Hope (14 page)

Fawn paced the clearing, in thought now. The sun ducked behind a cloud, and the wind had a chill that reminded one it was still early spring. “It’d shore be nice not to hafta be afraid all the time, to have the two families git along.”

Hope longed to give Fawn a reassuring hug, but she didn’t want to frighten her. “Can you read?”

The girl lit with excitement. “Yes’um, I can read real good-like. Learnt how last year. Mrs. Yodler teached me.”

“Do you think you could talk to your family? Read the Ten Commandments out loud to them. Be sure both your brothers and parents understand the commandment ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ Can you do that?”

She frowned. “I kin try. Where is those commandments in the Bible?”

“In Exodus.” Hope racked her brain. What chapter was that? Ten? Eighteen? Twenty! “Chapter 20! Do you have a Bible?”

“Part of one.”

Hope hoped it was the Old Testament part. “Good. And I’ll try to reason with your aunt Harriet and uncle Luther. Perhaps together we can reunite your families.”

The young girl’s features sobered. “Oh no, ma’am. I cain’t light my family. I wouldn’t burn ’em or hurt ’em—”

“No, not ‘light’ them—reunite them—bring them together.”

Fawn brightened. “Oh, well now, that’d be real nice.”

The girls turned when they heard Dan’s voice shouting for Hope.

Hope jumped up from the rock. “I have to go.”

“Yes’um—me too.” Fawn hurriedly helped her gather the greens and mushrooms back into the apron, cringing as Dan’s worried shout filled the small clearing.

“HOPE!”

“Better hurry now. Yore mister sounds a mite put out.”

Patting Fawn’s arm, Hope started off. “I’ll pray we both have success in making the family see the error of their ways.”

“Yes’um—Mrs. Yodler—she’s that nice woman who learnt me how to read? She says the Almighty is powerful ’nough to move whole mountains. Is that right?”

Hope nodded. “That’s what the Good Book says.”

“Then he ought not to have any trouble gettin’ Pa and Uncle Luther to stop stealin’ each other’s chickens and hogs.”

Dan’s voice again shattered the tranquil morning. “Hope!”

Hope ran from the clearing, carefully cradling the greens and mushrooms in her makeshift sling.

Dan was standing at the doorway with a rifle in his hand. When she bounded onto the porch, his face drained with relief. “Have you lost your mind?”

“No,” she said, brushing past him. She dumped the greens and mushrooms on the table.

“You could have been killed!”

“Yes, but I wasn’t.”

He didn’t have to remind her that what she’d done was foolish, but if Fawn could make her family see how silly this feud was, it was worth the risk.

Luther bolted to the door, his eyes scouting the backyard. “Where’s the pig?”

“In the pen—”

The old man shot out the back door and returned a few minutes later dragging the reluctant porker by a rope.

Dan slammed the door behind the muddy entourage and locked it. When his eyes pinned Hope, she got the message. She wasn’t to go out again until he gave the signal for escape.

“Luther, for heaven’s sake. You’re muddying up the kitchen!” Harriet complained.

“Cain’t let nothing happen to this hog, Harriet. Lyndon would never forgive me.”

Hope ventured a glance at Dan and winced when she saw his stormy features. “I didn’t mean to stay so long. I saw these wonderful greens and mushrooms and—”

“Don’t leave this cabin again unless I tell you to.” He hung the rifle back over the fireplace. “Understand?”

Eyes narrowed, she snapped to attention, saluting him. “Yes, sir, General Sullivan. At your service, sir!”

He turned; he was not amused. “Grow up, Hope. You could have been shot out there.”

Grow up? Well! How dare he talk to her like that! Perhaps she had been careless, but nothing had happened.

Harriet resumed her vigil beside Luther at the window, and Hope dumped the mix of greens and mushrooms in the sink and poured a little water into the basin. “You know, Luther, I think this feud would be over if you would stop retaliating. It won’t be easy, but if you’ll take the first step—apologize to your brother for stealing his pig—then maybe he’ll reciprocate and you can put this feud behind you.”

“Lyndon steals from me.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” She picked up the cleaned greens and carried them to the stove.

“Hope.” Dan’s eyes sent her a silent warning. “Luther and Harriet should settle their own problems.”

They should, she agreed silently. But obviously they hadn’t.

Harriet spent the afternoon sitting next to Luther, knitting. Dan paced the small cabin, occasionally stepping to the back door to look out. Hope held her breath. She could see he was contemplating leaving, and it couldn’t come soon enough for her.

Luther praised the tasty greens during supper, and Hope shot a smug look at Dan. The old couple excused themselves right after the dishes were washed, saying the events of the past few days had plain tuckered them out.

Soon they heard snores coming from the old couple’s room. Hope sat cross-legged on her bed pallet, brushing her hair. Harriet had come up with an extra brush for her; at least she could groom her hair now. Once she would have been preoccupied with her looks, but lately she praised God for a comb.

“You’re used to dealing with men like Lyndon’s sons, aren’t you?”

Dan sat at the table sharpening his knife. “I’ve met a few like them in my time. Hotheaded, single-minded.”

“Is that why we haven’t tried to get away before now?”

“No, I just don’t see any purpose in risking our lives until it’s necessary.”

“We could have gotten away this morning when the Bennetts were eating breakfast.”

“We could have, but that’s what they expect us to do. We’ll leave soon.”

Dan wasn’t inclined to open up to her, and that bothered her at times. Sometimes she wondered if he even liked her anymore. He seldom addressed her personally, yet she caught him staring at her when he thought she wasn’t watching.

“You’ve done this a lot, then?”

“Been stranded in a cabin with an old couple, a pig, and a chatterbox?”

She threw the brush at him. “Joined gangs, pretended to be someone you’re not, escorted women to fiancés.”

He dodged the weapon, smiling at her. “Occasionally.”

Occasionally,
she silently mimicked. That was his standard answer when he didn’t want to address her questions.

“How can you do that? Pretend you’re someone else for months at a time?”

“That’s one of the reasons I’m retiring. I’m tired of violating my conscience.”

“Apparently you’ve been successful at your work. Can you leave the service so easily?”

“As easily as you can marry a man you’ve never met.”

His mild accusation surprised her. Is that what he thought her marriage to John Jacobs would be—a loveless union between two strangers? It didn’t have to be that way . . . she hoped.

“It isn’t the same thing.”

“Really.”

“No—it isn’t uncommon for a man, a lonely man, to send for a wife. My sisters are each marrying a fine man: Nicholas Shepherd is a rancher; Eli Messenger, a preacher.” She paused, gathering her confidence. “Are you married?”

He shook his head.

“Someone special waiting for you to come home?”

“My dear Miss Kallahan, has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

“No, the only thing they’ve said is ‘Grow up, Hope.’”

He glanced up, and she made a face at him.

Returning to his task, he said quietly, “When I leave the service, I’m going to buy a few acres of land in Virginia and farm it. No woman, no prior commitments, no prospects in sight.”

“By chance?”

“Nope, by choice.”

“You sound as if you don’t want commitments. Or a wife.”

“I don’t, at least not right now. Maybe never.”

She got up and put a pan of oil on the stove. “Ever been in love, Dan Sullivan? Really, hopelessly, out-of-your-mind in love?”

“Not in a long time.”

Hope didn’t know why his admission pleased her—almost made her giddy with relief. Just because he wasn’t spoken for didn’t mean she could have him. He’d just said he wasn’t in the market for a wife.

“But you were once.” Hope wasn’t going to like this part because she knew the answer before he said it.

“Once. A long time ago.”

Dumping kernels of dried corn into the pan, she added a handful of salt and put the lid on the pot. The smell of popped corn promptly scented the air.

“Want to talk about her?”

“No.”

“But let’s do because we’re searching for something in common.”

“You might be.” He motioned to the sow. “Me and the sow aren’t.”

He seemed to enjoy teasing her, but she desperately wanted a serious conversation with him. She removed the pan from the burner, drizzled butter over the hot corn, and dumped it into a bowl. Carrying it to the table, she sat down and scooped up a handful. “What’s her name?”

For a moment, she thought he wasn’t going to answer her. Absently reaching his hand into the bowl, he met her eyes.

“Katie Morris.”

“And?”

“And, nothing.”

“Oh no. There was something.” She scooted her chair closer. “You loved her madly—out-of-your mind loved her.”

“I thought so, at the time.”

“But she didn’t love you back?” Hope couldn’t imagine a woman failing to return his affection. Why, if he loved her—it wouldn’t take any effort at all to love him back.

“Katie wasn’t ready for marriage or family life. She went off to an eastern women’s college. We agreed to write—keep in touch—but after a few months I never heard from her again. Years later I heard that she married a professor.”

Hope’s handful of popcorn paused at her mouth. “That must have hurt.”

He shrugged. “Life hurts sometimes, Hope. You get used to it.”

His answers were so simple, so to the point. If only life were that easy.

“I hope to find love with John,” she admitted softly.

Laying the knife aside, Dan met her gaze over the flickering candle. Goose bumps rose on her arms, and she told herself it was the sound of the wind making her insides feel jittery.

“What about you? Have you ever been in love?”

“Oh . . . no. Maybe puppy love, once. A boy in our church—Milo Evans. Milo was nice and cute, but he married Ellie Thompson last year. They have twins already.”

The old clock on the mantel chimed nine. Outside, the wind battered the shutters, but inside, in her heart, sitting with him in this room, snug and warm, the smell of popped corn pleasant in the air, she felt . . . happy. Content.

“My sisters and I didn’t want to burden our elderly aunt after our father died,” she said, hoping to make him understand why she’d agreed to a mail-order husband. “We prayed a lot over the decision and felt that God was leading us. We did what we felt we had to do.”

Of course, she wished she could have met a man and fallen in love, married in the normal manner. But she hadn’t. What had Dan just said? Sometimes life hurts?

“There were no men in Michigan?” he asked gently.

“Not where we lived—not suitable men. Dan . . . I’m sure Mr. Jacobs is a good man.” If that’s what he was concerned about, she could read him all of Mr. Jacobs’s letters—put his mind at ease.

His thoughts, if he had any in particular, didn’t register on his face. Pushing the knife back into its sheath, he moved back from the table. “It’s late. Time we turned in.”

“I guess so.” For some reason, she wanted to sit up and talk all night. About nothing, or about everything. The subject wouldn’t matter; being with him did.

Reaching for the old Bible in the middle of the table, she opened it to Genesis. “I’m not sleepy yet. You’re right. I have been too lax with my studies. I’ll get started on memorizing a few verses tonight.”

“You’re going to start with Genesis?” Dan asked. He glanced at the clock.

She excused the incredulous note in his voice. She didn’t intend to memorize the whole thing tonight.

“I’ll just read a few chapters—then go back and memorize those three verses a day you advocate.”

“Genesis?” he repeated. “Couldn’t you start with something simpler—maybe the Beatitudes?”

She thumbed to Genesis 1. “Oh . . . that’s all that ‘Blessed are’ stuff, isn’t it?”

“Yes—”

“I think I’ll just start with Genesis and work my way right up to that worrisome stuff.”

“Revelation?”

She nodded, smoothing the Bible’s worn, yellow pages into place. She read to chapter 5, her eyes widening. “My . . . there’re an awful lot of ‘begets’ in here, aren’t there?” She glanced at the clock.

When Dan rolled up in his blanket, she was sitting at the table trying to memorize Genesis 1:1-3. Muttering under her breath, she squeezed her eyes shut, whispering, “‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ Verse 2: ‘And the earth . . .’”

Pause.

“Verse 1: ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.’ Verse 2: ‘And the earth . . .’”

Pause.

“‘Was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep,’” Dan muttered sleepily from the other side of the stove. He pulled his pillow over his head.