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

by Dawn Kinzer

  “Is something wrong?” Hope hadn’t misunderstood the invitation or the date and time. “I know I’m a few minutes late, but I had a little trouble getting here.” By the woman’s distraught expression, tardiness wasn’t the issue.

  “You didn’t get the message, did you?”

  “What message?”

  “Miss Lancaster sent a message to your hotel several hours ago.”

  “I never got it.” Hope hadn’t given any thought to checking for messages when she returned to the hotel for her portfolio. Her only concern was getting to Miss Lancaster’s as quickly as possible.

  “Here, sit down. Make yourself comfortable.” Mrs. Newman led Hope into the parlor and guided her to a settee covered in deep red velvet. “I’m so sorry. She was looking forward to spending the evening with you, but she received word about her mother. She’s been ill for several months, but this afternoon she took a turn for the worse and isn’t expected to make it through the night.”

  Poor Miss Lancaster. She’d gone to be with her dying mother. Hope would have done the same thing. “I understand.”

  “Perhaps you can come another time. Once Miss Lancaster has been able to lay her mother to rest and grieve.”

  The sweet housekeeper meant well, and Hope tried to push her disappointment aside. “Yes, perhaps.” She stood, still holding her beloved designs close to her heart. “I should leave.”

  “Would you like something to eat before you go? A cup of tea or coffee?”

  “No. Thank you. I’m not hungry.” Nausea had replaced the earlier cavernous feeling in her stomach. Hope reached the door and opened it to the sound of rain pounding on the porch roof. She’d fought for Ben. Why not fight for herself? “Could I—”

  “Could you what dear?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Newman. Nothing at all.” Hope could have left her portfolio, but Miss Lancaster hadn’t requested it, so leaving the designs behind felt a bit presumptuous.

  “Are you sure you want to go out in this weather? You’re welcome to stay.”

  “You’re very kind to offer, but I’ll be on my way.” Hope smiled at the housekeeper in an attempt to assure the nice lady she’d be fine.

  The cool rain was almost refreshing as it beat against Hope’s heated face, and the drops sliding down her cheeks blended in with her tears, hiding them from anyone wondering what a young woman was doing alone on the streets of Minneapolis that time of night.

  ***

  Hope’s damp hair hung down her back over the comfortable nightgown. Her drenched suit lay across a chair in the room to dry, but she doubted it would reach that point by morning, when she needed to pack and leave for the train station.

  From her bedroom window, she had a good view of the wet street below and the corner café where she’d forced down some chicken soup to help ward off her body’s chill. It wasn’t that September evenings were cold, but the mix of wind and cool rain had penetrated her clothes. Of course the sky had begun to clear as soon as she stepped into the hotel lobby. Her timing had been impeccable the entire day.

  The trip felt like a complete failure. She’d hoped for so much more.

  Lord, what are you trying to tell me? Am I wrong to share Ben’s talent—a gift you’ve given him—with others? Am I wrong to have dreams of my own? Where are you?

  What if she never got the painting back? What was she going to tell Ben? He trusted her to keep his secret. He may never forgive her for what she’d done.

  It would be a long time before she could make the trip back to Minneapolis. She’d come all this way to have her own opportunity crushed. Hope couldn’t blame Miss Lancaster, and she didn’t want to blame God, so what was she supposed to do with her disappointment and anger?

  Even Minneapolis wasn’t as enjoyable as she’d anticipated. Without anyone there to share it, the fancy hotel had lost its luster. Hope missed Annie. She missed her parents. She even missed Riverton.

  Hope had never felt so alone.

  chapteR NINETEEN

  I shouldn’t have come, Annie.” Hope’s insides were knotted up like a ball of yarn toyed with by a kitten. “How can I face Ben and pretend that I didn’t leave his painting in Minneapolis?”

  “Both Jake and Ben would have questions if I’d driven out here by myself.” She pulled on the reins and guided the horse to the side of the house where they could tether her. “They’re anxious to hear what happened with Miss Lancaster.”

  “You mean what didn’t happen.” Hope climbed down from the buggy and grabbed the basket with the molasses cookies they’d baked earlier.

  “That wasn’t your fault.” Annie reached for the pile of clothes she’d mended for the “all-thumbs boys.” She’d taken pity on their lack of ability with needle and thread. “Besides, I think they’re just plain impressed that you made the journey at all, especially alone.”

  “I’m glad Mr. Carter gave us both the day off from working in the store. After the trip not going as planned and not getting home until almost supper yesterday, it’s helped to have today together.”

  “Me too. You needed time to talk and sort through some things.”

  The front screen door slammed. “Good evening, ladies!” Jake ran down the porch steps and grabbed the bundle from Annie’s arms. “If we’d known you were coming, we would’ve waited supper.”

  “We’ve eaten.” Annie beamed up at Jake.

  “I cooked tonight, so trust me, you’re better off missing it.” Jake leaned toward Hope and inhaled. “Do I smell cookies?”

  “Freshly baked this afternoon.” Annie reached into the covered basket and pulled one out for him.

  He took a bite and a grin spread across his face. “Heaven.”

  Annie put her arm through his. “We waited to drive out till now, figuring you’d be busy in the fields this afternoon.”

  “We were,” he said between chews. “Corn for silage. But that’s done for the day, and so is the feedin’ and milkin’, so we can enjoy the rest of the evening—and more cookies.” He reached for another, then pointed to the shed. “Ben’s in there. No surprise.”

  Hope gazed at the shed, then glanced back at Annie and Jake. They were heading toward the porch swing, and Annie had Jake engrossed in a story about a customer who had come into the store earlier that day looking for a gift for his wife’s birthday. Her wild gestures and contorted facial expressions had Jake almost doubled over from the humorous situation.

  No point in standing there like a crane pretending to hide. Hope couldn’t remain invisible to the couple forever. Besides, it would be much better to speak to Ben privately and explain what she’d done—or left undone—in Minneapolis. No sense in dragging Annie and Jake into the mess if it could be avoided.

  She squeezed her eyes shut and anticipated a loud and chilling creak that would grow more obnoxious as the door to the shed opened, but not so much as a squeak. Ben must have fixed the hinges. She sighed with relief, and slipped inside without her arrival being announced. Good. She hadn’t wanted to disturb him if he was absorbed in his work. No—that wasn’t entirely true. She wanted an excuse to prolong having to make any confessions.

  His back toward her, he faced the large window and a canvas propped on an easel. With graceful strokes of muted pinks, yellows, and lavenders, he created a soft sunset. Not the brilliant display one sometimes viewed in awe, but calming and peaceful, like a blanket covering the sky as it bid God’s creation good night.

  The sun’s rays streamed through the window in front of Ben, and as the sphere dropped lower its beam must have blinded him. He rubbed his eyes and turned toward her, his face lighting up as bright as the descending fireball in the sky.

  “Hope, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You must have oiled the door hinges.”

  Ben nodded and chuckled. “You noticed. Then it was worth the effort.” He laid his paintbrush and palette on a bench, then leaned against it with a smile that matched the sparkle in his gorgeous blue eyes. She loved that he no longer mind
ed having her in his sanctuary. That fact helped ease some of the tension in her shoulders. “So, tell me about the big city. Did you enjoy meeting Eva Lancaster?”

  If she looked into those caring eyes any longer, she’d melt into a puddle at his feet. She needed to keep her wits about her—at least until she disclosed her other reason for making the trip. After that, the fire in his eyes might be enough to singe her, so best to keep her distance.

  “Well...” Hope took several light steps to her right, trying not to put too much weight on the foot with the sore ankle. How long could she delay? A sheet was draped over a painting propped on another easel sitting to the side, but the cloth had slipped down, exposing a corner of the work. “What’s this?” She pulled the covering away and gasped.

  There, on canvas, Hope danced in a field of daisies. A light breeze teased the white summer tea dress and blew her freed blond hair back slightly. It was like staring into a mirror, the likeness so real. No, he’d made her better. Hope’s eyes filled, and she tried to blink back the pools from spilling. He’d painted a glow into her cheeks, and pure joy shone from her eyes. Was that how he saw her? Beautiful and free? Innocent? At that moment she’d give almost anything to be the woman he’d created in his imagination.

  “You’re not saying anything. I can’t tell if you—”

  Hope wiped her tears, then faced him. “I’ve never sat for you, how did...?”

  Ben stepped closer. Even without physically touching, the warmth radiating from his body reached her. “You still haven’t told me if you like it or not,” he said in a low and gentle voice.

  “It’s so beautiful I don’t know what to say.” Hope didn’t deserve to be painted like a goddess—an angel. She was neither, and he’d feel the same as soon as she told him the truth about her venture to the art gallery.

  The depth of caring in his eyes bathed her in desire as his fingers filled with so much talent brushed back escaped strands of hair fallen across her eyes. With tenderness he tucked them behind her ears, as though offering her a whispered caress. Her shallow breaths competed with her pounding heart—one tempted her to dissolve into his arms, while the other urged her to flee.

  “You wonder how I could paint you without your presence here.” He searched her eyes. “I can because you’re always with me.”

  “Ben...”

  “Please hear me out, Hope.” He took her hand in both of his. “It’s important to have someone to talk to—someone who understands my work.”

  “It means a lot to me too.”

  His gaze lowered and he leaned in, lightly brushing her quivering lips with his.

  She didn’t move or protest, but pressed in closer, giving permission. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he tightened his hold, one hand warming her back, the other cradling her head. The kiss deepened, sending heat through her body. Hope could have remained in his embrace until she lost all strength to stand, but Ben withdrew, his chest heaving, his breathing heavy.

  He held her head between his gifted hands and leaned his forehead against hers. “I care for you, Hope. More than I can put into words right now. That’s why I had to paint you—to show you. And it’s why I need to stop kissing you, even though everything in me is yearning to continue.”

  Her head was swimming with his declaration, and her heartstrings sang for her to admit she’d fallen in love with him. “But would he believe her after what she’d done? Had she risked too much? Until Hope knew, she’d move with care. “I have feelings for you too.”

  “It feels like springtime in the dead of winter to hear you say those words.” His lips caressed her temple. “Because I know I can trust you.”

  Hope’s determination to explain her mission at the gallery weakened. He’d depended on her, and she’d gone against his wishes. Could she be sucked into the ground like dirty bath water tossed out on a hot day?

  She drew back and pressed her hand against his chest, his beating heart thumping against her palm. No matter the outcome, he deserved the truth. Keeping it from him would only hurt him more.

  “I have to tell you something.” She slipped from his grasp, and wringing her hands, took several steps back. The confused look in his eyes made her throat feel like it was coated with honey. She tried to clear it, but with little success. “Seeing Miss Lancaster wasn’t the only reason I went to Minneapolis.”

  ***

  Ben braced himself against a bench. Hope’s voice, normally strong and determined, sounded fearful. “Are you sick?” People sometimes traveled to the city to see doctors who specialized in illnesses a small-town doctor couldn’t treat. He couldn’t imagine his beautiful Hope lying in a hospital, but if it came to that, he’d never leave her side.

  “Sick?” Her eyes widened. “No—no, it’s nothing like that.”

  “Good.” He sighed with relief, and his shoulders relaxed.

  Hopes eyebrows drew together. “Do I seem like I have something wrong with me?”

  “No. But what other reason could you have to go to Minneapolis?”

  “I took your painting of the boy and dog to the Woodlin Art Gallery.” She bit her lower lip. “I wanted to show it to Arthur Woodlin.”

  “Why?” Ben gripped the bench behind him. He needed to understand. Why would she go behind his back? Hope knew how important it was to him that she keep his secret.

  “I thought he might want to see more of your work. Perhaps purchase some of your paintings or display them. At the very least, confirm what I know.” She talked fast, not giving him a chance to interrupt. “That you’re a talented painter. My intentions were good. Please believe that my intentions were good and honorable.”

  Ben felt like he’d been kicked in the stomach by an angry mule. He thought he knew Hope. Even after convincing himself that he would never find a woman who could accept his life as a painter, Ben had risked opening up his heart to her. And she’d responded by deceiving him. “Honorable? Hope, you had no right.” His groan morphed into a growl. “I never gave permission—”

  “Ben, I’m so sorry. I should have told you about the appointment before I left for Minneapolis.” Hope closed her eyes, but a tear escaped and slid down her cheek. “I believe so much in you that I convinced myself I had every right to take the painting to the gallery because the artwork belonged to me.” She straightened and opened her eyes, revealing pain. “I told myself that it was selfish for you to keep yours hidden.”

  “You’ve got it all wrong. After what I did to Percy, it’s selfish to paint at all—putting sunsets, rivers, and fields on canvas and receiving praise for them when he’ll never see any of those things again.”

  “It’s not guilt you feel for Percy’s blindness that’s stopping you. It’s fear. I think you’re hiding behind that accident because you’re afraid of not being good enough.” A tear clung to her lower lashes. “But, you are good enough.”

  Maybe he should feel humbled—even grateful—for her strong belief in him, but how was he supposed to let go of the hurt and anger that rumbled in his gut? How could he trust her again?

  ***

  “Did you even see Eva Lancaster?”

  “No.” Hope swallowed the sob rising in her throat. The entire trip had been a disappointment. She’d failed to accomplish anything but hurt Ben.

  “So, it was all a lie?” His tone no longer harsh, he only sounded—wounded.

  “No. You—I—” Another tear trailed the first, but Hope didn’t have the energy to wipe them away. “My purpose for going to the city was to see Miss Lancaster. We had plans to have supper at her home on Saturday evening, just like I’d told you.” She glanced up at Ben, but his eyes were so intense, she couldn’t bear the weight of his gaze and looked away. Unexpected exhaustion encouraged Hope to close her eyes, curl up somewhere and retreat, yet she forced her feet to remain in place.

  “But the entire day was one disaster after another.” No more tears. Hope took a deep breath. She needed to tell him the whole story. “I went to the gallery first to m
eet with Mr. Woodlin, but I was worried that I’d be late for our appointment and in my hurry, I twisted my ankle getting off the streetcar. I arrived on time, but he was in a meeting, so I sat there waiting for hours, afraid I’d be late to Miss Lancaster’s, but wanting so much for him to see your work. Finally, Mr. Woodlin came down to the reception area, but he explained that he needed to leave for an important event and wouldn’t have time to meet with me.”

  “So, he never actually saw the painting.”

  By the tone of his voice, Hope couldn’t tell if Ben was relieved or disappointed. “Only briefly, and as an apology for breaking our appointment, he said if I left it with him, he’d return it with his appraisal.”

  “You left the painting there?” Ben growled and shoved his hands through his hair. “Whatever possessed you to—?”

  “I was trying to be helpful.” Enough was enough. Good intentions were behind her decision. Ben didn’t need to make her feel worse than she already did.

  “And that’s you, Hope. Little Miss Helpful.” The sarcastic way he said it made it sound like she made a habit of messing things up for other people.

  A spark ignited in her belly. “If it means anything to you, after wasting my afternoon trying to do something nice for you, I hurried to Miss Lancaster’s home and arrived drenched, and then was told she wasn’t there. She’d left just minutes before I arrived because her mother was close to death.” Hope stared into Ben’s eyes.

  “So my trip was a total waste of time. And for what? To be bullied by an ungrateful, arrogant, rude—” Hope clenched her fists at her sides and closed her eyes to barricade the emotional river. She’d told herself she wouldn’t cry. Nothing she could say would change how he felt about her decision to take the painting to the gallery, so she needed to stop trying. After a moment, she opened her eyes.

  Ben reached for her, but Hope slipped from his grasp.

  “Hope...”