CHAPTER 10

Jonathan studied the faces of the people around the long mahogany table, attempting to gauge their responses to Professor Moore’s announcement. Not one person, other than perhaps Marianne and Emma, seemed at all pleased with the news.

Will Munroe appeared perplexed but not entirely hostile about the situation. Mr. Fenton, on the other hand, seemed ready to explode, as did Mrs. Moore. But curiously enough, it was Corinne, with her cheeks blazing red and her nostrils flaring, who seemed the most visibly upset. Why would she care who her father hired as his secretary?

Will leaned his head toward Emma, who gave him a blinding smile.

An instant clutch of jealousy hit Jonathan hard. He turned to hide his reaction, and his gaze landed on Corinne. She stared at Will and Emma with eyes that glittered with an unnamed emotion. A stir of recognition moved in Jonathan’s chest. Did Corinne have feelings for Will Munroe? Perhaps that was why she was unhappy about Emma working with Randall.

Jonathan released a slow breath. One more obstacle for Emma to overcome in establishing a connection with her sister. He would have to speak to Emma about his concerns and ask her to watch her interactions with Will, especially around Corinne. Jonathan shifted in his chair. Somehow he would have to have that conversation without sounding like a jealous fool.

“Whose idea was this, darling?” Vera Moore’s cool voice drew Jonathan’s attention back to the table.

Randall smiled at his wife. “It was mutual and seemed a natural solution to both our needs. You see, Emma is not just visiting for the summer. She plans to stay in Toronto permanently and will therefore need a way to earn her keep.”

A bomb detonating in the dining room could not have produced a more devastating effect. Vera’s cup rattled to her saucer. Tea sloshed over the side and stained the pristine white tablecloth. Mr. Fenton’s eyes bulged as though having a fit of apoplexy. And Corinne bolted up from her chair so fast she jarred the table. Two of the crystal glasses toppled, knocking over the candelabra in the center. For a brief moment, the sparks from the many candles seemed to stutter, as though unsure what to do next. Then the flames found purchase in the tablecloth, shooting greedily outward to consume all in their path.

The air left Jonathan’s lungs while his blood turned to molasses—solid and unyielding, clogging every artery. Visions of his childhood home ablaze in the cold chill of the night rose up from the depths of his memory. He sat frozen to his chair while chaos erupted around him. The women screamed. Men shouted. Servants rushed into the room.

Yet Jonathan could do nothing but stare into the bright flames of death as they raced toward him, surely to claim now what they should have taken that night when he was a child, and again more recently on the battlefield in France. He’d known it was only a matter of time before the wrong would be righted, that the universe would correct its mistake at leaving Jonathan alive. Now he would receive his just punishment for his cowardice at letting Danny perish in the inferno.

“Jonathan! Get up!” Emma’s voice barely penetrated the haze engulfing him.

Hands clutched at his arms. Soldiers dragged him back while others rushed by him to haul Danny’s charred remains from the receding flames. His friend’s blackened face and smoldering body would be forever etched in Jonathan’s memory.

A loud crack sounded, and a sharp sting shot up his cheek. He shook his head and blinked up at Emma. Had she just slapped him?

Her anxious eyes stared at him, blocking his view of the orange glow. “What’s wrong with you?” she cried. “Get up!”

Slowly, he rose from the chair, his legs wooden and unbending. Emma tugged him by the hand out into the hallway where he leaned heavily against the nearest wall. Sweat poured from his forehead into his eyes and onto his lips. His body shook with tremors he hadn’t experienced since . . .

“Are you all right? Jonathan, talk to me.” Emma patted a handkerchief to his face, blotting the moisture from his cheeks.

His mouth couldn’t form the words. He shook his head and drew another tortured breath into his lungs.

“Is he injured?” Professor Moore’s concerned voice sounded over Emma’s shoulder.

“He’s fine. Or he will be in a few moments.” Emma continued her ministrations to his face and neck. “He has a dreadful fear of fire due to a traumatic event from his childhood.”

Jonathan glanced up at the frowning man. “Sorry,” he managed to croak out.

“As long as he’s not hurt, that’s the main thing.” The professor snapped his fingers at one of the maids coming out of the dining room. “A glass of water for Mr. Rowe. Right away, please.”

“Thank you, Randall.” Emma smiled up at the man as though he’d performed a miracle.

“The fire is out,” Mr. Fenton announced to everyone in the hallway. “No real harm done.”

Vera threw out her arms. “What do you mean, no harm done? The crystal is broken. The candelabra is ruined. And that was my best damask tablecloth.”

Mr. Fenton glared at her. “Those are all replaceable items, daughter.”

“Well, Corinne is distraught.” Vera lifted her chin. “I’ve sent her upstairs for the evening. And Marianne as well. They don’t need to be exposed to such . . . calamity.”

“Corinne wasn’t hurt, was she?” Emma asked.

The anxiety in her tone made Jonathan suck in a breath. Didn’t she realize that Corinne’s own hostility had started this whole chain of events?

Randall laid a hand on Emma’s shoulder. “She’s fine. More likely embarrassed at having caused such a fuss.”

Emma frowned. “Maybe I should go and speak with her.”

“That would only make matters worse.” Vera pulled Randall’s arm away from Emma as though she might contaminate him. “Haven’t you caused enough turmoil for one evening?”

Emma’s lip trembled. “I-I’m sorry.”

Jonathan pushed away from the wall. This woman would not bully Emma, not while he still possessed most of his faculties. “The fire was not Emma’s fault, Mrs. Moore. And I would thank you to speak to her in a kinder manner.”

“If it’s kindness you’re looking for, then go back to England where you belong.”

A loud gasp sounded from behind the group.

“Mama, why are you being so mean to Emma and Mr. Rowe?” Marianne wheeled toward her mother.

“Marianne.” Vera’s hand went to her throat. “What are you doing down here? I thought Corinne brought you upstairs.”

“I came back down in the elevator. I was worried about Mr. Rowe.”

The child’s sincere empathy touched Jonathan’s heart. How did such a disagreeable woman raise such a wonderful girl? He smiled at her. “I’m fine. Thank you, Miss Marianne.”

Emma went to kneel beside the girl’s chair. “You mustn’t blame your family for their reaction. My existence has come as a great shock to everyone. Give them some time to get used to me.”

“But I’m afraid you’ll go away if they’re mean to you.” The girl’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” Emma leaned in to brush the girl’s tears away and kissed her cheek. “How could I leave now that I have a little sister? Two sisters, in fact.”

“Corinne isn’t happy you’re staying.” The child’s frank statement hung in the air.

“She’ll have to get used to the idea.” Professor Moore gave his wife a pointed look as if to say you too and patted Marianne’s head. “Now off to bed with you. I’ll have Cook bring you and Corinne some warm milk and cinnamon.”

“Yes, Papa.”

Emma bid the girl good-night, then turned to Jonathan. “Perhaps we should go as well.”

As exhaustion began to set in, Jonathan’s muscles grew lax. “I think that would be best.” He straightened his jacket and pulled himself up to his full height, wishing he could escape the mortification swamping him. How feeble must he appear to Emma and her family?

The other men, even the elderly Mr. Fenton, had jumped into action to douse the flames and get the women to safety.

Jonathan had gone into a state of shock.

“Thank you for your hospitality.” He gave a curt bow and headed to the foyer.

Behind him, Emma said her good-byes.

The housekeeper appeared with his hat and Emma’s wrap. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening.” Jonathan jammed his bowler on and rushed out the front door. Immediately, he gulped in a lungful of fresh air.

Soon, if he was fortunate, he’d fall face first onto his cot over the garage and try to pretend this night had never happened.

“It’s getting worse,” Emma said quietly on the cab ride back to the boardinghouse. She’d debated saying anything, knowing Jonathan’s pride must be damaged at having displayed such weakness in front of her family. But she’d kept quiet for too long, always afraid to upset him or cause him any more distress. Now there was no way to avoid discussing what had just happened.

Jonathan stared out the window. “What is?”

“Your fear of fire. It’s never paralyzed you like that before.”

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

The need to comfort him, to make it all better, became a physical ache. She laid her hand on his arm. He flinched and pulled away.

“You’ve no reason to feel ashamed, Jonathan. After losing your family in that fire, you can’t help your reaction.”

Silence.

“But why is it getting worse now, all these years later?”

He stiffened against the seat.

She recognized the withdrawal, the tension that radiated off him in waves. Tension that had followed him back from combat. A sudden thought struck. “It’s the war, isn’t it? Did something happen there that involved fire?”

“Leave it alone, Emmaline.”

Frustration bubbled up within her. Why was he being so stubborn? “You can’t keep everything bottled up inside. You have to get it out or it will . . . consume you.”

He glared at her. “Do you think I wish to rehash the worst experience of my life?” Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.

“Of course not. But you haven’t been the same since you returned. I thought given enough time you’d recover, regain your sense of humor and your easygoing nature, but instead you’re getting worse.” She took a breath. “What happened, Jon?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do. I want to help you. I miss my friend.”

A growl escaped his lips. “If that’s true, then why are you planning to put an ocean between us? You don’t seem to care that we’ll likely never see each other again.”

Emma closed her eyes on a wave of remorse. Never had she felt so torn, so divided in her loyalties. Why couldn’t she have her family and Jonathan too? But he would never leave his Aunt Trudy to live in Canada. He felt he owed her everything after she took him in. In addition to that, there was Oxford.

“Of course I care,” she said at last. “It kills me that in order to be with my family, I’ll have to leave you.” She pressed her lips together, and before she could stop herself, added, “But you left me first. Four years ago. To go off to war, of all places.”

Her stomach churned with the resurgence of old resentment and hurt, reliving that horrible day when she’d watched him board the train, dressed in his uniform, not knowing if she’d ever see him again.

He’d left her alone, except for Grandad and Aunt Trudy, who were both getting on in years. Often the two would be so engrossed in their own friendship and their own careers that Emma felt like an outsider. She’d vowed during those four lonely years that she would never become so dependent upon another person again. Never rely on anyone so much for her peace of mind.

Perhaps she was leaving Jonathan before he could hurt her again. Better to make a clean break on her terms.

“You make it sound like I went away on vacation,” he said tersely. “I was fighting to protect my country, including you and everyone else I care about.”

He made it seem so logical, so noble. Yet there was nothing logical about her emotions. If he’d been forced to go, it would be different. But to make the conscious choice to enlist the moment the prime minister had declared war felt too much like abandonment to Emma.

However, to rehash the argument now would serve no purpose.

“You’re trying to get me off topic. If you won’t discuss the war with me, you should find someone you can talk to. Someone who might understand what you’re going through. Maybe a fellow soldier?” She paused. “What about your friend, Reggie?”

“No. He’s been through far worse than me. It wouldn’t be right to heap my problems on him.”

“All right. Then maybe a stranger might be easier to talk to.”

In the darkened back seat of the taxi, she sensed him capitulating. His shoulders sagged. “I’ll think about it. Maybe when I get home, I’ll go to the veterans’ office and find someone through them.”

Emma swallowed the lump rising in her throat. “That’s a good idea,” she managed to say.

He sounded as though he were leaving tomorrow. But the reality remained that whether it was tomorrow or several weeks from now, it was only a matter of time until he left her again.

And when he did, Emma needed to be certain she would survive it.