by Dawn Kinzer
She didn’t care if he stayed all day. She only wished Ben were visiting the store at the moment. “How did you find me?”
He took a small stack of letters from his coat pocket. “I stopped at the post office to inquire where you lived and showed the stamped envelopes from the letters you sent me so the post master could be confident I wasn’t a complete stranger. He told me I’d find you here.” Mr. Woodlin returned the envelopes to their hiding place. “I sat down to write a week ago. But knowing I’d be taking the train through Martindale on my way to Chicago this week, I decided to take a short detour here so I could talk to you and Mr. Greene personally. I owe it to you both.”
“Ben—Mr. Greene—lives on a farm with his brother just outside of town. I could take you there.” Hope fought to keep her racing heart under control. Wait. Wait on the Lord.
“I need to leave in the morning. Would it be possible to see him this evening?”
“The store is closing in an hour.” Her heart galloped. This would only be good news, she was certain. Why else would Mr. Woodlin have come so far? “I have a buggy and could take you out to the farm after supper.”
“I would like that.” Mr. Woodlin picked up his hat from the counter. “I’m staying at the Sherlock Hotel.”
“Wonderful. You should be very comfortable there. The restaurant in the hotel isn’t like those you’re probably accustomed to in Minneapolis, but Mrs. Sherlock is a wonderful cook, and I think you’ll be pleased.” Excitement bubbled like champagne inside Hope. “Could I come by around six?”
“I’ll be ready.” Mr. Woodlin smiled. “I think this could prove to be an interesting evening for all of us, Miss Andrews.”
***
Hope led Mr. Woodlin up the porch steps to Ben and Jake’s farmhouse, and knocked on the door. After hearing the gallery owner’s explanation of why he wanted to meet Ben, Hope was anxious to arrive at the farm and had struggled to not command the horse pulling the buggy into a full run. This could be an answer to her prayers, depending on how Ben reacted to what Mr. Woodlin had come to relay.
The door opened and light poured onto the dark porch, illuminating the area enough to see each other. Jake held the edge of the door in one hand while a book dangled from the other. “Hope, this is a surprise. Ben didn’t say anything about you coming out tonight.”
“Jake, I’d like you to meet Mr. Woodlin, of the Woodlin Gallery in Minneapolis.” Hope grinned and fought to keep composed, when internally she wanted to squeal.
Jake’s mouth gaped until he accepted Mr. Woodlin’s hand. “Nice to meet you, sir!” Jake pumped the man’s hand as though he expected liquid gold to flow from the man’s fingertips. “Please, come in!”
It took strength for Hope not to jump up and down at seeing Jake’s expression. He was just as excited as she at what the man’s visit could mean. “Mr. Woodlin is here to see Ben. Is he inside?”
“No, he’s where he usually is—in the shed with his paintings. Let me grab a lantern. I know the holes in the ground. Don’t want you to trip.”
It took only a moment for Jake to join them outside with a lantern to light their way, and by then, Mr. Woodlin had pulled Ben’s painting from the buggy. The three of them made their way to the shed where a golden glow from the windows welcomed them.
How would Ben respond to her and the gallery owner showing up at the door of his private haven? Hope shivered either from the chilled air or from anticipation—maybe both. Maybe she should warn him before introducing them. “Let me go in first and prepare him.”
Jake nodded.
“Whatever you think is best.” Mr. Woodlin stepped to the side.
The door creaked as Hope swung it open. The hinges needed another oiling. “Hi, Ben.”
Lanterns set in strategic spots filled the room with enough light. Ben set his palette and brush on the bench and wiped his hands on a rag. “Hope, what are you doing here?” He sounded pleased. That was a good start.
“I’ve brought a visitor. Someone who is quite anxious to meet you.” Trying to keep her excitement controlled, Hope clasped her hands in front of her. “Mr. Woodlin from the gallery is here to deliver your painting in person.”
“He’s here?” Ben’s shoulders rose, and he looked dumbfounded. “The painting belongs to you. Why would he want to see me?”
“He’s come a long way. Please hear him out.” Please, God, help Ben listen with an open heart to whatever Mr. Woodlin has to say.
“Of course, bring him in.”
***
“It’s a pleasure to meet a fine artist like you, Mr. Greene.” Mr. Woodlin stepped forward and extended his hand.
Ben, skeptical, glanced at Jake, then at Hope before accepting the handshake. “I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to being surprised, Mr. Woodlin. You referring to me that way.” Ben had done a little research, and from what he’d discovered, Mr. Woodlin not only owned a reputable gallery, but he was highly regarded by people who traveled in the art world as well.
“You shouldn’t be. But it’s refreshing to come across a talent who is also humble. That rarely happens in my business. I assure you, it’s usually quite the opposite.” Mr. Woodlin began to unwrap the package he’d been holding in his left hand. “Miss Andrews has explained that although this artwork belongs to her, you’re the one who has been adamant it be returned.” He held up the painting of Jake as a boy, running in the field with his dog, Shep.
“Thank you for bringing it, sir.” Ben accepted the painting and placed it on an easel. “You’re right, it belongs to Hope—Miss Andrews. But there are personal reasons why I insisted that it not be displayed outside of her home.”
“That’s a shame.” Mr. Woodlin took several steps to the right and eyed a wooded scene on canvas. “This is nice, but it lacks the same kind of soul as your work with the boy and the collie. That’s where your deeper talent lies—showing life playing out—its joys, its spirit.”
Ben glanced at Jake and Hope. By their blank expressions, they didn’t know where this conversation was leading either.
Mr. Woodlin pointed to a stool. “May I sit?”
“We can go back up to the house, if you’d like,” Jake said. “It’d be more comfortable there.”
“No, no. I’d prefer to stay. I’m hoping that once I explain why I’m here, your brother will allow me to view more of his paintings.”
The man seemed nice enough, but he talked in circles. “What’s there to explain?” Ben leaned against a bench.
“Why it took me so long to return the painting, even though I received several letters from Miss Andrews requesting an immediate response.” Mr. Woodlin pulled a handkerchief from his coat pocket and swiped his nose. “My wife and I are raising our eight-year-old grandson, Teddy, and he spends a great deal of time at the gallery with me. I’ve tried to teach him about art, but he’s young and has never shown much interest. Not until he saw this painting. Your artwork captured his imagination, and he took such a liking to the picture, I allowed him take the piece home and hang it in his bedroom.”
Ben caught Hope glancing his way, her eyes sparkling like sunshine on a rippling lake.
“We’ve talked about the painting every day since. Together we’ve made up stories about the boy and the collie. You know, adventures that all little boys want to have at his age. I think it helped when he missed his parents. They died a year ago.”
“Thank you for telling me, sir.” Ben’s throat felt so thick, he could barely talk. “I’m humbled and honored.”
“Thank you for making a little boy’s life easier.” Mr. Woodlin wiped his nose a second time and cleared his throat. “I certainly would have offered to purchase the piece, but Miss Andrews insisted on the painting’s return.”
Hope stepped forward and laid her hand on the gentleman’s arm. “I’m sorry, Mr. Woodlin, but that’s still true.”
“I understand. However, aside from delivering the painting in person with an explanation as to its delayed arrival, I’d very much li
ke to see more of your work, Mr. Greene. And if what I’m seeing around this room is any indication of what you have to offer, I’d like to discuss a possible showing at the gallery. That would be one opportunity to sell some of your paintings. Also, several people who have seen your artwork are interested in commissioning you to paint their children in informal settings. They’re tired of typical portraits and would pay you well.”
People were willing to pay for his work unseen? And Mr. Woodlin was talking about a possible showing at the gallery. Ben felt overwhelmed by the unexpected affirmations.
“Ben, listen to what this man is offering you!” Jake looked like he was going to jump out of his skin.
“What do you think, Hope?” She’d been quiet during the entire discussion, which was so unlike her. But Ben wanted—needed—to know what she felt.
She looked him in the eyes, her gaze unwavering. “I think it’s more important what God thinks and wants, and I believe after hearing Mr. Woodlin’s story, you know.”
“Yes—I do.” Ben wrapped his arms around her waist and swung her around several times before planting her back on her feet, the two of them both laughing. “Forgive me for my unprofessional exuberance, Mr. Woodlin, but I can’t tell you what this means to me—to us.” Ben smiled at Hope. “You’ve literally changed my life and provided answers to questions that—well, would take a long time to explain.”
Ben had been praying for direction, and God had revealed a clear path. “Mr. Woodlin, we have a lot to discuss. Are you ready for that cup of coffee now?”
chapter TWENTY-EIGHT
Hope’s fingertips moved across the top of the envelope with Butterick Company’s return address. Next to it sat a letter from Eva Lancaster. Both had arrived that morning—a miracle? Instead of opening any mail at the post office, she’d brought everything home where she could read her correspondence in private.
Only a week ago, Ben had not only accepted an invitation to show his paintings at the Woodlin Gallery, but he’d also received requests for commissioned work. The praise from a professional and also hearing how his painting had touched a little boy had brought out another side of Ben. He seemed happy and more at peace than Hope had ever seen him. Would these letters indicate similar success for Hope?
Staring at the mail wouldn’t accomplish anything. Which one to reveal first? Hope grabbed the envelope from Butterick and slashed through the top with a letter opener. Please, Lord, let there be good news.
She pulled out the sheet of paper, unfolded it, and scanned the contents. The back of her eyes prickled and the writing before her began to blur. Another rejection. She should have known better than to get her hopes up. After fumbling in her pocket, she withdrew a handkerchief. Alone, she needn’t be ladylike. Hope gave a good blow into the white embroidered cloth.
Eva Lancaster’s letter sat to the side, taunting Hope. If she didn’t open it, the unknown would torture her. Hope took a deep breath and slid the letter opener along the edge of the envelope. Miss Lancaster had filled three pages with her now-familiar script. Her truthful critiques included detailed suggestions, but overall she felt that Hope’s designs still needed improvement in style and originality. As much as she respected Miss Lancaster, her words stung. How much more original could Hope make her designs without them appearing outrageous?
However, Miss Lancaster added that she felt confident Hope could be successful if she continued to work diligently. She’d even suggested that studying in Paris would be beneficial and could provide a turning point for Hope. Would she ever consider traveling to Europe? Encouraging—and challenging—words, but the thought of living alone in another country felt intimidating and impossible.
Three o’clock. Only a few hours before Annie would walk through the door, cheerful and eager for them to get ready for the evening’s Harvest Dance. Hope propped her elbows on the table and cradled her head in her hands. Why did the dance have to be that night, when all she wanted to do was hide in her room and wallow in her misery?
Hope wiped a tear and sighed. Jake and Ben would arrive at seven to escort them, so she needed to stop feeling sorry for herself and put on a smile. Annie had been looking forward to the dance for weeks, and Hope didn’t want to ruin the evening for her or anyone else.
However, she could do one thing for herself first. Hope pulled a warm coat from the hall closet. If she left now for Clara’s, she’d have time to get back before Annie returned home from the store.
***
The moon didn’t offer much light that cold evening, and Annie’s house appeared dark and unwelcoming as Ben, Hope, Jake, and Annie returned from the Harvest Dance. Quite a contrast to the cheery setting earlier where lively music had played. While townspeople danced in high spirits because of an abundant harvest and the satisfaction of knowing provisions were stocked for the fast-approaching winter, he and Hope had celebrated his arrangement with Mr. Woodlin. Ben had savored every moment he’d held Hope in his arms—felt her delicate hand in his, her touch on his shoulder.
He pulled the buggy up to the hitching post, climbed down, and tethered the horse before assisting Hope. Jake followed suit and helped Annie to the ground.
“I know you sampled most of the baked goods at the dance, but I insist you come in and try my apple cake.” Annie practically skipped up the porch steps, and there was a lilt to her voice that Hope had never heard before.
“Can’t turn that down.” Jake bounded after her. “I worked up quite an appetite on the dance floor tonight.”
Hope turned to Ben with a grin. “I guess you’re staying.”
“I don’t mind at all,” he whispered in her ear, and taking her arm, he walked with her to the door.
By the time they stepped inside, Annie had lit several lamps. “Jake, Ben, please make yourselves comfortable at the dining room table. Hope and I will get the cake. Would you like tea? Or should I brew some coffee?”
Jake’s grin would have reached past his ears if it were any larger. “Could I have a glass of milk instead of tea, please?”
“Of course. Milk, it is.” Annie’s cheeks were rosy in color.
The two women headed for the kitchen, and on the way Annie stopped at her mother’s china cabinet for dessert plates.
Once in the kitchen, Annie chose several pieces of wood from the nearby box and threw them into the woodstove. “Water will heat up fast. We’ll have hot tea in no time.”
Enough suspense. What was her cousin up to? “What’s going on? You’re acting very mysterious.”
“Am I?” Annie smiled, then proceeded to cut four pieces of apple cake and place them on her mother’s china, used only for special occasions.
“It’s fine that you have a secret. Just know that you won’t get any sleep tonight until you share it.” Hope pumped water into the tea kettle and placed it on top of the stove.
Annie and Hope delivered four servings of cake to the dining room table, then Annie pulled three china cups from the oak cabinet and one crystal goblet. She went back into the kitchen and returned with a pitcher of milk.
Jake couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Annie as she busied herself with setting the table.
Hope perched her hands on her hips and eyed each one of them. “I’m not waiting for the kettle to whistle to find out why you’re all acting strange. Someone better fess up.”
“I can’t wait any longer either!” Annie squealed as she clapped her hands together.
“I should have brought champagne,” Jake said as he stood and moved next to Annie.
“Champagne? Oh...” Hope didn’t need to ask. The sparkle in Annie’s and Jake’s eyes relayed another reason besides the harvest to celebrate.
“We’re engaged!” Annie withdrew a ring from her pocket and slipped it onto her finger. “Jake asked me tonight. Under the moonlight where we could hear the music.” She beamed at her fiancé. “We didn’t announce it at the dance because we wanted to tell you first before anyone else.”
“I’m so happy for you.�
�� Hope hugged Annie, elated for her sweet cousin, yet feeling an ugly pang of jealousy. “Congratulations! Both of you.” She turned to Ben. “Did you know?”
He grinned and nodded toward his brother. “We’ve talked.”
“You haven’t shown me the ring.” Hope’s love for Annie brought a true smile to her face.
With eyes shining, Annie held out her hand. “Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?” The ring consisting of four rose-cut diamonds and an emerald set in a gold band was exquisite.
“It’s lovely, Annie.” Hope looked into Jake’s proud eyes. “It’s perfect.”
“Whew!” He wiped his brow. “I could use that glass of milk now.”
The tea kettle whistled, and Hope laughed. “I’ll get that. You all sit down.”
She returned and joined them at the table. Ben leaned back in his chair with a satisfied expression on his face, observing his little brother. From that smug look on his face you’d think Ben had guided the whole process. Maybe he had.
Annie kept holding her hand out to view the ring, as though she could barely believe it was still on her finger. “Jake, what do you think about a spring wedding?”
He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Whatever you want.”
She glowed brighter than a jar filled with fireflies on a dark night. But then, why shouldn’t she? Annie had just received everything she’d ever wanted. She enjoyed being a clerk at the store, she had the library, and the man she loved and would marry, adored her.
Hope glanced around the table. Jake was happy being a farmer. He never wanted anything more. Ben, appearing more relaxed than she’d ever seen him, seemed excited about the opportunities Mr. Woodlin had offered. But Hope might never see and taste fruit from her labor. After all the hard work, sacrifice, and prayers, how could she ever live with that?
“We could have the wedding in May.” Annie stood and poured Jake another glass of milk, then kissed the top of his head before setting the pitcher down and returning to her chair. “My mother plans to come back to Riverton before then, and of course I’d love to have her home to help with all the details. She’s always thrived on planning parties.”
