Hope_Bride of New Jersey

by Amelia C. Adams

  Slowly, the paper clutched in her hand, she walked down the hallway to Mr. Edwards’ office and rapped on the door. She opened it at his abrupt, “Come in!” and found him sitting behind his massive oak desk, scowling at a ledger. His expression changed when he looked up and saw her.

  “Ah, there you are. I haven’t seen you yet today, and I was feeling entirely incomplete. Say something and make me feel better.”

  Hope blinked. “I don’t know what to say, sir.”

  “And yet, you’ve just done it.” He stood and walked around the desk. “Tell me what brings you by. I’m in sore need of some sort of diversion.”

  Hope looked down at the letter. “I need to leave you, sir.”

  “Leave me? What on earth are you talking about?” he all but barked.

  “I don’t mean for long. My aunt is ill, and she’s asked that I go to her.”

  “Your aunt. The one who raised you so poorly. She wants you to rush to her bedside because she’s not feeling well? Does she expect you to come running every time she has a case of the sniffles?”

  Hope lifted a shoulder. He was showing signs of the temper he’d warned her about, but it was on her behalf, and that warmed her heart. No one had ever stood up for her like this before.

  “Be that as it may, sir, I believe I should go.”

  He stopped his ranting and looked at her. “You want to go?”

  “I don’t want to go, no. But I think I should.”

  He shook his head. “What hold does she have over you? What spell has she cast?”

  “No spell. She’s my family—that’s all.”

  Mr. Edwards leaned against his desk, studying her. Hope felt uncomfortable under his gaze. He was right—she knew he was. She was being foolish—there was no reason in the world why she should make the trip. Yet there it was, that pull of loyalty—loyalty to her deceased uncle, if nothing else.

  “Very well,” Mr. Edwards said at last. “But I shall be very unhappy the whole time you’re gone.”

  “You will, sir?” The thought made her warm inside.

  “I will. Absolutely miserable. Think about that while you travel, Miss Middleton. Imagine me, all alone in my echoing house.”

  She hid a smile. “I imagine you’ll find some way to pass the time.”

  He shuddered. “I might even find myself desperate enough to play dolls with Addie.”

  “And it would be good for you.” She tilted her head to the side. “I just have one request, sir.”

  “And what is that? You’d like to take my kidney along with you as a memento?”

  “Nothing so severe. I’m afraid I need money for the journey.”

  A smile played around the corners of Mr. Edwards’ lips. “Money you shall have.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded note. “Here you are.”

  Hope took it, and gasped when she saw the amount. “This is far more than I need, sir.”

  “Then you’ll have to hurry back and give me whatever remains, won’t you?” He spoke jovially, but then his tone grew somber. “I mean it, Hope. Come back quickly. I won’t be the same man until you do.”

  “All right, sir. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

  Hope packed a few things into her satchel, gave Addie a kiss, and climbed aboard a train almost in less time than it took to think about it. As she watched the landscape pass by her train window, she smiled, thinking about Mr. Edwards. He was such a changeable man—one minute dark and full of mystery, and the next, full of humor. She looked forward to coming to know all the sides of him, especially the side that whispered in her ear and tucked her hair up so tenderly.

  ***

  Hope stepped inside her aunt’s New Hampshire house, untying the strings of her bonnet as she did so. Nothing had changed. Every portrait on the walls of the entryway, every vase on every table—it was as though she were ten years old again, coming in from playing in the garden. She fought the urge to wipe her feet on the mat—she knew they were not dirty, but the Hope of nine years ago would have been scolded endlessly if she forgot.

  “I’ll take you up to see Mrs. Wright now,” the maid said with a curtsy. The maid was unfamiliar to her—finally, something that had changed.

  Hope stepped into her aunt’s bedroom after climbing the steep staircase. The curtains were pulled tight, and she almost couldn’t make out the placement of the bed at all. She moved that direction from memory and stood next to it. “Aunt Wright?” she said softly.

  She heard a movement of bedclothes. “Who’s there?” The voice was weak and tremulous.

  “It’s Hope. You sent for me.”

  “Hope?” More rustling. “Mariah! Mariah, come here at once!”

  The maid must have been waiting in the hallway. She bustled into the room as soon as she was called. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Light a candle. I have a visitor.”

  “Of course. Right away.” Within a moment, the candle was lit, and Hope saw her aunt’s face. It was pale and drawn, and half of it sagged. The woman truly was ill.

  She peered at Hope’s face in return. “Hope Middleton. How you have vexed me all these years.”

  “Vexed you, Aunt? How is that possible? You haven’t seen me in all that time.”

  “The thought of you. The memory of you.” Mrs. Wright closed her eyes, and for a moment, Hope thought she’d gone to sleep. “Deceitful child. Brought into my home, taken in by the good graces of my husband, only to make a ruin of it.”

  Hope took a deep breath. This was not what she’d come all this way to hear, although she supposed she should have expected it and even prepared for it. “You have often called me deceitful, Aunt Wright, but I have never lied to you. Not once.”

  The woman in the bed snorted. “Fine story to tell me now, now that my son is dead and I am dying as well.”

  Hope blinked in surprise. “John is dead?”

  “You’re happy to hear it, I suppose. You always hated him.” Mrs. Wright’s voice was bitter.

  “You’re right. I did hate him, but only because he persecuted me. You never did believe me, but your son was a brute. I’m sorry to hear that he’s gone, though. I’d hoped he would grow into a kind and respectable man.”

  Mrs. Wright all but spat. “He was the kindest son who ever walked the earth. We will all be something less because he’s gone. You are the one at fault, Hope Middleton. You were the unkind one.”

  Hope shook her head. Nothing had changed—nothing would ever change. Why, oh why had she tortured herself by coming here? She should have listened to Mr. Edwards. “I would have loved you, if you’d let me,” she said softly. “All I ever wanted was to be loved.”

  “I don’t need your love,” Mrs. Wright said. “What I need is for you to stop haunting me.”

  “I haunt you?” Hope couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “How do I manage that?”

  “I see your pointed little face everywhere I go in this house. It’s a curse that will not leave me alone. I’ve brought you here to see if I can break that curse. There, on my dressing table. Open the box that sits on top.”

  Curious, Hope crossed the room and found the box, a black lacquer thing with several small drawers. The top was hinged, and she lifted it back. A letter lay beneath.

  “You have an uncle who has lived abroad for many years. He wrote me shortly after you left for school, asking to see you. I told him you were dead.”

  Hope whirled around to face the bed. “Why would you do such a thing?”

  Mrs. Wright sniffed. “I wanted nothing more to do with you. I wanted to forget you ever existed. So I pretended that you did not.”

  “And is this the letter?” Hope held it out with trembling fingers.

  “It is. Take it and be gone. Take your curse with you as well.”

  Hope closed the lid of the box and walked over to the doorway. “I will be gone, Aunt Wright. As for my curse, that’s entirely up to you. Your guilt is eating away at you whether you want to admit it or not. You always gave me the v
ery worst of what you had, what was left after everyone else had their share. You never once considered me, never once even tried to get to know me. As much as that hurt me, it’s now hurting you even more. Guilt is a terrible thing to live with.”

  She glanced down at the letter in her hand. “As far as I’m concerned, I forgive you. I leave here with a clear conscience, knowing that I never did anything to cause you offense, and I will not take another moment’s thought for you again as long as I live. Good-bye, Aunt Wright.”

  Hope walked through the doorway and down the stairs, her heart lighter than it had ever been. How freeing it felt to say those words at long last! She had been so afraid of her aunt when she was a child, but now she saw Mrs. Wright for what she really was—a cold, selfish woman who ruled through malice, a shriveling woman who held no power but what others gave her. And Hope would give her power no more.

  She paused in the entryway to tie her bonnet ribbons. Funny how she used to think this house so grand. She supposed that after living at Hazelbrook, everywhere else was bound to seem simple. With that thought, her last chain of loyalty was broken, and she said a silent farewell in her mind as she walked out the front door. She would never step foot here again.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Hope! Hope!” Addie all but knocked Hope over with the enthusiasm of her greeting.

  Hope laughed as she returned the child’s hug. “I’m glad to see you too, Addie, but please don’t make me tumble onto the gravel.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Addie let go and took a step back. “We missed you ever so much.”

  “Who? You and the horses?”

  Addie shook her head, looking serious. “No, of course not. Me, and Mrs. Green, and Mr. Edwards. And the horses.”

  Hope smiled and shook her head. “Let’s go inside and you can tell me all about it.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the carriage driver setting her bag on the step, and she nodded her thanks. She gathered up the handles to bring it inside—it wasn’t at all heavy. She hadn’t brought much.

  Addie took her other hand and skipped along beside her as they walked into the house. “It was so dull around here without you. I tried to start a new story, but I couldn’t think of anything interesting to write about. Mr. Edwards tried to help me, but he’s no good at storytelling at all. Not like you are, Hope.”

  “Mr. Edwards tried to help you?” Hope couldn’t even imagine it.

  “Yes, but he was very grouchy the whole time. I don’t think he likes using his imagination.”

  “Some people enjoy it more than others. So, you never wrote your story, then?”

  Addie shook her head. “I thought I’d write something about my mama, but Mr. Edwards is the only one who knows much about her, and he said he didn’t want to discuss her. Another day, he said.”

  “That’s too bad.” Hope opened the door to her bedroom and saw that fresh berries and leaves had been placed in all the vases. What a wonderful thing to see when she first walked in. She placed her satchel on her bed and took out her things, returning them to their rightful drawers. This was her home now. That knowledge permeated her very being—this was where she belonged. “What do you remember about your mother?” she asked, returning her thoughts to Addie.

  “Only that she was a great actress on the stage, and she sang beautiful songs. Men would come visit her, and she would sing for them.”

  “She must have been very talented.” Hope wasn’t quite sure what to think of that revelation. It could be interpreted so many ways.

  “She was. Oh, I almost forgot! Cook said I could help her make a special dessert. I should go.” Addie scampered over, gave Hope another hug, and ran off down the hall. Hope smiled as she watched the child go. She had missed her a great deal.

  So, Mr. Edwards had tried to write a story. She supposed he could write a good one if he’d put some effort into it, but it didn’t sound as though he cared to. Where was he, anyway? If he’d truly missed her, like Addie said, if he’d been miserable without her, like he’d said he would be, why wasn’t he here to greet her?

  Mrs. Green tapped on her doorframe a moment later. “Welcome back, Miss Middleton. It’s good to have you home. How was your journey?”

  Hope considered her answer. “The journey itself was pleasant. The visit was difficult, but liberating. I’m glad to be back.” She paused, but Mrs. Green didn’t volunteer any information. “Where is Mr. Edwards?”

  “He had to step out for a bit this afternoon, but I am to deliver you a special invitation. He’d like you to join him for dinner tonight in the dining room. Formal dress.”

  “That sounds . . . important,” Hope replied. Formal dress? She wouldn’t have any trouble deciding what to wear in a case like that.

  “Cook is preparing something suitable. Please be ready at eight.” Mrs. Green gave a knowing smile, then left the room.

  Eight would give Hope time to rest and wash up, both badly needed after her trip. She unfastened her shoes and slipped them off, then climbed up onto her bed. Nothing felt as good as coming home.

  She reached over to the side of the bed and picked up the letter she had brought home with her. The postmark was from Madeira. She had an uncle who lived in Madeira? Why had she never heard of him before? More curious than ever, she opened it up and began to read.

  My dear Mrs. Wright,

  I pick up my pen today in hopes that you might be able to help me. I’m looking for my niece, Hope Middleton, who was orphaned as a young child when her parents both died of consumption. I’m told that you and your husband, God rest his soul, took her in.

  I have no other living relatives, and would very much like to be in contact with Hope. If you would be so kind as to confirm that this is her home address, I would be much obliged.

  Thomas Middleton

  Thomas Middleton? That must be her father’s brother. No longer tired, Hope sat down at her desk, pulled out paper and pen, and wrote a reply.

  Dear Sir,

  I trust this letter finds you well. I apologize that I have not written to you before; I only learned about you a short time ago. I believe you were misinformed by my aunt, Mrs. Wright, when she told you I had passed away. I am actually quite alive and well, living on an estate just outside Newark, New Jersey. I invite you to correspond with me at this address. I would very much like to communicate with a member of my family.

  Hope Middleton

  ***

  As eight o’clock drew near, Mrs. Green took Addie upstairs and fed her dinner in the schoolroom. Hope put on her blue dress again, still pleased by the way it made her look, and spent a little extra time on her hair. She’d never been one for vanity, but she did think she looked rather nice by the time she was done. She’d created little curls here and there trailing down her back, and she thought the effect was quite fetching. Now to see if Mr. Edwards thought so too.

  When she reached the dining room, she was charmed to see that the table was set with fine china and crystal, with dried flowers arranged artfully down the length of it. Mr. Edwards stood waiting by her chair, wearing a charcoal-gray suit. Her heart gave an extra beat when she saw him. She might not have thought him handsome when they first met, but she was changing her mind with every meeting.

  “Miss Middleton, you take my breath away. Will you be seated?”

  “I will. Thank you.” She sat, and he moved to his side of the table.

  “What is all this?” she asked. “Everything looks so grand.”

  “Grand moments require grand surroundings, do they not?” He lifted a hand and motioned around them.

  “They do. So, what grand moment is this?”

  Mr. Edwards brought his gaze back to hers. “I have kept the question dangling far too long, and it’s time for me to set that right. Hope, I brought you out here to become my wife, but I wanted you to have the chance to decide if you could be happy here. You told me a short time ago that you were ready to marry me. Do you still feel the same way? Are you ready for us to begin plan
ning the wedding?”

  “I am, sir,” Hope replied, her stomach giving a flutter. “So, you’ve decided that I’m not entirely useless, then?”

  “I’ve never hinted that I felt you might be. Why do you say that?”

  Hope hid a smile behind her water glass. “Well, as you say, you kept the question dangling. I had begun to fear that you’d found me lacking in some way.”

  “It wasn’t you I doubted. It was my own insecurity, my own unpreparedness, my faults and my failings. But you have shown me great strength of character, great courage, and I admire you tremendously. In fact . . .”

  He paused, seeming hesitant to say whatever was on his mind. “I believe I have fallen in love with you,” he said at last.

  Hope blinked. “I beg pardon, sir?”

  “I realize it comes as quite a surprise. I’m sure that a mail-order bride resigns herself to the idea of life without love. I trust you know that it comes as a surprise to me too—a very welcome one. I’d thought that I would never have the chance for love—after my past, after the shadow of darkness that has followed me all my days, I was certain I would never be so blessed. But then you came along and proved me entirely, deliciously wrong. I thank you for that, Hope.”

  Could she be hearing these words, or had she imagined every one of them? “I . . . love you too, sir,” she ventured.

  He shook his head and laughed. “Such an intimate profession of love, followed by such a formal endearment? I hardly think so. Call me Roscoe. Sit nearer to me, and allow me to take your hand. I never want to be parted from you again.”

  “But your business trips …”

  He slapped the table. “Cursed business trips. Yes, I still have to travel, but you will be in my heart as I go. Now, tell me. When would you like to marry? As soon as possible, I hope, now that we’ve decided the matter.”

  “Yes, please. I can be married any day you like.”

  “So you have your dress?”