Hope (9781414341583)

by Copeland, Lori

  “I suppose you’ll be leavin’ today?”

  “Yes, we have to be on our way.”

  “Then you better go to the smokehouse and get another ham. Hope can make sandwiches for the road.”

  Under Letty’s watchful eye, Hope spread bread with golden butter and added thick slices of ham; she filled canteens with fresh water.

  When it came time to leave, Dan and Hope stood near Letty, who was seated in a chair, while Dan offered a brief prayer. “Lord, thank you for bringing us to Letty. Please heal her leg completely, and watch over her. Watch over us also, as we travel. Protect us from harm, and speed us to our destination. Amen.”

  Letty got up, leaning on her cane. Dan hugged her. “Good-bye, Mrs. McGregor. Thank you, and God bless you.”

  When he stepped back and it was Hope’s turn, she couldn’t stop hugging Letty. “I’ll think about you every day of my life,” Hope said.

  Awkwardly thumping Hope on the back, the old woman replied in a voice choked with emotion. “I’ll be mentioning you to the Boss, myself, young’un. You take care, now. You hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Hope wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

  “Oh, wait. I’ve got something for you. You’ll be needing a hat.” Letty crossed the room and took off a peg a flat straw hat with cloth flowers around the crown.

  Hope set it atop her head, then scrambled onto the mule behind Dan.

  “Good-bye, Letty!” Hope yelled as Dan nudged the mule’s flanks and they trotted off down the lane.

  “Bye, young’uns! Godspeed!”

  Hope watched over her shoulder until the cabin and Letty faded from sight. Melancholy assailed her.

  “Are you going to cry?” Dan called over his shoulder.

  Nodding, she bit her lip.

  He covered her hand with his. The gesture touched her deeply. “Don’t worry; the worst is over.”

  Biting her lip harder, she took comfort in the simple statement.

  The worst was over.

  Nothing else could possibly happen to delay their arrival in Medford.

  Chapter Twelve

  John ran his index finger around the inside of his collar, looking around to see if anyone had thought to open the windows. It was the second box social in a month. Didn’t these women ever give up?

  “A little warm under the collar, John?”

  John looked up to see Jack Vance sipping a glass of punch. The town barber smiled as if he knew a secret John didn’t.

  “It’s a little warm tonight.”

  “Oh? Thought it might be the idea of getting hitched.” The older man chuckled.

  “No.” John smiled. “I’m looking forward to that.”

  “From what I hear, the bride might not be quite so anxious to tie the knot.”

  “Oh? And who might have formed that opinion?”

  “The town. We all think she’s not coming.”

  “Well, the town is wrong. Excuse me, Jack, my cup needs replenishing.” John walked away before Jack could respond, but he didn’t make the punch bowl before Lawrence Grant stopped him.

  “Heard from that bride yet?”

  “No, I haven’t,” John said, determined to be pleasant if it killed him. “How are things at the livery, Larry?”

  “Busy, real busy. Got that new buggy in. You still in the market?”

  “I’ll be over tomorrow to take a look.”

  First thing tomorrow morning he’d march down to that river and insist Eldon Jacks ferry him across to the other side, where he could wire Thalia Grayson about Hope’s whereabouts.

  Had Hope even gotten on that blasted stage as planned? He didn’t want to alarm the old aunt if Hope had set about on her own adventure, yet if something was amiss, someone needed to know. If Mrs. Grayson knew why Hope chose not to honor her commitment to him, would she feel comfortable revealing the reason? It was a troubling predicament, to be sure.

  Disappointment beset him. Anyone who had the least consideration for him would have found a way to spare him this embarrassment. Perhaps he’d been wrong about Hope. Could that be? Could he have been so anxious to acquire a wife that he had been taken in by a hard-hearted woman?

  Martin Gray clapped John heartily on the shoulder. “John, how’s everything at the store?” The Gray family lived five miles outside of town and were among John’s best customers.

  “Everything is fine. Had a fine winter. New families moving in means good business for me.”

  “Hear you’re about to start your own family.”

  “I’m hoping to.”

  “Sort of left at the altar, were ya?”

  John bristled. “Who told you that?”

  “Well?” Martin laughed apologetically. “Did I get the story wrong?”

  “Yes. My intended is a bit late in arriving—”

  Martin held up his hand. “Didn’t mean to offend, John. Maybe the little lady can’t bring herself to leave her family. She got brothers and sisters in Michigan?”

  “An aunt.” Perhaps that was the reason for her absence. John felt almost faint with relief. Hope didn’t want to leave her family—but she could have told him. He was compassionate; he’d understand her hesitancy—but wait. Hope’s sisters were leaving, too, also to become mail-order brides.

  “Well, there you have it. Women like their families around ’em. Could be she’s decided she doesn’t want to move clear to Kentucky.”

  “No … I feel confident that she would contact me if that were the case. She’s just been delayed.”

  Martin glanced past John. “Mercy. Who’s that pretty young thing?”

  John turned to see Freeman Hide’s granddaughter standing near the punch bowl, chatting with Jed Lane. Her slender fingers worked a black lace fan back and forth, stirring the humid air. He detected the scent of her perfume even at this distance. His pulse accelerated. By george! Never had he beheld anyone so breathtakingly lovely.

  Uncommonly tall, she was dressed in midnight blue lace, her raven black hair piled high atop her head with a delicate lace mantilla falling around her shoulders. The young woman was exquisite.

  John approached the punch bowl, searching for a proper introduction. Something neighborly, he told himself, appropriately friendly without being overly solicitous.

  “I see your cup has run dry. May I refill it for you?”

  Now that was a real conversation stopper, he berated himself.

  The lovely young creature turned, and John’s knees buckled when confronted with dark-lashed, intelligent eyes the color of thick honey. “Thank you, but I’ve had quite enough.” She gently fanned herself as she gazed at him.

  John’s tongue whiplashed into a bowknot. For the first time in his life, words failed him. His eyes darted about the room for Freeman. He should be here to make proper introductions.

  “Lovely party,” he said, absently dipping another cup of punch. The liquid spilled over the sides and onto the white tablecloth. Grabbing for a napkin, he upturned a vase of flowers. Water dribbled off the sides onto his newly polished shoes. When he sprang back, his heel slipped and he grabbed for support. The whole table went down with him in the middle.

  The ensuing crash caught every eye and ear in the room. Every woman in attendance rushed to his rescue.

  Crawling to his feet, John mopped at the front of his jacket, grinning at the striking beauty. “I’m fine, thank you. Lovely party.”

  The young woman frowned. “Yes … lovely. I’m new in town, and I haven’t met many—”

  Veda shouldered in with a mop and bucket. The crowd stepped back as the table was set back in place.

  John seized the moment. Reaching for the young woman’s hand, he turned her toward the front of the room. “Permit me to do the honors. Over there’s Mose Foreman. He raises chickens. And Aaron Caldwell sitting in the corner? He’s the mayor of Medford, owns two stores on Main Street. Good man, Aaron. And Lynn Baker, the one with the fiddle? He’s retired. All he does is fiddle around.” John smiled. He wiped at the
front of his suit, his mind searching for a new topic of conversation.

  “How do you find the weather here?”

  “I find it fine,” she said. “And you?”

  “Spring is my favorite time of the year.”

  “Mine too. I’m looking forward to investigating the woods surrounding the town. So many lovely wildflowers are starting to bloom.”

  “You are? Well, perhaps—”

  John spotted Veda coming back through the crowd, and his smile faded.

  The young woman turned to follow his gaze, her eyes searching the room. “Is something wrong?”

  “Veda Fletcher.” The name was a pox on his lips.

  “Who?”

  He dropped his voice. “Veda Fletcher, the woman coming toward us in the yellow dress.”

  She turned. “What about her?”

  “I want to avoid her.”

  “Avoid her?”

  “Like a case of hives.”

  Amusement showed in the woman’s smile. “May I ask why?”

  “She’s intent on introducing me to her niece.”

  “And you don’t want to meet the niece?”

  “No.”

  John’s gaze darted to the back door. It was now or never. “Would you care to join me for a stroll in the moonlight?”

  John held his breath as she considered the invitation. Please, a simple walk in the moonlight, he prayed.

  “A breath of air might be nice.”

  “Come with me.” Taking her by the arm, he ushered her quickly out the back door. Several others had taken the opportunity to gain a breath of fresh air and stood talking in small groups around the school yard. At John’s direction, they made their way toward a low wall that ran along one side of the school yard.

  “It’s a beautiful night.”

  “Yes, it is,” he said, taking off his jacket to spread it atop the wall for her to sit on. The air was cooler than inside, and he felt he could breathe again. Moonlight illuminated the young woman’s features. Her beauty was almost unearthly.

  “Thank you, you’re very kind.”

  “Completely nonthreatening.” He smiled.

  “But you’re threatened by that woman—Veda Fletcher.”

  Settling beside her on the wall, he drew a deep breath. “Well, Veda is a little intimidating, especially when she’s on a mission.”

  “A mission?”

  “Of matrimony.”

  Her eyes widened. “Veda Fletcher wants to marry you?”

  “Not Veda. She wants me to marry her niece.”

  “Oh …” After a moment, she said, “You’ve met this niece and find her unappealing?”

  “No, no, I haven’t met Veda’s niece. That’s what I’m hoping to avoid.”

  Snapping open her fan, she murmured, “Interesting.”

  “I know I must sound overly suspicious, but it’s the truth. Veda has targeted me for her niece, and I don’t intend to oblige her. When I marry, it will be the woman of my own choosing.”

  “I can imagine your aggravation. One must wonder what sort of woman the niece is if her aunt has to secure a husband for her.”

  “Yes, that has crossed my mind.” John was surprised to discover how much he enjoyed this woman’s company. It had been years, if ever, since he’d been this comfortable with a member of the opposite sex. “I fear the niece is exactly like Veda.”

  “And that would be bad?”

  “Well, yes. Veda is a lovely woman, very warm and caring. Unfortunately, she’s a hopeless matchmaker, and she makes the worst chicken casserole I’ve ever tasted. Believe me, I’ve eaten her casserole enough to make an unbiased judgment.”

  She smiled. “You can’t find it in yourself to tell her you don’t like the dish?”

  “No! I wouldn’t hurt her for the world.”

  “You’re far too nice,” she suggested.

  “I don’t know about that. It’s just that Veda is so all-consuming. One can hardly have a thought of his own, much less express it. I worry this compulsion to run everything is a family trait.”

  The young woman hid the lower half of her face behind her fan, and John had the distinct impression she was laughing as she slid off the wall and took a few steps away from him.

  “I’m glad you find it amusing. I assure you, having Veda come into the store every day to arrange my marriage isn’t funny.”

  “Oh, but it is.” She turned, dropping the fan from her face. She was smiling. “You see, I am Ginger Gonzales, and I can assure you that I haven’t the slightest intentions of trapping you, John Jacobs.”

  John was struck dumb. This was Veda’s niece! This unspeakably lovely creature was the woman with the constitution of fine china?

  He’d never felt so foolish in his whole life.

  He grappled for something intelligent to say, some graceful way out of his faux pas, but his mind abandoned him. “I—well, I—”

  Her smile widened impishly. “Yes, John? Is there something you want to say?”

  “I wish I could,” he finally managed. He slid off the wall, mortified. He’d managed to insult the most beautiful woman he’d met in his entire life—not only insult and embarrass her but also alienate her from him forever!

  Wonderful, John.

  Suddenly her laughter penetrated his fog. She was laughing! The woman was laughing at him! He’d need to be as tough as a twenty-cent steak to get out of this one.

  “Miss Gonzales. Is it possible for me to convince you that I’m John Jacobs’s evil twin?”

  “Umm, how does the real John feel about Aunt Veda?”

  “Well,” he said, “I’m sorry to say that he doesn’t care any more for chicken casserole than I do.”

  She lowered the fan, flipping it closed with a soft snip. “Frankly, I don’t care for Aunt Veda’s chicken casseroles either. They’re too dry, and every time I eat one, I’m up half the night drinking soda water.”

  “Soda water?” He hoped his eyes weren’t bulging right out of his head. “I have to drink soda water every time I eat one!”

  “Well, then, John Jacobs, perhaps we might think about meeting after all.” She smiled, a smile so pretty it just about knocked him off his feet. “It seems we have much in common.” She cocked an ear toward a mounting commotion inside. “I think they’re about to start the bidding for the box dinners. Shall we go in?”

  Eternally grateful for her graciously releasing him from utter mortification, John escorted her back inside the school building. He was shaking from the whole experience.

  Fred McArthur was trying to get everyone’s attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to get down to what we came here for. Box suppers!”

  The crowd clapped and cheered him on.

  “You know it’s for a good cause, so be generous!”

  Veda was helping sort boxes, handing each to Fred as he worked up the crowd, encouraging a wild and furious spate of bidding. As each offering sold, the buyer claimed the box from Veda, passed the money to Fred, then waited for the lady who had prepared the supper to claim it. Depending on whose box supper it was, loud and teasing comments ebbed and flowed from the audience, along with laughter and good-natured jesting.

  Since he’d already made a fool of himself, John dispensed with etiquette and looked down at Ginger.

  “Which box is yours?”

  The fan flipped open again, and she fanned herself, her eyes coy behind the fan. “I can’t tell you which box is mine. That would be cheating.”

  He grinned. Veda had schooled her well.

  “Every man in this room knows whose box he’s bidding on.”

  “You don’t.” Her eyes twinkled merrily behind the fan.

  He leaned closer. “Which box, Miss Gonzales?”

  “Am I to assume you’d like to spend the evening with me, or is your query merely curiosity?”

  He was a little taken aback by her directness, but he liked it. “What if I said I wanted to have supper with you at any cost?”

  The fan
ceased its movement.

  “Then I would say, yellow is my favorite color, and the daisy looks especially inviting.”

  John’s gaze quickly scanned the table. A large woven basket, wrapped in a blue-checked cloth secured with a wide yellow ribbon holding a clutch of daisies to the handle, presided at the end of the table.

  “Isn’t that a coincidence? I’m rather partial to yellow myself. And I’ve always had a deep appreciation for daisies.”

  “Amazing coincidence,” she murmured, her gaze capturing his over the open fan she now held to her cheek.

  “… and the red-ribbon box goes to Jefferson Mason. Jeff, better hope Miranda put that supper together.”

  Laughter rewarded Fred as Veda pushed the yellow-ribboned basket containing Ginger’s contribution to the edge of the table. She located John in the crowd and pointed to the offering. Pearl Eddings yelled out.

  “No fair, Veda Fletcher!”

  “Now here’s a fine box. Yellow ribbon, daisies.” Fred leaned over to sniff. “And unless my nose is wrong, there’s fried chicken in there.” He sniffed again. “And chocolate cake.”

  The crowd laughed. Fred couldn’t smell a skunk if it sprayed him.

  “Chicken?” John mused softly. “Let me see. Do I want chicken, or should I hold out for a box with roast beef?”

  “Fried chicken, best around.” Ginger edged closer. “And biscuits and honey, fresh butter, and some of Aunt Veda’s special sweet pickles.”

  Well, Veda could make a mean pickle. John never doubted that.

  “Pickles.” He swooned, his hand over his heart in mock seriousness. He winked. “And chocolate cake?”

  “Apple pie with cheese.”

  “Ah, a woman with superb taste.” He raised his hand. “Five dollars for the yellow-ribboned basket.”

  “Five dollars from John Jacobs, mercy me! Do I hear five and a quarter?”

  “Five and a quarter,” someone shouted from the back of the room.

  Ginger was watching from the corner of her eye, resting the fan against her cheek.

  “Five-fifty,” John bid, hoping he had enough money in his pocket.

  “Do I hear five seventy-five?” Fred asked expectantly. “I’ve got five-fifty; do I hear five seventy-five?”

  John held his breath.