Loving Treasures Read Online Free PDF Page A

front of a solid stone house, the sprawling front porch filled with pots of flowers and a glider swing.
    Attached to the railing was an oval sign announcing the Hartmann’s residence, Loving Arms. Jemma grinned, remembering Sissy’s explanation—Jesus welcoming the little children. That’s what Jemma needed. Jesus’s open, loving arms waiting to shield her from hurt and ready to give her strength.
    She bounded up the porch stairs and rang the bell. With the front door open, she heard a bustle from inside. Peering through the screen, she saw Abby Hartmann rush down the stairs as Sissy rounded the corner. They reached the door together.
    “Hello,” Abby said, obviously the more outgoing of the two. “You’re Jemma from the boutique.”
    “Yes, Jemma Dupre,” she said, stepping back as Abby pushed open the screen.
    “Come in. Please.” With a flutter of arms, the woman sent Sissy on her way to make tea and ushered Jemma into the overburdened sitting room. Every inch of space was filled with antiques covered with doilies and bric-a-brac. Jemma’s memory soared back to her childhood, when she had visited her great-aunt Bernice’s home and was intrigued by theabundant clutter of treasures. A deep longing washed over her. Home. She had none.
    “Sit, please,” Abby said.
    Since this wasn’t a social call, discomfort vied with Jemma’s innate sociability. Should she state her business or sink into the huge overstuffed chair covered by an orange-and-brown knitted afghan?
    Finding the latter easier, she sank as a cloud of dust rose from the thick chair arms and danced in the sunlight.
    Without a word, Abby scurried from the room, then returned followed by Sissy, who was carrying a silver tray discolored with tarnish but obviously an object of pride.
    Sissy spread the tea things on the low table, then drew a chair so close to Jemma’s side that she felt the woman’s knees press against hers. Dumbfounded, she sipped tea and listened to the sisters banter and ply her with questions. Where had Jemma lived previously? Did she have a husband? Children? Why had she moved to Loving?
    When they learned that Philip Somerville was Claire’s relative, they edged even closer, asked more questions—but Jemma couldn’t help them. She didn’t know how his wife died. In fact, she hadn’t realized he’d been married, at least not that she recalled. And where was his brother Andrew? That question tugged at her own curiosity.
    Finally, Jemma sidestepped their questions with one of her own. “I was wondering about yourmonthly rate…for a boarder,” she said, then thought better of it. “Not a boarder, exactly, but someone who might like to stay at the bed and breakfast for a while. A weekly fee, maybe.”
    Two sets of eyebrows lifted above widened eyes. Sissy was the first to break her stare by turning to her sister. “What do we say, Abby?”
    Abby paused, and Jemma could almost hear the sound of gears creaking in the woman’s head. Obviously, the question surprised her.
    “We’ve had guests stay a week,” she said finally. “Our rate is usually fifty dollars a night, which includes breakfast. The rooms have fireplaces and—”
    “Fifty.” Jemma crumbled against the chair back.
    Sissy’s face shriveled with concern. “Oh, a weekly rate’s less. Much less. Isn’t it, sister?”
    Abby straightened her back. “Certainly. I think two hundred and fifty—”
    Sissy’s elbow swung out, nipping her sister’s arm. “I meant two hundred,” Abby corrected.
    Two pairs of eyes latched to Jemma’s, as her hope fluttered into the air like the chair’s powdery dust particles. Even two hundred dollars a week was more than she could afford. Far more.
    She’d been foolish to think that the Loving Arms might be a short-term haven until she found something else. A new job, first, then an apartment—that was what she needed. Jemma stared down at her feet. She needed to stand on them. Small feet, yes, butthey were sturdy and