Philip held her hand as the preacher announced, "Ladies and gentleman, may I present Mr. and Mrs. Somerville."

  Smiling into her husband's eyes, Jemma felt Philip's lips brush hers as he whispered two words that wrapped around her heart.

  "My lady."

  If you enjoyed LOVING TREASURES,

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  Dear Reader,

  Michigan is a beautiful state, and traveling along Lake Michigan I was inspired to use it as a setting for a novel series. Many years ago on a vacation, I visited the Musical Fountain in Grand Haven, and it stirred me to visit there again a couple of years ago. Grand Haven has always stood out in my mind as a lovely city, and I modeled the imaginary town of Loving after it.

  When I began this story, I thought about the story of Ruth and Naomi—a young woman who left her old life behind and followed her mother-in-law to a new land and a new love. The story inspired me to write this story about a younger woman who finds love with an older man.

  Whether you are younger or older, I hope you enjoy Jemma and Philip's story. I hope to share more stories with you set in Loving, Michigan.