Hope (9781414341583)

by Copeland, Lori

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I just received a letter from Ginger.” She turned back toward John and wiggled her brows. “She’s been planning a visit for some time, you know, and she’ll be here any day now. Isn’t that wonderful? I can hardly wait for you to meet her. I just know you two will have so much in common.”

  “Mrs. Fletcher, you know my fiancée is expected any day now. We plan to be married—”

  “Oh, I know that’s what you plan, but would it hurt for you to just meet my niece? My goodness, John. I’m not exactly asking you to marry Ginger. Well, look. The dear girl has sent a picture in her last letter. Just look at her. Isn’t she the prettiest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on?”

  John took the tintype Veda thrust at him. He could tell absolutely nothing about the girl from the blurry image. He wasn’t even sure it was a girl.

  “She’s lovely.” He handed the picture back.

  Veda cradled the photo in her hands. “She is, isn’t she? Such a charming girl. Looks exactly like my sister Prunella looked when she was Ginger’s age.”

  And Jake Pearson’s granddaughter was outrageously charming, and Greta George’s daughter, and Marly Jenkins’s sister. In fact, Freeman Hide’s granddaughter was also coming for a visit soon, and John wasn’t looking forward to meeting her, either!

  “I was talking to poor Ben Grant the other day, and you know his wife isn’t getting any better.” Veda shook her head sadly. “He can’t take care of her and run the blacksmith shop too. He’s going to have to find someone to take care of Mary while he’s working. I was thinking Ginger could do that. That way, she could stay here in Medford. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

  Simply ducky. Somehow, in her own seemingly innocent way, Veda was always first to know what was going on in Medford—often before the involved parties did. Granted, everyone knew Veda had a good heart, so her questions were never considered prying, and she was always the first to be at the door if there was a need. There was absolutely no question that Veda Fletcher was a loving, caring woman who, after her husband’s death, had devoted herself to serving the town and its citizens. And wasn’t that, after all, what people were supposed to do? Take care of one another?

  Unfortunately, John was her one blind spot. He and that niece of hers. Veda was determined to get them both to the altar. Together. And soon.

  “It would help Ben, I’m sure.”

  “It would. And Mary is such a dear soul. I’m sure Ginger would be such a blessing. And—” she smiled guilelessly—“her being here for an extended length of time will give you two time to get to know each other.” She clapped her birdlike hands together. “I’m so pleased this is working out so well.”

  “I’m sure you’ll enjoy your niece’s visit.” Should he suggest an earpiece? He was already engaged to another.

  Tucking the photo of Ginger into her pocket, she smiled. “I’ll introduce you the moment she arrives; you know how unpredictable the stages are. Why, out of the last scheduled four, three haven’t come in at all.”

  John knew that quite well. In fact, Miss Kallahan had been due for the past four weeks and she wasn’t here yet. What with the spring rains and muddy roads, there was no telling when the stage could get through.

  But Miss Kallahan would come. Her letters had shown her to be a woman of integrity and honesty. He could hardly wait for her arrival so this constant parade of eligible women would cease.

  “I’m sure your niece will arrive in good time, Veda. And I’m sure you’ll enjoy her visit. If she can help Mary and Ben, then that’s wonderful. Now, I have work to do—”

  “Eat your lunch,” Veda advised with a pat on his arm. “Young men need to keep up their strength.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  “Enjoy.”

  “Thank you again,” John called as Veda headed for the front door.

  “Have a good day, John.”

  “Same to you, Veda.”

  He waved as he shut the door behind her, then snapped the lock back into place.

  Turning, he took a deep breath and faced the chicken casserole.

  Chapter Six

  Under the cover of darkness, two figures silently emerged from the cave and crept toward a waiting horse. A moment later hoofbeats broke the quiet of the night.

  Hope held tightly to Dan’s waist, praying that the Lord would guide his efforts. She was still weak from the illness and incredibly tired. She longed for a bath, clean clothing, and a soft bed. Though Dan was most considerate of her needs, there was nothing he could do about clothes and hot water. The best he’d been able to provide was a “spit” bath from rainwater he’d caught in their one cooking pot.

  Resting her head against his broad back, she clung to him, dreaming of a steaming tub, pots and pots of hot water, and sweet-smelling lavender soap.

  The night seemed endless. Dan promised they would ride down dark lanes, keeping to the side of the road in case they encountered other nocturnal travelers. Hope visualized Big Joe and the others hiding behind every rock and bush, ready to pounce and seize them captive, only this time Dan would be a victim, too. Big Joe would make sure neither she nor Dan got away again. Her hold tightened around Dan’s waist.

  Her knight in shining armor glanced over his shoulder, the pale moonlight throwing his handsome profile into shadow.

  “I know you’re getting tired, but if your strength holds up, I want to make as much time as we can.”

  “Ride as long as you need.” He’d been so considerate, so attentive, during her infirmity, she’d be forever grateful. He’d fetched water, kept her fever to a tolerable level, and rarely slept while watching over her. She’d heard him outside the cave tossing in his bedroll. Even in her misery, she was confident he had one ear attuned for danger.

  When she’d stir, he was there to see to her every need. At night in the light of the campfire, he read to her from a small Bible he carried in his coat pocket. His responsibility for her weighed heavily on him. She could see it in his eyes and hear it in the timbre of his voice.

  “The worst is behind us,” she’d whisper, reaching out to take his hand. They had to keep their spirits up if they were to survive the ordeal.

  “I pray you’re right,” he’d answer, and it was easy to tell he was worried.

  The horse carried them through the dark night. They passed no one on the road. The infrequent homesteads they encountered lay dark and unthreatening beneath the waning moon.

  Hope thought it must be close to dawn. Shadows gradually lifted, and the eastern horizon grew light.

  “I’d like to ride until sunup,” Dan said over his shoulder.

  Hope shivered, puzzled by the effect his calm, reassuring voice induced. Normally she’d be frightened half out of her wits, racing through the night with a man she trusted only by faith. But with Dan, she felt safe, protected, as if no further harm could touch her. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t fine, but she wasn’t going to fret about petty complaints. He didn’t have to personally escort her to Medford; he was risking his life by doing so. He could easily put her on a stage and be done with his responsibility.

  But Dan Sullivan wasn’t one to shirk duty. He was a man of exceptional character. A man any woman would be proud to …

  She checked her thoughts. The fever had addled her brain. Aunt Thalia would say, “Keep your mind on your business, young lady!” Unfortunately, her business wasn’t Dan Sullivan. Her business waited for her in Medford, and she was now more than a month late.

  For all she knew, Dan might very well have a lady in Washington awaiting his return. The idea didn’t set well with her. In fact, it reminded her of one of Aunt Thalia’s awful duck recipes that soured her stomach.

  She checked her thoughts a second time. What was she thinking? Riding around the countryside, depending on Dan to look out for her welfare. She’d never depended on anyone except family and God. In spite of the goodness she saw in Dan, she didn’t know him—didn’t know anything
about him. What if he was deliberately misleading her—hoping to gain her confidence and—?

  What if he had other reasons for befriending her—sinister reasons? She shivered.

  “Cold?”

  “No, someone just walked over a grave.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Someone just walked over a grave: Aunt Thalia says that’s what causes shivers.”

  “Is that right?” Humor colored his tone.

  “That’s what my aunt says.”

  “Then it must be true.”

  Kidnapped, mistaken for someone else, held captive in a filthy cabin, fed vile food, been deplorably ill … and now, riding through the darkness with a man who makes me have thoughts I have no right to think.

  I’m weak, Lord! I’m not able to do this!

  “You’re tired,” Dan said, and she wondered if he’d read her thoughts. Heat crept up her neck and covered her cheeks. Oh, she hoped not! It was bad enough to think them!

  “We’ll stop for the day.”

  His kindness brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered, wondering anew how he could be so attuned to her necessities.

  He cut the horse into a thicket and a few moments later lifted Hope down from the saddle. She closed her eyes, trying to absorb his strength, wishing that she had a small portion of it. To the left was a low outcropping where she assumed they would rest for the day. Dan held her for a moment, decidedly a bit too long, then gently set her aside.

  “We should be safe here for the day. I’ll get a fire going. You’re chilled.” When he stepped away, she felt as if part of her left with him.

  Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed, fighting to stem the rising tide. Don’t cry, Hope! All he needed was a weepy woman to add to his troubles. Yet teardrops formed in her eyes, and she realized whatever earlier strength she’d boasted of having had vanished with the night. She felt weak and drained.

  Dan returned momentarily. Removing the lid from the canteen, he handed it to her, his eyes gentle.

  “Thanks.” Did he understand what she was feeling? She couldn’t meet his gaze for fear of bursting into unmanageable sobs. Right now, she was primed for a pretty good pity party he wouldn’t want to attend.

  A smile touched the corners of his eyes. “You don’t have to be so polite. If you want to scream, tear your hair out, you’ve earned the right.”

  She gave him a lame smile, lifting the canteen to take a long swallow. She’d like nothing better than to scream and rail at the injustices she had endured, but no one except Dan would hear, and he certainly didn’t deserve to be party to her hysteria.

  “Hungry?”

  She shook her head. She couldn’t remember the last time food interested her.

  “Well, no matter how bleak our situation looks right now, a person has to eat. John Jacobs won’t take kindly to my depositing a skeleton on his doorstep.” He wiped away the one tear that trickled down her cheek with this thumb. The intimate gesture was oddly comforting. “No matter how pretty she might be.”

  Hope searched somewhere deep within herself and managed to come up with something she hoped resembled a smile. At least he was still optimistic that they’d reach John Jacobs. She wasn’t so sure.

  “Sorry, I don’t mean to be whiny—”

  “You’re not whiny, Miss Kallahan.” He stripped the saddle off the horse and carried it to the outcrop. Her eyes focused on the ridge of impressive muscle that played across his back, shamefully aware that her thoughts should dwell on more fruitful ground. She followed him to the campsite.

  “The kidnapping, Big Joe and the gang. It all seems like a bad dream.”

  “It will be over soon.” He straightened, his gaze assessing her soiled appearance. She must look a sight. Her dress was disheveled and dirty, and she’d only half managed to twist her hair into a bun and secure it with the precious few pins she had left.

  “Do you like fish?”

  She nodded. “I like fish.”

  “Good, because I spotted a stream a short while back. With any luck, I’ll catch our breakfast.”

  He settled her on a blanket and started a fire. Then he took off in search of the stream. Huddling close to the snapping fire, she watched his tall form disappear into the undergrowth. Goose bumps swelled, and she rubbed her arms, uneasy when he was gone.

  Within the hour he returned, whistling and carrying his catch. She smiled at the sight of the large bass. Dan Sullivan’s woman would never fear for her next meal.

  “Breakfast,” he announced with a cocky grin.

  “Congratulations.”

  Squatting, he piled more brush on the fire and grinned up at her. “Dan, you incredible man, you. How did you get so good at catching fish with your hands? she asks.”

  She blushed at his teasing.

  “Well, thank you, Miss Kallahan. I hoped you’d notice my exceptional sporting skills. I got good at catching fish with my hands during the war. Many nights our company would have gone hungry if we hadn’t devised our own means of providing food.”

  “You fought in the war?”

  “Yes, ma’am, for way too long.” A mask dropped over his features, and she realized she’d touched on a painful subject.

  They chatted while he cleaned then skewered the fish and hung it over the flames. They talked briefly about the War between the States and the terrible atrocities it brought upon the people. Kentucky had tried to remain neutral, Dan told her, but that wasn’t possible.

  “How do you know so much about Kentucky?”

  “Had a good friend who lived here.”

  “Is he here now?”

  “He’s buried in Lexington.”

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “Do you ever feel as if the world is spinning out of control?” She sensed his smile, though he had his back to her.

  “Occasionally.”

  “I never had, until recently. I thought God would keep me safe from all harm.”

  Lately, God had challenged those thoughts. He never promised there’d be no trials, but somehow she’d just expected her life to be different. Adversity happened to others, not to her. Not until Papa died. Or until she and her sisters split up, and she didn’t know when, if ever, she’d see them again. Or until Big Joe took her hostage.

  “No one is protected from trouble, Hope. Not on this earth,” he said quietly.

  They shared the moist, tasty bass, and then Hope slept the day away. She was vaguely aware of Dan keeping watch as he dozed intermittently, but she was too tired to insist that he rest while she guarded their small sanctuary. Toward evening, they finished the last of the fish before Dan doused the fire and saddled the horse.

  As twilight faded, they rode on, pausing the second night only long enough to rest the horse and drink from icy cold streams. By the time the sun came up the third morning, although Hope was still reeling with exhaustion, the healing rays were warm on her face, and she thanked God for a new day.

  Dan’s soft warning jarred her from her lethargic state. “Let me do the talking,” he said quietly.

  Half-asleep, she started at the sound of his voice. “What—what is it?”

  “There’s a wagon coming.”

  Her heart raced. Would they be discovered? Why didn’t he cut off the road? “Big Joe?”

  “No, Joe wouldn’t use a wagon. Probably a farmer on his way to town.”

  A team of sleek black horses came around the bend, and Hope spotted an old man and woman sitting on the spring seat of a short wagon. The woman’s pale hair, shot with silver, had come loose from her bonnet. Her body was more square than angular. The old man looked exactly like her—bookends, Hope thought, except for the rim of snow white hair protruding wildly from beneath the battered hat he wore low over his lined face. The wagon pulled even with Dan and clattered to a halt.

  Smiling, the old man showed a row of uneven, yellow teeth.

  “Howdy. You folks are out purty early, ain’t ya?”

  Dan eased Hope down from the back of t
he horse. She straightened, working the kinks out of her back. She was grateful for the brief reprieve. The old couple looked harmless enough.

  Stepping out of the saddle, Dan walked over to shake hands. “My sister hasn’t been well lately. We started out before sunrise to find a doctor, but she’s feeling poorly again.”

  Hope shot Dan a disbelieving look. Sister? Of course. They couldn’t announce they were unmarried and traveling together. His returning gaze warned her to go along with the facade.

  “We were about to rest a spell when we heard your wagon.”

  Hope would play along, but she didn’t approve of fibs. She could still remember the sting of Papa’s hickory switch on the backs of her legs when he’d caught her lying.

  Removing his hat, the old man scratched his head. “Well, our place is up the road aways. You and yore sister are mighty welcome to stop in for a cup of Harriet’s coffee.”

  Hope studied the old woman. Her face was flushed, and she looked as if she’d wallowed in a mudhole in her plain brown cotton dress.

  “You shore are!” she invited. “We’d be right proud to have you join us for breakfast.”

  “Oh no. We couldn’t,” Hope protested. She shot Dan an anxious look.

  “No.” Dan smiled. “We don’t want to impose—”

  “Land sakes! Be no imposition! Got plenty of fresh eggs, and it won’t take a minute to whip up a fresh batch of biscuits. Come on now, yore sister looks downright peaked.”

  Dan glanced back to Hope and she smiled. Lamely, she knew, but it was the best she could do. The thought of a hot meal did sound good.

  “I guess we could stop for a minute. Much obliged.” Dan reached for the horse’s reins. “If you don’t mind, would it be all right if my sister rides with you? As I said, she’s been feeling poorly… .”