Who I Am with You

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  Today was that day. Five long years after first meeting her.

  As he looked at Helen now, he knew there had never been a more beautiful bride. Her dark hair was mostly hidden by the white of her veil, but nothing concealed the rosy blush in her cheeks as she promised to love, honor, and obey him.

  How was I lucky enough to win her heart? How did I ever convince her to wait for me?

  It amazed him every time he thought about it. He was twenty-four years old, a university graduate—the first in his family to earn a college degree—and recently employed by a bank in Boise. His income was good, and his future seemed bright. Still, Helen could have had her pick of much more successful men, had she wanted. But she hadn’t wanted. She’d chosen him. She loved him.

  He wouldn’t ever let her regret that choice. Not ever. When he’d proposed, he’d promised her a good life, full of all kinds of modern conveniences and luxuries, and he meant to keep those promises. Nothing would keep him from it.

  Chapter 1

  HOPE SPRINGS, IDAHO

  The drive through Hope Springs took Ridley Chesterfield all of about a minute or so, even at only fifteen miles per hour. Downtown consisted of a few small retail shops, including a grocery store and a large local government building that appeared to house the post office, the mayor’s office, and the police station. Off the main drag, he caught sight of a couple of school buildings as well as a town park. No traffic lights. No parking meters. A slice of Mayberry RFD.

  His mom had told him the town had charm. He would have to trust her on that.

  After arriving at the log house a short while later, he unlocked the front door and stepped inside. The air was cool, the room cloaked in shadows. Rather than reaching for the light switch, he stepped over to the nearest window and opened the blinds, letting daylight spill into the sparsely furnished room.

  His mom and stepfather—they currently lived and worked in Arizona—had purchased this property a couple of months before. Located in a remote mountain valley north of Boise, it was to be their vacation home until they retired from their respective jobs a decade or so from now. Then they planned to live in Hope Springs year round.

  Ironic, wasn’t it? A man without hope taking refuge in a town with that name. A laugh devoid of humor escaped his throat.

  His mom had told him the two-story house had a charm similar to the town’s, and he supposed she was right about that. But it also needed work, both inside and out, and for that he was thankful. The more things he had to do to keep himself busy, the better. And the more physical the labor, the better. Anything to keep him from dwelling on the circumstances that had brought him there. The less he thought about that, also the better.

  “‘Whatever is true,’” he reminded himself aloud, “‘whatever is honorable, whatever is right . . . dwell on these things.’”

  Easier said than done. For the past few weeks, he’d waffled between regret and rage, between the need to justify himself and the desire to beat himself up for his own stupidity and blind trust. Dwelling on what was true, honorable, right, and whatever else that verse in Philippians said was a whole lot harder than he’d imagined.

  Clenching his jaw, he did his best to shut off his thoughts altogether. Instead, he concentrated on a tour of the house.

  The lower level had a large great room with vaulted ceilings and a stone fireplace, a spacious kitchen and dining area, a bathroom with a soaking tub, and a master bedroom. Upstairs he found an open area set up as a small library with bookshelves and two comfortable chairs. A window provided a spectacular view of the northern end of the valley. On either side of the library was a bedroom. And finally, there was another bathroom, this one with a shower but no tub.

  “Use the master bedroom,” his mom had told him. “We don’t have our vacation planned until the end of August.”

  Now that he was inside the house, he knew he wouldn’t follow her instructions. It wouldn’t feel right. No, he would take one of the upstairs rooms. That way, if he was still in residence come the end of August—

  Ridley closed his eyes and drew in a slow breath. Better not to put a timetable on anything. Next month. Next year. Who knew how long it would be before he was left alone to find new employment? Surely the newsmongers and internet trolls would turn their attention elsewhere before too long; he was a small fish in a big pond, although that didn’t mean his troubles with the campaign wouldn’t follow him around when it came to finding a job.

  With a grunt, he headed down the stairs and went outside to retrieve his things from the car. Suitcases and duffel bags had been packed in a hurry. He hadn’t cared about organization once he’d made his decision to leave Boise. Hopefully, he would manage to find his toothbrush before bedtime.

  Lucky for him, his mom and stepfather had furnished the house shortly after buying it, complete with sheets and blankets for the beds and all the necessary dishes, utensils, and appliances for the kitchen. All Ridley needed to do was make a quick trip into Hope Springs for some grocery items to stock the fridge and pantry, and he would be set.

  “Might as well get that over with.” He dropped the last duffel bag on the floor of his new bedroom and headed back outside, car keys in hand and a baseball cap pulled low on his forehead.

  Jessica Mason had fallen in love with Hope Springs the moment she’d seen it a decade ago. She and Joe had moved to the small mountain town a few weeks after their wedding, happily settling into their fixer-upper on several acres of land. In no time at all they had become a part of the community. Jessica hadn’t even minded those times when Joe traveled for work. She’d been busy with making their house a home as well as becoming involved in their church and the local community. She’d made friends with a number of young wives. Her days had been full—and even more so after the birth of Angela. Her life had been everything she’d dreamed it should be.

  But Joe hadn’t been as happy as Jessica. When that had changed, she didn’t know for certain. She felt she should be able to pinpoint the moment he’d stopped loving her, but she couldn’t.

  Shoving away the painful memories, Jessica entered the grocery store on the eastern edge of Hope Springs, her shopping list in hand. She never took her time or browsed as she once had. She shopped quickly and went straight home. After the accident, it had been instinctive. She hadn’t been able to bear the words of condolence she’d heard over and over again. Now it was habit.

  Her mom had told her more than once that it wasn’t healthy to isolate herself. Maybe not, but Jessica preferred it that way. It was less painful. Besides, when she was with people, she had to pretend too much. She had to lie too often. It was better to spend her days creating in her studio, working at her computer, and running her online shop where she sold her crafts and paintings. Better to be alone than to be reminded of all she’d lost.

  In the produce department she was looking at the tomatoes when another cart bumped into hers.

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  She glanced up. The stranger was tall and broad shouldered, well-developed biceps straining the sleeves of his T-shirt, but his baseball cap and dark glasses hid his eyes. “It’s all right,” she said, thankful it wasn’t someone she knew.

  He gave her a quick nod before moving on.

  Jessica reached for another tomato, then looked over her shoulder in time to see the man fill a plastic bag with plums. He didn’t check for soft spots or to see if they were too green or too ripe. He simply loaded the bag, not seeming to care about quality.

  Men. She returned her attention to the tomatoes.

  It took her about fifteen minutes to finish her shopping, pay for her groceries, and get her few bags into the back of her SUV. Once upon a time, she’d loved to discover new recipes and shop for the ingredients. She used to spend hours in the kitchen, cooking to please her husband. These days she cared little about what she ate. For the baby’s sake, she tried to eat healthy, but she preferred whatever was quick and simple. She had no one to please, no one to impress.

>   Once home and everything put away, she tried to immerse herself in her latest art project, but she couldn’t seem to concentrate on it. Giving up, she went outside to weed her flowerbeds.

  She was nearly finished when a familiar but unexpected sound reached her ears. She straightened, resting on her heels, and looked toward the neighboring property. The log house—about an acre away from her own—had stood empty for almost two years. Then, in early April, the For Sale sign had come down. She’d wondered who bought it, but the house had continued to stand empty. Until now. A man, wearing Levi’s and a white T-shirt, wielded an ax with expertise, chopping the logs that had long ago been stacked near the shed and covered with a tarp.

  A good neighbor would have crossed the acre that separated them to say hello and introduce herself. A good neighbor might have taken over a plate of fresh-baked chocolate-chip cookies. But Jessica had forgotten how to be a good neighbor.

  She stood, at the same time removing her gardening gloves, and went back inside.

  BOISE, IDAHO

  Monday, November 11, 1929

  Andrew stood outside the bank’s entrance, a cold wind blowing through his coat and another through his soul. When he’d kissed Helen goodbye that morning, he’d been employed. Now he wasn’t. They’d used most of his savings for their honeymoon to the Oregon coast. It hadn’t seemed extravagant at the time. Now he wished they’d been more prudent.

  He pulled his coat collar up around his neck as he turned and began to follow the sidewalk in the direction of his automobile.

  “I’ll find another job,” he whispered as he walked.

  How difficult could it be? Certainly what had happened in the stock market a few weeks earlier had shaken financial institutions throughout the country, but it wouldn’t last. And besides, he didn’t have to work for a bank. His degree qualified him for many positions in industry or even in local or state government. He had the promise of good recommendations even if his work experience was limited. He would find another job soon enough.

  Although his thoughts were meant to bolster his self-confidence, he dreaded telling his wife of less than three weeks that he was now unexpectedly unemployed.

  He frowned and his footsteps slowed. As a bank employee, he’d been aware of the recession hitting the country earlier in the year, but he hadn’t thought it would last. He hadn’t thought it would worsen. He hadn’t expected a crash or that men would throw themselves out of tall buildings over it. Certainly he hadn’t expected that any of it would affect him personally. How wrong he’d been.

  Another blast of cold air struck him, and he hurried on.

  The drive home didn’t take long. Andrew parked his Model T Ford in a space off the alley and walked to the rear of the large home, then went down the ten steps to the basement apartment he’d rented shortly before his wedding day. Since returning from their honeymoon, Helen had been happily making their little place as attractive as possible. There was the living room with its cold, tiled floor; an eating nook; a kitchen one could barely turn around in; a bathroom just large enough for the sink, toilet, and shower stall; plus one bedroom. Helen moved furniture on an almost daily basis, fussing over this and that while making lists of things she wanted to purchase when possible. In fact, she was pushing the sofa to a new location when he opened the door and stepped inside.

  “Helen.”

  She gasped and whirled around. Her hand went to her throat as she let out a breath. “Andrew. For heaven’s sake. You startled me. What are you doing home at this hour?”

  He removed his hat and hung it on the rack near the door. His coat followed it.

  “Andrew?”

  He met her gaze again. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “Bad news?”

  “Helen, I’ve lost my position at the bank.”

  Her face paled. “But why?”

  As he walked across the room, he wondered if his bride ever looked at the newspaper. Then again, he always read the newspaper, and he’d still been caught off guard.

  “Andrew?”

  He took hold of her shoulders. “The bank must take cost-savings measures because of what happened in the stock market. Cutting back on employees is where they started. I was among those they let go today.” He drew her close. “Don’t worry. They’ve promised me an excellent recommendation. I’ll find another position soon.”

  God, don’t let that be a lie.

  Chapter 2

  Ridley awakened the next morning while daylight was only a promise. To his surprise, he’d slept hard throughout the night. A good eight hours straight. He’d begun to think he would never sleep soundly again, and he was pleased to have been proved wrong.

  Mountain air, no doubt. Mountain air plus a long stretch of chopping wood yesterday. Not that he had need of wood to burn. But attacking that woodpile had helped him rid himself of some of his frustration.

  His cell phone rang, and he knew without looking at the screen that it would be his mom. She’d always been an early riser.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, honey. How are you?”

  “Good.” He pushed himself up until his back rested against the headboard. “I like your place.”

  “Then you got there all right.”

  “Not like it was hard to find. Drive through town and keep going east for three miles, then head south for another four, and turn right at the stone pillar. Like I said. Not hard to find.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  He heard the concern in her voice, heard all of her unspoken questions. He pretended he didn’t. “I should have come up to see it before now. Maybe I’d’ve moved in sooner.”

  She didn’t reply, and he knew his attempt at humor had fallen flat.

  After a few moments of silence, he said, “I’m grateful I could come up here, Mom. I needed to get away from it all. This is the perfect place to be alone, get my head together, figure out what I want to do next.”

  “And you’re all right?”

  “I will be. At least I can say I’m at peace with God. Finding peace with people will take me a little longer.”

  “I’ll keep praying for you, dear.”

  He smiled wryly. “I know you will.”

  “Honey?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I know you want to escape what’s happened, but don’t shut everyone out. You need other people. Whether you think you do or not.”

  He wished he could give his mom a hug. “I know.”

  “Go to church.”

  “I will.”

  He heard her laugh softly. “I’m through lecturing.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too.”

  They exchanged a few more words before saying goodbye and ending the call.

  Knowing there was no going back to sleep, Ridley got up and headed for the shower. When he was done and dressed, he went downstairs to fix himself a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and toast. There was no television in the house so he couldn’t watch the morning news as was his habit. In fact, the lack of both television and internet had been a great deal of this location’s appeal. He’d come to Hope Springs to escape the news. Better to be ignorant of state and national affairs, lest he see his own face plastered on the screen again. He’d had enough of that for ten lifetimes.

  After eating breakfast, he washed and dried the frying pan and other dishes before heading outside. At the bottom of the back porch, he stopped to survey the property again. A detached three-car garage was off to his left. The woodpile, where he’d spent a good deal of yesterday afternoon, was on the right side of the yard beside a small shed. The three acres of partially fenced land that went with the house was spotted with a few clusters of aspens and lodgepole pines and carpeted with wild grass. At the far end trickled a creek and a small pond, a few ducks bobbing for bugs, tail feathers stuck in the air. The property lay at the end of a dirt road, and it felt remote—more so than it actually was. Something else he liked about it.

  Th
e silence of the morning was broken by the barking of a dog. Ridley caught sight of the long-coated canine as it raced across the land toward the pond. Several ducks took flight. A few others waited to see if the dog would plunge into the water after them. It didn’t. Instead, it raced around the pond, continuing to bark.

  Using his hands, Ridley vaulted over the white board fence and strode toward the pond. When he got closer, he said, “Hey, there. Settle down.”

  The dog ignored him.

  “Come on. Settle down. Those ducks couldn’t care less about you.”

  The raucous noise continued.

  Deepening his voice, Ridley said, “No!”

  At last he had the dog’s attention.

  “Sit,” he commanded.

  To his surprise, the dog did so.

  He took a few steps closer. The dog—a sheltie, judging by its smaller size and its sable and white coat—was desperately in need of a bath. It wore no collar. “Can I touch you?” He reached out slowly. “You look a little thin beneath all that hair and dirt. When did you eat last?”

  The dog whimpered.

  He patted its head. “How about I get you something? Come with me.”

  Again the sheltie obeyed the command.

  “Anybody missing you?” Doubt rose to answer the question. No collar and underweight. Either the dog had been neglected or had been lost a long time.

  They walked to the house, the sheltie on his left side.

  “I don’t have any dog food, but I’ll bet you like scrambled eggs.”

  After the dog was fed, Ridley decided, he would check with the neighbor. Maybe someone knew where the canine belonged.

  The sound of the doorbell startled Jessica. It was too early for Carol Donaldson to bring one of her deliveries. But who else could it be? She never had visitors anymore. She left her computer and walked to the front door as the bell sounded a second time.