The House on Foster Hill

by Jaime Jo Wright

  He waited.

  Kaine smiled. “I know that I come from a line of strong women, who fought for their families, fought for those they loved, and saw hope in their future. And I know . . .” She breathed deep in the realization of it. “I know I am one of them.”

  Ivy

  Leaves from the previous autumn blanketed the ground and softened Ivy’s footsteps as she wove between headstones. Old names, old friends, a place that felt like home. But today was different. The sun warmed the earth and made the dew on the grass glisten like diamonds. The gauzy hemline of her pale blue dress caressed the earth as she passed. She brushed her fingertips over the healing wounds on her face. Healing.

  It was why her father was a physician. It was why Ivy had written the stories of those who were buried here. To heal. To survive. But now, Ivy examined herself. She stilled in front of Gabriella’s grave. She had set out to find her name, and Maggie made it clear Ivy would never know it. But still, Ivy had been earnest in her journey to unveil Gabriella’s story, and there was satisfaction in knowing that Gabriella would be remembered, if not by her name, then by her daughter. By the generations that would come from Hallie and Maggie, the two people Gabriella had given her life to save. And because she wasn’t afraid of the grave, she had hope of what would come next.

  Ivy ran her hand over Gabriella’s cross. Hope was the one thing she had missed in her healing. Hope not only healed, it lessened the scars. She had grown used to loss. She expected it. She expected failure from those around her. But Gabriella, in the brutality of her circumstances, had found hope in Someone greater. Her faith reached into Ivy’s soul.

  She inhaled a deep breath of warm spring air filled with the freshness of rain. She wanted that hope. To cling to God as Gabriella had. To hold Him so close that this world became an interlude before life truly began.

  Ivy trailed her fingers over the marker and turned her face to her brother’s stone. She’d expected Joel to meet her here, in the early morning hours. He had promised he would. This time no one would stop him from keeping that promise.

  His head was bent as he stood with his back to her. Andrew’s resting place was illuminated by a shaft of the morning sun. Joel’s shoulders were broad, encased in a white shirt, and relaxed. He looked up at her when she approached, and Ivy offered him a small smile as she noted the gentleness in his eyes. She had seen it there so often many years before. Andrew had told her once that she would marry Joel one day. Joel was one half of her heart, and Andrew the other.

  Joel reached for Ivy’s hand. She lifted it willingly and wrapped her fingers around his. They both stood in silence over Andrew’s grave.

  “I’m here,” Joel murmured.

  Ivy smiled, though her contentment was seasoned with sorrow. “Thank you.”

  Joel’s grip tightened. A mourning dove cooed in a bush beyond the grave. Ivy closed her eyes. She could almost hear the words as they entered her heart.

  “‘For in thee, O Lord, do I hope: thou wilt hear, O Lord my God.’” Ivy’s whisper floated over the cemetery.

  She turned to Joel, and he searched her eyes.

  “Gabriella had written that Scripture on the page I found under the bed at Foster Hill House. It was a promise she clung to.”

  “He heard her,” Joel affirmed.

  “He did. But it is difficult to accept that promise is fulfilled in spite of our circumstances, not instead of our circumstances.” The admission pained Ivy. If she accepted Gabriella’s death as God’s promise of new life, then she must believe the same for Andrew, whose faith was equally strong.

  Joel reached for her other hand. Ivy stared down at their interlocked fingers.

  “Ivy, it’s time.”

  She looked down at Andrew’s grave. “To say goodbye? I know.”

  Ivy knelt and pressed her lips against the cold stone. But Andrew wasn’t there. Not really. And therein lay her hope.

  “Farewell, my brother,” she whispered. A hot tear trickled down her cheek. Saying goodbye did not mean the ache of emptiness would leave. But, it was time to live again. Andrew would want that. She could see it now.

  Joel helped her stand, and Ivy leaned into him.

  “We need to protect Hallie and Maggie,” she said with firm determination. “And we need to keep the story of Foster Hill House as quiet as we can, for their sake.”

  “I know.” Joel wrapped his arm around her waist. He spoke into her temple, his breath warm and comforting. “It is possible to do that . . . together.”

  Ivy pulled back a bit and allowed herself to look deep into his eyes. There was promise there, maturity, and strength that had grown since he was young. She loved him. She always had.

  “I would like that,” Ivy murmured.

  Joel’s smile cloaked her in its warmth. “Ivy.” His finger trailed softly down her face to her chin. “You were always my Ivy.”

  She had no bitterness now, no doubts, no questions. Joel’s kiss was gentle, slow, but claimed her with purpose. When he pulled back, he seemed thoughtful but very much at peace.

  “So we’ll make Hallie our own?” Ivy had to ask, searching his face. To be sure.

  Joel’s mouth tipped up at the corner. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Yes. Definitely.”

  She laid her head against his shoulder as the sun rose above the treetops, shining down on them. A witness to the hope that was rising inside her.

  Ivy closed her eyes. She wanted to remember this moment. For it was in this moment that she breathed in life.

  “What do we do now?” she whispered into the morning light.

  Joel’s words brushed her ear with promise. “We do what Gabriella would have wanted us to. We live, right on into eternity.”

  Questions for Discussion

  Kaine decides to renovate a house over a century old. Is this a project you would tackle, and if so, what secrets would you hope to find in its architecture?

  Ivy has a memory book in which she records the lives of those who have passed away. How do you record and remember loved ones who have impacted your own life?

  Of the two heroes, Joel and Grant, what about them attracted you? Why?

  What plot twists did you think might happen, but didn’t? Or what plot twist surprised you the most?

  What do you know of your own family ancestry? Are there any lingering questions you’d love to find the answers to?

  Both Ivy and Kaine have a personal journey to trudge through. Whose journey do you most relate to? What personal journey do you feel you are on at this time in your life?

  As Ivy and Kaine uncover who Gabriella was and the circumstances surrounding her life and death, they also realize that Gabriella had hope in spite of her circumstances. Where did Gabriella’s hope come from and how might you incorporate this same perspective in your life?

  Were you aware that human trafficking was alive and flourishing at the turn of the century? In what ways do you think it’s different today from then? In what ways has society’s attitude toward trafficking changed?

  When you consider human trafficking, what can you do to fight this horrific trade?

  Human trafficking is not new to the twenty-first century. It is alive and flourishing. If you or anyone you know are potential victims, please contact the National Human Trafficking Hotline 1-888-373-7888, or visit www.humantraffickinghotline.org.

  Acknowledgments

  This book was made possible by Dad, who told me that my first story was dripping with natural talent. While I believe he may have overstated the fact, it helped that he didn’t chainsaw down my manuscript and leave me with different aspirations, like becoming an accountant. Because that would have been an epic fail.

  It was also made possible by Mom, who didn’t force me to learn to cook, so I could learn to write instead. I thank you. My family, on the other hand, does not.

  This novel was launched by a swift kick in the pants by Colleen Coble. When Colleen sends you a challenge, you do it. Because she’s cool, and making h
er smile is a great reward.

  And, of course, my razor-sharp agent, Mary Keeley, who knows everything. It’s true. She does. She’s amazing.

  Thank you to Becky Germany, who was the first editor to take a risk on me. She sits high on the shelf of trophy editors. Not literally. That would be creepy. But, seriously, I am in her debt.

  Massive thanks go to my stellar Bethany House editor and, more importantly, my friend, Raela Schoenherr. Thank you for Twitter-stalking me. I’m sorry I thought you were a scammer.

  Oh, my sisters. Anne Love, Laurie Tomlinson, Kara Isaac, and Sarah Varland. You all help to chart my path. Without you, I am a wanderer. I love you all so very much.

  Thank you, my Coffee Clutch peeps! You all are THE best. Ever. Always.

  Heaps of gratitude to Julie Baker, my Admin. She keeps me alive. Fed. Hydrated. Organized. Even if she is a tad more obsessed with her dogs than with me. Thank you for giving me the pleasure of bringing your Sophie to life on the page. I love you.

  Special thanks to veteran law enforcement officer Dave Edwards, for Facebooking with me to discuss logistics of crimes. I still owe you coffee.

  Of course, I will never not mention Peter Pan and CoCo (my Tinker Bell). You will always and forever be the little people who keep me in Neverland. Let’s play and never grow up, even though Cap’n Hook seems to think we should be responsible humans.

  Cap’n Hook. We are unconventional. I love us for that. Thanks for being my person.

  Finally, the most influential person in the creation of this book was my sister, Halee Matthews. Her intuitive editing skills, natural ability to plot and scheme all things dark, and her belief in this book infused spirit into my words. But more importantly, her belief in me and her devoted love in spite of disagreements, annoyances, emotional ups-and-downs (by me!) has changed my life. It has been proven we are bound by soul. Forever. I love you.

  Jaime Jo Wright is the Publishers Weekly and ECPA bestselling author of two novellas, and a human resources director by trade. She lives in Wisconsin with her husband and two children. The House on Foster Hill is her debut novel. To learn more, visit jaimewrightbooks.com.

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