Guardian's Hope (13 page)

He had his back turned and was heading out,
so he missed the look of pride on Nardo’s face.

*****

“You mean it? You’d really let me do
this?”

Grace laughed. “Of course I mean it and we’re
not letting you do anything. We’re offering you the opportunity.
Whether you take it or not is up to you. You’ve got more experience
than any of us, so it only makes sense. It won’t be for a while
yet. You have time to think about it. For all we know, you may be
long gone by the time it’s ready to roll.”

Hope’s face fell. “You’re right, of course.
It’s time I went back to my own house.”

“Did I say that?” Grace laughed at Hope’s
crestfallen look. “You’ve lived here long enough to know that if
you were an imposition, you’d hear about it. I only meant that it’s
your life and you get to choose how you live it. You may have other
plans. You’ll still be welcome here. You’d still be my friend. I
don’t want you to stay here or work with us out of some stupid
sense of obligation. If you decide to stay with us, I want it to be
because you feel like you belong here and not because you’re afraid
of what’s out there. This House takes some getting used to. I know.
There’s always someone underfoot. No place to be alone and everyone
knows your business. Sometimes it makes me want to scream.”

“I’ve always been alone,” Hope said,
swallowing hard. “My sister and I never spent much time together.
She was younger and had her own friends. My father only spoke when
he wanted something. I was too old for the young, single women and
I didn’t fit with the married ones. I never realized how alone I
was until I came here. I never realized how much I hated it.”

“Aw sweetie, you’ve got us now.” Grace gave
Hope’s shoulder a squeeze. “No matter what you decide, you’ll
always have us.”

Chapter 12

Hope was picking up the last platter to carry
into the dining room when she heard the misquote, obviously aimed
at Grace, from the pantry.

“But Lancelot mused a little space;

He said, “She has a lovely face;

God in his mercy has lent us Grace,

Our Lady of the House.”

She laughed and replied with another verse
from the same poem,

“She left the web, she left the loom,

She made three paces thro’ the room,

She saw the water lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She looked down to Camelot.”

The man entered the kitchen and finished the
verse with her.

“Out flew the web and floated wide;

The mirror cracked from side to side.

‘The curse has come upon me,’ cried

The Lady of Shallot.”

He laughed and said, “Good for you and good
for me, too. I shall enjoy having a kindred soul to offer me
comfort among these Philistines.”

She laughed as well. “The Philistines are in
there waiting for their meat, so we’d better hurry. I’m Hope, by
the way, and you must be the Professor.”

He gave a short bow. “Broadbent, at your
service and I know who you are. Nardo kept me informed while I was
away fighting the Parental Wars. Between you and me and anyone
who’ll listen, I’d rather fight demons. Being the family
disappointment is such a burden.” But he sounded cheerful when he
said it.

He took the platter from her and followed her
into the dining room where everyone was assembled, set the platter
down and raised his hands in acceptance of the enthusiastic
greetings.

“It’s good to be back. I never thought to
hear myself speak these words, but I even missed the bumbling
buffoons.” He nodded to Dov and Col. “And now to meet our newest
member. Nardo told me of her beauty but he ne’er spoke of her
intellect. To find an aficionado of the dear Alfred, ahh…” He
placed his hand over his heart and sighed dramatically. “My heart
doth leap.”

“Yeah, well leap all you want, but do it
after supper. We’re hungry,” Dov complained, “And if you’re going
to call us names, you could at least use words we don’t
understand.”

Another place was set, food was passed,
plates were filled and the meal became a volley of questions and
answers as Broadbent told them of his visit to England and his
attempt to make peace with his parents.

“It would be so much easier if I didn’t love
them. I could tell them both to go to hell and be done with it.
Unfortunately, I do love them and they love me. The conflict arises
over their insistence that my chosen career is some sort of
rebellion, an affront to their way of life. They can’t seem to
grasp the fact that this is the life I was meant to live. Please
pass the rolls.”

The rolls were passed. He buttered and bit
and closed his eyes in bliss. “Like manna from heaven.” He opened
his eyes and looked down the table at Hope. “So, how do you like
being a Daughter of Man?”

“I don’t know that I am one,” Hope answered
honestly.

“I don’t think you have a choice. It’s like
being a Guardian. You can choose to ignore it, but that doesn’t
negate what you were born to be. Like it or not, you are a Daughter
of Man. The question then becomes, do you embrace it or reject it?
I hate to be the one to point this out, but one’s posterior can
become quite uncomfortable while sitting on a fence.”

“That’s enough, Broadbent,” Nico growled.

Hope reddened. She was still uncomfortable
being the center of attention, but if this Guardian was as smart as
the others thought him to be, he might be able to help.

“No, it’s all right, Nico. The professor has
a point. I have been sitting on the fence.” Hope turned to
Broadbent. “For me, it isn’t about accepting what I am. It’s about
rejecting what I’ve been taught. Thou shalt not suffer a witch to
live.”

Broadbent’s eyes lit in recognition. “Ah yes,
Exodus 22:18.” He rubbed his hands together.

“He’s gonna blow, Grace. Can we leave now?”
Dov pleaded.

“No,” she said, “You can listen and
learn.”

Broadbent ignored them. “I’ll begin by
pointing out that the original Hebrew manuscript uses a word that
means a woman who uses spoken spells to harm others in the vein of
the crone who causes her neighbor’s cow to die or his crops to
fail. The Septuagint was produced as a Greek translation about 200
BC. The translators were well educated city dwellers who had no
familiarity with rural spell casters. They changed the word to one
that means herbalist. People of the time used herbalists as healers
and if the herbalist was good at her trade, her neighbors tended to
credit magic as opposed to skill or intellect.”

“St. Jerome tried to correct the mistakes
when he translated the work into Latin. His translation reads ‘You
will not suffer practitioners of
baneful
magic to
live’.”

“All these translations differentiate between
light and dark magic and condemn only the dark. It wasn’t until the
more modern translations that the two branches were lumped
together. If you rely on the most ancient and accurate of the
translations, there is no conflict as long as you practice for the
good.”

Broadbent raised his wineglass in salute and
drank.

“Thank you,” Hope said and meant it. “How do
you know all this?”

“No-o-o,” wailed the twins together and
everyone laughed, clearly in agreement.

Broadbent laughed with them. “I yield to the
ignorant majority.” He looked around the table, taking them all in.
“Damn, I’ve really missed you guys.”

*****

Hope couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned in
the luxurious bed and prowled and paced about the room. She loved
this room with its cheerful yellow walls and full lacey curtains.
Today it felt like a cage. She tried to read, but the chair that
was normally so cushioned and comfortable felt lumpy and hard. When
she couldn’t stand it for a minute more, she grabbed her robe from
the foot of the bed and headed for the kitchen.

From the parlor, the soft glow of fire light
caught her attention and thinking of the danger an untended fire
might pose, she changed her direction and entered.

“Oh! I thought the room was empty. The fire…
I’ll leave you alone. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I
couldn’t sleep.” She was babbling and couldn’t seem to stop.

Nico stood up from his chair by the fire. He,
too, was dressed for bed in black silk pajama bottoms topped with a
long robe she thought might be what was called a dressing gown,
also of black silk. It was belted tightly at the waist by a braided
cord and showed only a small vee at the base of his neck. Except
for the vee, he was as fully covered as she normally saw him, yet
the idea that it was nightwear drew her thoughts to what might lie
beneath. She felt a strange tightening low in her abdomen. Her
mouth was suddenly dry.

“I couldn’t sleep either.” Nico smiled wryly
at the cause of his insomnia. He’d paced his rooms like an animal
in a cage. Every time he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, her
face loomed up in front of him, that auburn hair blowing wild,
framing that milky complexion and those seductive green eyes
flashing with the promise of dreams about to be fulfilled. The
camera of his mind panned down to her creamy, heaving breasts, full
and heavy and ardent for his pleasure. He’d shaken himself back to
the reality of his cold and confining rooms, berating himself for
acting like some youthful fool besotted with his first fantasies of
sex and seduction. And a fool he was to be dreaming of someone he
had no business dreaming of. She was an innocent and therefore out
of his reach.

He looked at her standing hesitantly in the
doorway and compared the reality to his delusion.

Her hair was loosely plaited into a long,
neat braid that fell below the middle of her back, begging him to
unweave the strands and run his fingers through its russet glory.
She wore a white flannel gown, long sleeved and floor length, like
the one he’d seen before hanging from her bedpost. A neat ribbon
bow tied it tightly at the base of her neck. It was a bow he longed
to untie to expose the satin of her throat and beyond. Even the
heavy, blue plaid robe called to him as he imagined the riches that
hid beneath. He turned away before she saw his interest jutting
forward beneath his robe.

“I was about to pour myself a brandy. Would
you like one?” he asked, knowing she’d refuse.

“Yes please,” she answered and laughed a
little at his look of surprise and shrugged. “For medicinal
purposes. It might help me sleep. I only want a taste. Not enough
to make me…”

“Tipsy? I promise.” He poured her less than
half of what he poured for himself and passed the snifter to her.
Their hands touched briefly as he transferred the glass and she
faltered and almost dropped it.

“Come and sit,” he said as he steadied her
with a hand at her elbow and led her to the sofa. He showed her how
to hold the bowl of the glass in the palm of her hand and retrieved
his own glass from the fold-out tray of the liquor cabinet then
took his seat by the fire. He thought of her breast, firm and ripe,
as he cradled the snifter in his palm.

“The warmth of the hand releases the bouquet,
the aroma of the brandy.” He watched her, mimicking him, as she
swirled the contents of the glass. Her hands were so graceful, the
fingers long and tapered, the nails filed to perfect ovals. “Taste
it,” he urged and watched, mesmerized, as her lips opened on the
edge of the glass to receive the copper colored liquid. The sip was
too large. He should have warned her.

Her eyes widened and she sputtered, “It
burns! All the way down!” Her hand went to her stomach. “It tastes
like the cough medicine Mrs. McCarthy cooks up on the back of her
stove.”

Nico laughed. There it was again. No
pretense, no feigned sophistication. She was real and true and
beautiful.

Nico laughed and Hope’s heart filled with joy
at the sound of it. “You’re laughing at me,” she accused and
laughed as well.

“No, I’m…” in love with you and the thought
sobered him. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have laughed but I
don’t ever recall seeing that reaction to an 18 year old
Janneau.”

“That’s the good stuff, huh?” She wrinkled
her nose because she wanted to hear him laugh again.

“Yes, the good stuff.” He took the glass from
her and returned to the liquor cabinet. “Let me get you something
else.”

“Oh no, please. I don’t think I have the
taste for alcohol.” She waved her hand.

He brought her a tiny silver wine glass and
when she eyed it suspiciously, he did laugh again. “Try it. I
promise it will be better than Mrs. McCarthy’s cough syrup, which,
I might add, probably contained alcohol. She simply didn’t tell
your father.”

She took a sip and grinned. “It tastes like
peaches!”

“Peach Schnapps. Grace likes a taste now and
then. She won’t mind sharing. Sip it slowly.”

He settled himself back in his chair and
arranged his legs to hide his growing desire and asked lightly,
“What great sin keeps you awake tonight?”

“The Professor,” she said and sighed.

“He’s a good man,” Nico said cautiously. He
wanted to lie, to say the Professor was a blowhard and a
dilettante, but he couldn’t. Regardless of his own desires, he had
to be honest. Broadbent was the kind of man someone like Hope
deserved; a true gentleman; someone who could bring her the honor
and the life she deserved.

“So I’ve been told. I like him. He makes me
laugh and when he recites poetry… well.” She sighed again and took
another sip of Schnapps. “What I need to know is, does he really
know what he’s talking about or is he just good at…”

“Throwing the bull?”

“Yes,” she laughed, “But I would have found
another way to say it.”

“I know, but we don’t have all day.” That
half smile was back. “If Broadbent says it, you can take it to the
bank.”