by Dawn Kinzer
Mr. Greene shook his head slightly, as though trying to decide if he should speak or not. He rubbed his face and groaned again, then nodded toward her sketch. “It’s not quite right.”
Heat shot up Hope’s neck and into her face like a lit match set to dry kindling. She stared at her work. “Of course not—the drawing isn’t finished.”
“The woman’s proportions aren’t accurate.” He squirmed in his seat, then pointed to the bodice. “Does any woman’s chest stick out like that? Have you actually seen any with waists that tiny? No. And, despite her size, I don’t think I’ve ever watched a women walk down the street with her...backside trailing way behind.”
“It’s—it’s fashion.” She tried to keep her voice down, but how dare he criticize what he didn’t understand.
“It may be, but the proportions are still wrong.” His whisper had grown in intensity too. “Art is often, and at its best, expressive. It doesn’t always resemble a photograph. But this doesn’t make sense to me, fashion or not. The human body is beautiful in its natural form, why distort it? Why not draw clothes on people to show how they’ll really look?”
“Obviously, you don’t understand.” How quickly his ill manners had turned her infatuation to repulsion. “What do you do for a living anyway, Mr. Greene?”
“I’m...I’m a farmer, Miss Andrews.”
“Of course you are.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You’re insinuating that a farmer couldn’t possibly be knowledgeable about art?”
Hope took a deep breath, but still forced her voice to stay low. “I’m not saying that all farmers lack culture—it’s just obvious that you do.”
“Are you fighting?” Marcie sat on the edge of her seat, her eyes wide.
“Honey, of course they aren’t.” Mrs. Jones raised her eyebrows at Hope and Ben, as though reprimanding two children. “They’re just having a discussion.”
Marcie squinted up at her mother. “They sure sound like they’re fighting.”
Luke awoke and let out a loud wail.
“Oh, no...here we go again.” Marcie thrust her fingers into her ears. Then she looked up and wrinkled her nose. “Ooooh, what is that smell?”
Mrs. Jones blushed. “I need to find a place to change him. Marcie, stay here and don’t bother these nice people.” She picked up a bag sitting next to her and walked toward the back of the car with the baby.
Mr. Greene shrugged. “Truce.” Then he returned to his book without another word.
Truce? Didn’t she even get to vote? Hope sighed. Was Benjamin Greene any indication of the type of men she’d come across in this part of the country? At least he was kind to children, and she couldn’t imagine him being malicious, unlike her former fiancé. Not that she was looking for a husband, or even a suitor. Her focus needed to stay on her future and making a place for herself as a designer. Nothing more.
Marcie set her doll aside and fidgeted in her seat. Her head bobbed this way and that as her eyes seemed to search the railroad car for something new to explore. It wouldn’t do to have her mother return and find the little girl gone.
Hope moved next to the child and turned to a clean page in her sketch book. “Do you like to draw, Marcie?”
The little girl’s face lit up. “Will you make some pictures for me?”
“I’ll draw anything you like. But every time I do, you need to make something for me too. Agreed?” From Marcie’s grin, this was certainly making better use of Hope’s time than stewing about a man she’d never see again.
***
Ben pretended to read, but in truth, he kept going over the same paragraph without retaining a thing. He stole a glance here and there when he sensed Miss Andrews was too absorbed in her drawings with Marcie to notice.
Without intending to, he’d offended the lady. His blunt nature had gotten in the way of having a nice conversation with a beautiful, intelligent woman. Why couldn’t he just let it go? Why did he have to give his opinion—even if it was the truth?
But she was just as stubborn, and any real artist wouldn’t waste time on something as trivial as fashion. Art was supposed to move people—make them feel something about life and themselves.
He didn’t know why, but he enjoyed watching her with Marcie. Miss Andrews was good with children—it was obvious that both she and the little girl were enjoying creating their imaginary world on paper.
Rays of sunlight coming through the window rested on the woman’s golden hair, making it shine like a wheat field waving in a summer breeze. Her lips were the same shade of pink as the bleeding hearts his mother had planted next to their house. Ben had also been struck by the color of her eyes. They were the same blue as forget-me-nots, and forget her, he would not.
chapter two
As the train pulled up to the Martindale station, Hope peered out the window for any sign of her cousin. There! That flaming red hair was hard to miss. Annie stood on the platform, shielding her eyes with her hands, her neck strained as though searching the windows of the train.
A wave of homesickness crashed against Hope’s protective wall. Regardless of her independent nature, a sad reality had sunk in. Thousands of miles separated her from her parents, and their return date to this country remained uncertain. Even then, they’d return to New York, and whether or not Hope joined them depended on Henry’s ability to let her move on with her life. Was it selfish to pray he’d find someone else to marry? Hope would never want anyone else to be harmed, but another love interest might make it easier to let go of his anger toward her.
Despite her eagerness to hug Annie, Hope couldn’t miss how her traveling companion was struggling with gathering her things, carrying the baby, and keeping an anxious Marcie in tow.
“Would you like some help, Mrs. Jones? It may take a little while for my trunks to be unloaded, and you have your hands full.”
She sighed and gave a tired smile. “Thank you. You’d think God would have created mothers with four hands instead of two. If I could just have your assistance in getting off the train, I’d be most grateful. My husband is waiting for us outside.”
Hope carried an extra bag besides her own, took hold of Marcie’s hand, and followed Mrs. Jones down the aisle to the door. She glanced out the window as Mr. Greene sprinted past with his bag tossed over his shoulder.
He apparently couldn’t wait to put distance between them. Hope shook her head. “Rude and insensitive,” she muttered under her breath. A gentleman would have offered to help a mother with two children disembark.
While drawing with Marcie, Hope had been able to set his insults about her sketches aside, but the little girl tired after a while and wanted to stretch out next to her mother for a nap. Hope had returned to her place next to the farmer and focused her attention outside the window. Absorbed in his book, he seemed to have forgotten their conversation, but his hurtful words still nagged at her. It’s not quite right. The woman’s proportions aren’t accurate. This doesn’t make sense to me, fashion or not.
She and Marcie made their way down the passenger-car steps, and the little girl broke free from Hope.
“Daddy!” She ran toward a man who lifted her into his arms and gave her a hug before putting her back on the ground.
“There’s my husband.” Mrs. Jones relieved Hope of her bag. “Thank you for your help with Marcie during the trip. You were a godsend.”
“My pleasure.” Hope waved good-bye to Marcie, happy to see the family reunited. But a hint of sadness slipped into her heart at seeing the husband embrace his wife and baby. Maybe her friends were right. Maybe she’d made a mistake breaking off her engagement. She lifted her chin. No, she’d done the right thing—the only thing she could do in her situation.
“Hope!” a voice called from behind her.
She spun around, right into her cousin’s embrace. “Annie.”
After they hugged, Annie stepped back and locked arms with Hope. “You’re finally here. It’s been too long.”
“Three years.”
“And back then, I wasn’t exactly my cheerful, fun self.”
“I understood.” During Hope’s last visit, Annie had been a little withdrawn, even weepy at times, but Annie adored her father and his unexpected death had bruised her heart.
“I still miss my father, but they say time heals. I’m counting on that to be true. It also helps to imagine him up in heaven telling his silly jokes.”
“He could make even the orneriest person laugh. I loved that about him.”
“Me too.” Annie’s green eyes sparkled. “From your last letter, we have a lot to catch up on. But, we’ll get you home and settled first.”
“I need to claim my luggage. I brought several trunks and two large crates.”
“I expected such. This way.” Annie turned and pointed in the direction she’d come. “A friend who regularly collects shipments here for the Home Store needed to pick up his brother from the train, and he offered to help us. He’s waiting in the area where your things will be unloaded from the baggage car.”
“So, there are gentlemen to be found in the country.” The words slipped out before Hope gave them a thought.
Annie’s eyebrows raised. “Pardon?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—I promise to explain later.” Hope gestured forward. “Come on. We shouldn’t keep the man waiting.”
They weaved through the throng of passengers disembarking and greeting loved ones until they reached the baggage car.
“Over there! One of my trunks is being unloaded now.”
“You sign for your luggage, and I’ll get our helping hands.” Annie squeezed Hope around the shoulders. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
In no time, Annie returned. “Hope, this is my friend, Jake.” Annie beamed at the attractive young man with mischievous blue eyes and light brown hair.
He flashed a charming smile. “Nice to meet you, Hope. Annie hasn’t stopped talking about you. I don’t think she took a breath all the way here from Riverton.”
Annie’s cheeks flushed. “Jake’s only saying that because his quick tongue never met a match until I came along.”
Jake threw back his head and let out a belly laugh. “Hope, your cousin tells it like it is—that’s why I like her.”
The pale rose color in Annie’s face ripened to a cherry red.
She likes him! But did he feel the same way about her sweet cousin? When Annie said they had a lot to catch up on, she hadn’t exaggerated.
Jake stood next to Hope’s trunks and crates. “So, I’m guessing these are all yours.” He waved a porter over. “I’ll help you ladies into the wagon, and this gentleman will help me load the baggage.”
Annie glanced around the area. “Where’s your brother? Wasn’t he supposed to meet us here?”
“He—uh—had to pick up a few things at a local store. It shouldn’t take long.”
With Jake’s assistance, the women climbed into the wagon and onto a second seat behind the first. The back end of the wagon contained just enough room for Hope’s belongings.
Jake finished loading, then got situated on the bench ahead of them.
He seemed familiar, but Hope couldn’t place him. Maybe she’d met his family while visiting years back. “Jake, I’m sorry. I should have asked your last name. Did we meet when we were younger?”
“Couldn’t have. My brother and I moved to Riverton only two years ago. Speaking of—there he is.” Jake whistled and waved. “It’s about time. There’s room in back for those things.”
Hope felt the blood drain from her face as Jake’s brother stored several large tubes and a small box next to her luggage. The three-hour trip to Riverton would feel longer than her entire journey from New York to Wisconsin—much longer.
“I promised I wouldn’t hold you up, and I always keep my promises,” the newcomer said as he swung up onto the front of the wagon. “Hope Andrews.” He looked as surprised as she felt uncomfortable. “You’re Annie’s cousin?”
“I am,” she croaked out. Hope crossed her arms, then cleared her throat. “And apparently, Benjamin Greene, you’re Jake’s brother.”
***
Although still early June, the afternoon sun made riding in an open wagon uncomfortably warm. Several flies buzzed around Hope’s head, and cows bellowed in the field next to the road. Her parched throat would welcome a cool drink, but if she accepted any more water from Annie’s container, Hope would need to relieve herself in a wooded area at the side of the road. She’d rather die than make that request in Ben’s presence.
“Oh, my goodness. What is that awful smell?” Hope covered her nose and tried not to breathe.
Ben turned around with a grin and a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Skunk. It must have sprayed something—or someone. Better not lean over the edge of the wagon. You never know what might happen.”
“Very funny, Mr. Greene.” She may have not been around skunks on a regular basis, but she wasn’t ignorant of what animals could and couldn’t do.
The wagon dropped, then bounced, throwing Hope into the air several inches. She gasped and grabbed on to the side railing with one hand and her hat with the other.
Annie clutched the edge of the bench as the wagon jostled back to level ground. “Goodness, Jake! We’re not training to ride a bucking bronco in a rodeo.”
“Sorry about that,” Jake shouted over his shoulder. “A big storm came through two nights ago and the rain made a mess of the road. I’ll keep a better eye out the rest of the way.”
Hope winced as she settled back in place and readjusted her skirt. Still onboard, but bruises would soon follow.
“Take care that you do, brother.” Ben gave Jake a light slap on his shoulder. “Miss Andrews is from New York City. She’s probably accustomed to riding with cultured men in fancy automobiles, not simple farmers in wagons.” By the sound of his voice, he thought the wild ride humorous.
Well, he wouldn’t get the best of her. “You’re absolutely right, Mr. Greene,” Hope said in the sweetest voice she could muster.
“Have you ridden in an automobile?” An almost hopeful excitement seeped into Jake’s tone.
She inched her sore bottom to the edge of her seat and held onto the backboard the men leaned against. No need to shout back and forth. “Many times. Someone I knew owned a Curved Dash Oldsmobile.” Hope didn’t plan to explain that the someone was her former fiancé.
“What’s it like?”
“It’s a little runabout that seats two people. The ride is smoother than a wagon’s, especially this one,” she teased. “But, it’s not like gliding on ice, either.”
“I’ll have my own automobile someday.” Jake gave one large nod. “You can be sure of it.”
“Hold on, brother.” Ben shifted in his seat to face Jake. “You don’t know anything about those contraptions. I may not either, but trust me, they’re not practical for our neck of the woods.”
“Maybe it doesn’t make sense to own one now. Not on our country roads. But they’re the wave of the future.” Jake grinned at his brother. “You can’t stop a strong tidal wave, no matter how hard you try.”
“I agree,” Hope said, brushing a small spider from her skirt as though it were only a speck of dirt. “Intelligent and a farmer. What do you know? It is possible to be both.”
Ben tossed a quick look at Hope. “If you think so little of farmers, why did you move from an exciting city and travel all this way to live in a small farming community?”
Jake shot Ben what looked like a warning. “Maybe she just wants to spend time with her cousin.”
“I apologize if I’ve forgotten my manners, but you gotta admit, Jake, it’s a little strange.”
Annie opened her mouth, probably to defend her, but Hope raised her hand, signaling her cousin to remain quiet. More than once since she’d met him, Ben’s actions and statements had felt impolite, but Hope wasn’t without fault herself. Her mother had reprimanded her numerous times for asking inappropriate questions or making unsolicited gestures,
assuming they’d be welcomed. “There’s really not much to tell.”
The wagon lurched, and Hope held on tight to the bench in front of her. “I don’t plan on living here forever. Since my aunt is away and Annie is staying alone at their place, I decided to come for an extended visit. Annie and I haven’t had an opportunity to spend much time together. That’s all there is to it.” At least, that’s all they, or anyone else, needed to know.
“Hope, Riverton’s just up ahead, and there’s home!” Annie alluded to the white two-story house at the edge of town.
Nothing had changed in the years since Hope had last stayed in the welcoming and comfortable home. Peonies grew along the length of the front porch, their blooms various shades of dark and light pink. Carved loops adorned the corners of the entry to an expansive front porch. Several large maple trees grew to one side of the house, a white birch to the other. From their approach on the road, Hope also spotted the small barn where Annie kept her horse and small buggy, a fenced-in chicken coop, and a large vegetable garden.
Home for as long as she needed, but just how long would that be? How long before she could safely return to New York?
***
Although Ben couldn’t deny Hope Andrews was intriguing—and beautiful—and he admired her spunk, he was eager to put distance between the two of them. It had been a long time since he’d felt a strong attraction to anyone, but he couldn’t risk losing his heart to another female again. The results had been too painful.
Those deeply-seated memories contributed to his less-than-chivalrous behavior toward her, even to the point of insulting her sketches, which actually held much promise. Another reason to guard his heart. She still had a chance to do something with her talent, while the door to that opportunity for him had closed long ago. But he would never explain, and Jake knew better than to try without experiencing Ben’s wrath.
He envied Hope’s freedom to express herself artistically without anything casting shadows on her creative light. Regardless, he’d try to curb his blunt words in the future and be more of a gentleman. He could at least help unload and carry in her bags and crates once they reached Annie’s farmhouse.
