Hope's Design (The Daughters of Riverton Book 2)

by Dawn Kinzer

  She’d make arrangements in the morning.

  chapteR TWELVE

  The dark sky showed some paling at the horizon. The sun’s first rays would lighten the morning from grays to various shades of blue until the sphere rose in full glory to greet the world and announce the beginning of a new day.

  Ben sat hunched in his wagon, clutching a package wrapped in brown paper. Despite the early August morning’s chill, sweat dripped down his sides, and he wiped moisture from his forehead.

  What was he doing here? Maybe he shouldn’t have come, but he’d promised himself he’d make it up to Annie after making hurtful comments doubting her ability to create a library. Sure, this was one way, but there were others, and he’d done all he could to help make the fundraiser a success, hadn’t he?

  Then why had he wrestled most of the night with this decision—prayed for guidance and felt certain this was what God wanted?

  Lord, why have you asked this of me?

  Maybe he’d heard wrong. Or while sprawled across the bed unable to sleep, imagined God whispering his desire. He also couldn’t shut out Hope’s challenging words to use his God-given talent. Her phrases kept haunting his thoughts. Maybe she was right, but he wasn’t ready to step out into the world as a painter. Maybe someday, but not today. He didn’t want to disappoint her, like he did that day in the shed. If only she could understand it just wasn’t that easy for him to put the past behind him. There were days when he felt guilty for even enjoying a beautiful sunrise or sunset.

  Ben groaned. Now that he was here, he needed to finish the task, then escape before anyone spotted him. He jumped down from the wagon, then reached for the package. People would soon rouse from sleep and begin their daily routines, if they hadn’t already.

  Like a nervous animal fearing predators, he scanned the surrounding area as he snuck down the road and then crept up the porch steps. He propped the parcel against the inside railing where someone would find it. The note attached explained its presence. Ben sprinted down the steps and behind the hedges lining the yard.

  Halfway back to the wagon, he halted. His heart beat as fast as a pheasant’s wings during mating season. What was he thinking? For years, he’d known his own mind. Now a few questions from Hope made him doubt. Foolishness. He’d just made a huge mistake.

  There had to be time to retrieve the package before anyone discovered it. It would only take a few minutes to return, grab it, and slip back to the wagon. Ben turned around and raced back, careful to remain hidden by vegetation. He leaned against a tree and poked his head around to view the house.

  Too late. Rebecca’s father stood on the porch, clutching the brown-paper-wrapped offering.

  ***

  Hope glanced at her watch. Ten minutes late. Where was Annie? They’d barely had time to speak during the busy morning with both of them giving directions to participants in the fundraiser. But they’d promised to meet at that location so they could visit the booths together, greet each person who had contributed, and inquire if anything else was needed as the event got underway. She and Clara had agreed to donate an item to the auction—a garment designed specifically for the winner by Hope and sewn by Clara.

  The soon-to-be library’s yard almost looked like a small county fair that bright, warm August afternoon. Booths had sprung up around the perimeter, and they were also lined up in a row down the center. Mrs. Carter had offered to lend the red, white, and blue ribbons and banners they displayed outside their home during their Fourth of July celebrations. Mr. Carter had also donated matching balloons, which were tied to each booth. Some of the men in town who played in a small band gathered in a corner of the yard with a violin, banjo, trumpet, and drums. Their lively music added a sense of gaiety and celebration to the air.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Mrs. Jorgenson’s cheeks were flushed, and her eyes sparkled. “It looks like we’re having a party.”

  Hope nodded. “It’s remarkable how many people are donating to the cause, and the best thing about it is that they’re not only feeling like they’re a part of making the library happen, but they’re having fun doing it too.”

  “It’s truly become a community effort, hasn’t it?” Mrs. Jorgenson smiled. “My goodness, I made several apple pies and a pound cake, but the other pies, cookies, and cakes here were donated by the ladies from our church.”

  Hope surveyed the long table filled with desserts. “Annie must be beside herself to see so much support. It’s confirmation that she’s doing the right thing for the town.”

  “Have you poked around at the other displays?”

  “Not yet. Annie and I were supposed to do that together, so I’ve only seen several after they were all set up. Sarah’s grandmother and several of her friends are selling preserves and honey. She showed me jars of her rhubarb preserves and strawberry jam, and they all looked so tempting, sparkling like jewels in the sunlight.”

  “Her preserves would win a prize if they were entered in any contests. I’m sure of it.”

  “So many people have been generous. Mr. Carter offered a mantel clock for the auction, and he’s also contributing a woodstove to keep the library warm in winter. Rebecca’s mother donated that lovely pale blue and peach quilt for the auction. Can you believe she made it herself?”

  Mrs. Jorgenson screwed up her face. “Oh, believe me. Katherine Holt has been letting everyone know within earshot that the quilt was made with her own hands, and I think she’d describe every stitch in painstaking detail if anyone would let her.” She made a gesture, as if brushing her comments away. “Forgive me for being so...”

  “Honest?” So, even gracious Mrs. Jorgenson was human. In a funny way, it was a relief.

  “It is stunning, and I should be more grateful for Katherine’s willingness to part with it.” Her lips turned up into a mischievous smile.

  Hope winked at her, then shielded her eyes and searched the crowd for Annie. Still no sign. “Rebecca is helping with the children’s games. They’re a lively group. I’m glad she enlisted the help of some of the older youth from our church.”

  “Looks like my ladies need a little help themselves. Several people are waiting in line.”

  “Yes, please, take care of them, Mrs. Jorgenson.” Hope had been so focused on their conversation, she hadn’t paid attention to the growing number of people milling around the booth. She overheard several mention they’d come from Martindale.

  “Hope! There you are.” Annie rushed to her, sounding almost breathless.

  “Right where I said I’d be.”

  “I’m sorry I’m late, but...” Annie pulled on Hope’s arm. “You’ve just got to see for yourself!”

  “See what?” Hope could barely keep up with her cousin.

  Annie dragged Hope toward the area sectioned off for the auction. Folks crowded there seemed to focused on one object. Annie asked several people to step aside, and then she pulled Hope in closer to where a long rope extended between two poles to keep admirers several feet away from the auction items.

  Hope’s breath caught. No wonder this contribution had caused such a commotion.

  Rebecca slipped in next to them at the rope. “I had to take another look, but don’t worry. I left the games in good hands.”

  “Still no idea of where it came from?” Annie peeked around Hope to see Rebecca. “Seems strange that no one has claimed it.”

  “All I know is that my father found the donation on our porch this morning, wrapped in brown paper with a note attached saying that it was to be placed in the auction to help raise funds for the town library. So, I went to the school on my way here and borrowed an easel so we could display the gift properly.”

  Perched in front of them was a framed painting about eighteen inches by twenty-four inches of a little boy in overalls running through a grassy field with a collie close at his side. The boy’s face expressed pure delight. Not only beautiful, the painting felt joyful. You could almost hear the little boy’s laughter. The painting was unsigned
, and people around them speculated not only about the artist, but who could have parted with such a precious piece.

  Hope spotted Jake staring at the painting. He turned and the stunned expression on his face confirmed what she already knew. Ben’s artwork. No one else could paint like that. No one else she knew would anonymously give away something so personal. Why? Why would he take such a public risk if he wanted to hide his talent?

  Something had softened his resolve to never display his work. Somehow, Ben had overcome his pain and made this lovely offering, even if only she and Jake would recognize the painter. Her heart melted with gratitude at the sacrifice.

  The auction was only two hours away, but it now felt more like two days. An idea mushroomed, then exploded, sending adrenaline rushing through Hope’s body.

  God, are these thoughts from you? Or had she devised the plan out of her own agenda?

  ***

  The loud, fast-talking auctioneer’s voice started to fade, and Hope heard a hum in her ears. She blinked her eyes and inhaled. So nervous about losing the painting, she’d forgotten to breathe. That wouldn’t do, fainting in the middle of bidding, especially since it had come down to her and an unfamiliar, well-dressed lady. She must have come from one of the surrounding towns, most likely Martindale, as it was the largest in the area.

  Mr. Carter stepped up and leaned close to her ear. “Don’t let her see you hesitate, Hope,” he whispered. “If she witnesses any doubt, she’ll know she can outlast you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Carter,” Hope whispered back. Then she lifted her hand to raise her bid again.

  “I would have bid more myself, but I could see in your face how much you want this painting.”

  “I do, Mr. Carter, for reasons I can’t explain.”

  “Art can have a deep effect on people, and this one seems to have made quite an impression on you. Good luck, Hope.” He turned and headed toward a group of several men observing the action.

  You can do this. She raised her hand again.

  Annie tugged at Hope’s sleeve. “Are you sure you can afford to go higher? Don’t misunderstand. I’m thrilled about all the money we’re raising, but don’t get carried away and do something you’ll regret later.”

  “Don’t worry, Annie. I know what I’m doing.”

  Dear God, please make that lady stop. Hope’s heart was pounding so hard it would break through her rib cage if she didn’t win soon. She was just as concerned at the rising bid as Annie. Hope couldn’t go much further. She received a monthly allowance from her parents’ accountant that she shared with Annie. The two of them didn’t eat much, and they used what they could from the garden, but she insisted on giving Annie a sum every month to help with expenses that came with a home and animals.

  Her wages from working at the store two days a week didn’t amount to a great deal, but she used them for personal things. Hope had been saving to purchase a new paint box—the latch on hers was broken and not repairable. She was beginning to run out of art supplies, and there was that lovely peach silk fabric she had her eye on. But she’d sacrifice those things for as long as needed. She had plans for the painting—more than just hanging it on her bedroom wall.

  There was the additional money her parents had given her access to, but that was for emergencies, and purchasing artwork certainly didn’t fall under that category. Besides, she didn’t want to take advantage of their generosity. Hope could use a portion of what she’d set aside for her trip to see Miss Lancaster in Minneapolis. No time to question that decision. Somehow, she’d find a way to make up the shortage.

  Hope raised her hand one last time. That was it. She couldn’t go any higher. Please, God.

  “Going once, going twice...” the auctioneer yelled.

  All eyes were on the other bidder. She shook her head no, then looking at Hope, gave a slight nod.

  “Sold to the young lady over there!” The auctioneer pointed his gavel at Hope.

  “Ahhh...” Hope gasped in relief as Annie hugged her. Over her cousin’s shoulder, Hope saw Ben standing like a pillar not far behind them as the crowd separated to move around him.

  He cocked his head and his eyes narrowed, as though he were studying her. Then he turned and stalked away.

  ***

  Ben sat on the back step of the library, away from the masses and noise. The band’s latest tune floated through the air, but the waltz helped calm his nerves.

  From the moment his painting was displayed, people had speculated about the donor. They wanted to know the artist’s name. Someone stubborn enough might pursue that knowledge until they discovered Ben. Secrets were hard to keep forever, but he wasn’t ready for his to become public. Whether he’d paid the price or not for blinding Percy remained debatable. But once he exposed himself as a painter, Ben would face criticism about his work. Could he deal with impartial judgment? Possibly be viewed as a fake? A fraud?

  Sure, people here seemed to be moved by the painting, and he’d overheard comments filled with praise, but it was only one canvas. Other pieces might not live up to this one. Besides, what did farmers and small-town folk know? They couldn’t tell the difference between a masterpiece and a complete fiasco.

  His stomach muscles clenched. When they first met, Ben had criticized and misjudged Hope for expressing the same sentiments—that farmers couldn’t possibly know or understand art. How arrogant of him. Forgive me, Lord.

  A burly man stepped from the outhouse, checked his suspenders, and slammed the door behind him. He nodded acknowledgement to Ben, then sauntered toward the front of the building.

  Jake and Hope came around the other side.

  “We were wondering where we’d find you.” Jake propped one foot beside Ben and rested an arm on his thigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He kept his voice low. “Good grief, Ben. You hide your paintings from even your friends and family, then you put a picture out there for the whole town to see.”

  “I know.” Ben tunneled his fingers through his hair. “It was a mistake.”

  “A mistake? To not tell me, or to do it at all?”

  “Both. I struggled with the decision all week. Didn’t sleep at all last night. I wanted to help...”

  Hope sat on the other side of Ben. He met her eyes. You did it.

  I shouldn’t have. Silence circled the three of them like the breezes fluttering the trees.

  “Why do you regret it?” She knew his story, and her concerned tone confirmed she cared. “Are you sure there wasn’t something more to it?”

  He didn’t see any judgment in her expression. “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe there’s a part of you that wants to be free of secrets.” Hope’s voice was gentle and soothing. “Do you think that could be true? That you’re ready to share your work?”

  “I had a lapse in judgment, that’s all.” Ben squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and shook his head. “So many people were giving whatever they could to the cause. My paintings are all I have, and I thought God was nudging me to give one away. Maybe it was his voice in my head, or maybe it was my own ego. Maybe deep down, I wanted to see people’s reaction. But I still didn’t want anyone to know it was mine. So I left the painting unsigned, wrapped it up, and left it at Rebecca’s early this morning. Then I came to my senses, but it was too late. Dr. Hoyt had already found it.”

  Jake draped an arm around Ben’s shoulder and gave him a sly smile. “It’s me and Shep in that painting, isn’t it? In our fields back at the home farm.”

  “Yeah.” Ben rubbed his eyes, then turned to Hope. “I knew you’d figure it out as soon as you laid eyes on the painting, but I took a risk that you’d keep silent. I never imagined you’d bid on it.” He’d lost control of his art with one impulsive decision, and he needed to feel in control again. Ben peered into understanding eyes. “Sell the painting back to me. I’ll pay the full amount.”

  “It’s not for sale.” Hope’s voice was soft, but firm.

  “Why?” Ben couldn’t pull himself awa
y from her gaze. She’d already done so much to support Annie and the library. Why sacrifice more than needed? “The whole point of the auction was to raise money. Nothing will be lost.”

  Jake nudged Ben’s shoulder. “Hey, do I get a say in this? The painting is of me and my dog. Don’t I get a chance at it?”

  “I repeat. The painting isn’t for sale.” Hope clasped her hands in her lap. “But if you’re afraid that someone will ask questions, I’ll hang it in my bedroom for as long as I live in Riverton. Eventually, it will be forgotten. In the meantime, I won’t disclose to anyone in town that you’re the artist without your permission. Not even Annie.”

  Hope liked the painting that much? Enough to pay an extravagant amount—and then keep it hidden—because it would make him more comfortable? She’d even keep his secret from her cousin. Gratitude flowed through Ben’s veins and merged with humility. He didn’t deserve such a friend.

  Hope stood and towered over Ben, the sun providing a golden halo around her head. “But I highly suggest that you let Annie into the inner circle of Benjamin Greene’s secret society soon. She’s as loyal as they come, but she’s also a smart redhead with a fiery temper beneath that sweet disposition. Trust me, you don’t want her figuring it out on her own.”

  chapteR THIRTEEN

  Excuse me, young lady, are you employed here?”

  Hope jolted from her daydream and returned to her place behind the counter in the Home Store. She was no longer in Minneapolis dining with Eva Lancaster, reveling in the praise flowing from the designer’s lips after seeing Hope’s sketches. She focused on the middle-aged woman with raised eyebrows standing before her. “Yes, how may I help you?”