Fearless Hope: A Novel

by Serena B. Miller

  “I knew you had talent!” she crowed. “Just wait until I tell my friends!”

  “What are you going to tell them?” He felt a little nervous about her enthusiasm.

  “Why, I’ll tell them that all these stories you’ve been collecting from us are going to get published!” Her forehead creased in thought. “You should probably hurry, though. Frank’s heart has been acting up.”

  He had expected her to be upset, or mildly disappointed in him. It had not occurred to him that she would assume this would mean automatic publication. All he’d been doing was using these stories and that old typewriter to overcome his writer’s block and get to know the community. Now she was expecting immediate publication? This might have been a mistake.

  “When will our book be finished?” she asked eagerly.

  “Soon.” He felt sick at heart. This work he’d been doing here was not serious writing. He was writing a WWII love story, for pity’s sake. No one wanted to read a love story by Nate Scott. The fans would be so disappointed. “Maybe in a month or two.”

  “I’m very excited,” Violet said. “But hurry. None of us is getting any younger, you know.”

  Looking at her eager face, thinking about how hard it was going to be to convince his agent to represent this novel, the chapters he still had to write and edit on the book that was due, not to mention all the people in his life right now . . . well, it made him wonder what on earth he’d done with all his free time back in New York.

  At least he was writing again, and unless he missed his guess, he thought there was a chance that he was writing well.

  • • •

  “So, anything interesting happen at work?” he asked.

  Marla and he tried to talk several times a week, but it seemed to be getting harder and harder to find anything to talk about.

  “Not really,” Marla said. “Same old, same old. What about you? What did you do?”

  “I got my word count in for the day,” he answered. “The writing is getting a little easier. Oh, and I took Violet over to Keim’s Lumber in Charm at lunchtime today. She wanted to get a special telescoping tool they carry there for picking apples off trees. The apples have already been harvested for this year, but Violet saw in the newspaper that the tool was on sale and wanted one for next year.”

  “Didn’t you tell me she was in her nineties?” Marla asked.

  “Early nineties.”

  “She’s awfully optimistic, don’t you think?” Marla laughed. “Thinking she’ll actually be around next year to use it!”

  Her comment struck him as a little cold-blooded. He thought it valiant and sweet that the old woman still hoped to harvest her own apples off her own trees next fall. Of course, Marla didn’t know Violet enough to care about her, and that was part of the problem. Marla didn’t know any of the people he was coming to talk about and trying to describe to her.

  An awkward silence fell. There had been more and more of these lately.

  He tried to come up with something about his day that would interest her.

  “I bought two little matching tricycles at Keim’s Lumber today for Hope’s children,” he offered. “One was pink and the other one was blue. I saw them in the toy section while Violet was purchasing her apple picker, and I couldn’t resist.”

  “Oh?” Marla seemed surprised. “You’re buying toys for Hope’s children now?”

  There was something about the sound of her voice that made him wish he’d not mentioned it.

  “Well, they are such good children and they have so little. You should have seen them. They were so happy with those little trikes.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a good idea. What will that do to the floors?”

  “The floors are wood and pretty scarred already. There’s not much children can do to hurt them. Besides, I didn’t care.”

  “You just sat there working while your housekeeper’s kids rode all over your house?”

  “They didn’t stay long after I got home today. Hope was almost finished with her work, but she made a little post office game of giving the children items to put away. You should have seen those two little ones pedaling all over the house pretending to deliver the mail. It was cute.”

  “Oh.” Silence.

  “I’m discovering that the Amish are very intentional about teaching their children to work. Violet’s been telling me about it. They start early and incorporate it into everything they do. Fascinating to watch. I can’t believe the things little Carrie can already do in the kitchen.”

  “Yes. Interesting.” More silence.

  He could tell he’d said something wrong, but for the life of him he didn’t know what.

  “What did I say?” he said. “Don’t sit there and brood, Marla.”

  He heard a sniffle on the other end.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to start hounding me to have children again.”

  He closed his eyes wearily. Apparently they were going to rehash an old fight—one they’d never resolved. Just because he’d purchased tricycles for Hope’s children and had been foolish enough to think Marla would enjoy hearing about it.

  “I’ve never ‘hounded’ you about that.”

  “But you want them.” She made it sound like an accusation.

  He didn’t deny it. “I wouldn’t mind having a child.”

  “I’m not the motherly type, Logan. You know that, plus I’ve worked too hard getting to where I am to jeopardize it by having a child. I thought you understood.”

  “I accept the fact that you don’t want children, but I’ve never understood,” he said. “Mom built a pretty amazing career after she had me, and she was single.”

  “I’m not your mother,” Marla said. “And that’s unfair.”

  “You’re right, and I apologize.” He admitted defeat to himself. It was wrong for him to try to talk Marla into having a family that she didn’t want, but sometimes he wished she’d told him before they had started building a life together.

  Then a thought hit. Maybe the reason Marla didn’t want children was because she’d never spent much time with them. It might help if she could be around Hope’s two children for a bit, and see how adorable they were.

  Besides, this business of trying to keep a relationship going with phone calls alone wasn’t working, and Marla had been especially busy at work lately. Too busy to come for a visit, she said. He was reluctant to go to New York if she had no time for him. In fact, the more time he spent here, the harder it was to contemplate moving back at all. He liked the peace and quiet of the countryside and it seemed to be agreeing with him. His creativity was coming back, and his desire to drink was no longer overwhelming.

  “Are you ever going to have any time off?” he asked. “We need to spend some time together.”

  To his surprise, this time she agreed.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I think it’s high time I came for a visit.”

  • • •

  Hope was as nervous as a cat. Logan’s wife, Marla, was coming for a visit. She would be here in an hour. Housekeeping for a man, especially one as absentminded and kind as Logan, was easy. Being under another woman’s watchful gaze was something else entirely. Would her housekeeping be up to the Englisch woman’s standards? Would the supper she had fixed be all right?

  Verla had told her that Logan had three children and another one on the way, so she had stripped the beds and washed and dried the linens, even though no one had slept in them since they had been taken home from the store.

  Logan purchased extra food, although he acted a little uncomfortable when she asked him about what the children liked to eat.

  “They probably won’t come,” he said. “Marla isn’t fond of . . . traveling with them.”

  His unease about talking about his children worried her. The man seemed downright miserable whenever she brought up the subject. She wondered what was wrong. A father should show a little more pride in his children.

  “Hope?” He sounded nervou
s. “Before Marla gets here, I need to tell you something, and I’m not sure how to go about it.”

  This did not sound good. She was tossing a salad to go with the rolls. She paused in her preparations. “I am listening.”

  “You keep mentioning my children . . . but I don’t have any.”

  “But Verla said . . .”

  “I think I know exactly what she said, and I know why she said it. Marla has a wicked sense of humor sometimes when she gets in a certain mood. She was annoyed with me the day Verla first showed me the house and she pretended that we had three children at home and that she was pregnant. None of that was true. It was a sort of . . . game to her.”

  “Marla is not a truth-teller?”

  “Sometimes she goes a little overboard . . .”

  A car pulled into the driveway. Logan went outside and Hope stayed discreetly in the house so the husband and wife could greet each other in privacy.

  “Hello, darling!”

  Hope heard his wife’s voice for the first time.

  “Hi, Marla. I’m so glad you came.”

  Hope heard the trunk slam as he got the luggage. She busied herself at the sink, not wanting either of them to think that she was eavesdropping. Adam sat on the floor of the kitchen, playing with pots and pans. Carrie sat at the table cutting out brightly colored birds from a child’s workbook that Hope had found in a thrift store. She had taken extra care with the children’s clothing that morning, wanting them to look nice for Marla. She noticed that Adam still had a bit of bread and jam clinging to his face, and quickly took a damp cloth to it.

  “I’d like for you to meet my housekeeper, Hope, and her children, Adam and Carrie,” Logan said. “Hope, this is Marla.”

  She glanced up from washing Adam’s face and saw one of the most astonishing-looking women she’d ever met. Marla was nearly as tall as Logan, and sleekly beautiful in the same way that women on the front of glossy magazines at the grocery checkout counter were beautiful. Adam’s eyes went round and his mouth hung open looking at her.

  “Hello, Hope.” Marla held out her hand, as though for a handshake.

  “Hello.” Hope felt shy and tongue-tied.

  It felt strange shaking hands with another woman. That was something men did. A nod and smile would have been her preference. Marla’s hands were soft and smooth. Hope knew that hers were rough and callused from work. Marla’s fingernails were long and polished dark red.

  Logan’s wife wore white jeans so tight they looked like they were painted onto her long legs. Logan helped her off with her coat, and Hope saw that she wore a tight black sweater that didn’t quite reach the top of her jeans, along with black high heels and silver earrings. Her reddish hair was tossed about like someone who had ridden too many miles in a buggy without a bonnet, but Hope suspected the messy style was deliberate. Her eyes were heavily made up, and those eyes now calmly looked Hope up and down, and dismissed what they saw.

  Hope, in her simple brown dress, felt like a small, plain wren beside an exotic bird of paradise.

  Marla turned to Logan. “It’s been a long drive. I’m tired, I have a headache, and I want to lie down.”

  “I’ll bring you something,” Hope offered. “An aspirin? Some tea? I have a nice pot roast ready if you’re hungry.”

  “Thank you,” Marla said. “But I couldn’t eat a thing and I brought my own medication.”

  With that, Logan’s wife headed toward the stairs.

  Hope tried to be charitable. Her headache must be very bad indeed for the woman to have been so dismissive.

  Hope watched Logan follow his wife upstairs with her expensive-looking luggage. Then she glanced down at her beautiful children. Marla had not even acknowledged them, nor Hope’s efforts in preparing a nice meal for her. Still, some people did not travel well.

  Logan hesitated on the steps and glanced back at her.

  “Thank you for all you did, Hope. We’ll enjoy your meal later.”

  “I will straighten the kitchen before I go.”

  Disappointed in the woman she had thought might become a friend, she carefully put away the dinner to which she had given so much time and thought.

  • • •

  Logan took Marla’s suitcases to their room and was surprised to find her standing near the window, flipping through a fashion magazine she’d brought with her.

  “How can you bear not having electricity?” she complained. “I have to stand here by the window just to have enough light to read.”

  “I thought you had a headache.”

  “Oh that. I’m fine. I just haven’t seen you for weeks. I didn’t feel like standing around making small talk with some woman in a bonnet.”

  Your wife is not a truth-teller? Hope’s quaint statement came back to him. Marla did bend the truth from time to time in small ways if she felt like it.

  “She worked really hard making a nice supper for you,” he said. “It would have been nice if you’d thanked her.”

  “She’s your housekeeper.” Marla was unrepentant. “That’s what you pay her to do. Besides, I don’t eat red meat anymore.”

  “You didn’t even notice her children. She had dressed them in their Sunday clothes for you.”

  “Of course I did. I noticed that the boy needed his face washed. What had he been eating, anyway?”

  “Yesterday she brought some strawberry jam she had made last spring, and made homemade bread today. She’d given him a piece of it. Since when did you stop eating red meat?”

  “Weeks ago. If you had been around, you’d know.” She sat down on the bed, took off her high heels, and glanced appreciatively around the bedroom. “Nice furniture, Logan. You’ve certainly been busy.”

  “I told you I’d bought it.”

  “Yes, but knowing you I half expected you to be sleeping on an air mattress and eating off paper plates. Why, you’ve become downright domestic. This is not nearly as awful as I would have expected. Or did your cozy little housekeeper pick all this out for you?”

  That was Logan’s first indication that Marla was angry.

  “Are you insinuating something?”

  “All I’m saying is that you certainly have a nice little setup here.”

  “Hope is a decent, moral woman. A widow trying to make a living for her children.”

  “Then you would be quite the catch, wouldn’t you?” Marla’s eyes narrowed.

  “I would never lay a hand on her,” Logan said.

  “Interesting that you would mention that so quickly.” Marla flung down the magazine. “I’m guessing you would like to, though, wouldn’t you?”

  Alarm bells rang. Marla was capable of escalating an argument into a fever-pitch fight in seconds. They didn’t fight often, but when they did, she had no control whatsoever over her tongue. Some of the words Marla was capable of throwing at him were not words those innocent children downstairs deserved to hear. Nor did their mother.

  “Be careful what you say, Marla,” he warned. “Before you say another word, let me go send Hope and the children home. Then we can talk.”

  “Your first thought is about your housekeeper?” Marla’s voice turned deadly. “Let me tell you something . . .”

  • • •

  The photograph drew her to it like a magnet. Hope tried to look away, but couldn’t. It was a picture of Logan and Marla on a beach. Logan was wearing baggy blue swim trunks, but Marla was very tan and lean and wore only a small, white bathing suit that Hope knew was called a bikini. Marla had struck a pose with one hand on her hip, and the other around Logan’s waist. One slim leg was stuck out, and her chin was tilted as though proud of having such a beautiful body.

  Hope could not imagine allowing someone to take such a picture. Why, the woman was wearing clothing that covered much less than the underwear Hope discreetly purchased at Spector’s in Mt. Eaton, after making certain there were no men in the store.

  The Englisch were such a puzzle. Why would any woman allow herself to be seen in public in
such an outfit? Let alone allow a picture to be taken and then framed and displayed.

  “Mommi?” Adam called to her from downstairs.

  She jumped and put the picture facedown on the side table so that Adam could not see it if he should walk in. Her son should not be looking at pictures of half-naked women, even if he was only four.

  She did not like Logan’s wife very much, and selfishly hoped she wouldn’t be coming to visit him often. The meeting yesterday had been such a disaster. Logan and his wife had argued, so Hope had gotten the children in the buggy without even putting the food away. She did not need the job so badly that she would allow her children to hear such words!

  It was Monday morning, and Marla was gone. She had not bothered to wash up their dishes. The bathtub had not been wiped out after her bath. Two days’ worth of damp towels were scattered all over the bathroom floor. There was makeup spilled in the lavatory. It was as though she had tried to leave Hope as much work as possible.

  Presumably, this photograph was a gift left for Logan to remember her by. Hope had seen Logan for only a few minutes earlier this morning, but she noticed that he was in a foul mood.

  None of this was any of her business, but she could not help but take note and wonder about those two. The Englisch had their television and picture shows to watch, the Amish had each other and the Englisch to watch. Logan and his wife would be entertaining if it weren’t for the fact that she liked the man she worked for and thought he deserved better.

  Only last week he had purchased two small tricycles for Adam and Carrie to play on. One pink. One blue. He made no big to-do over it. He had simply brought them home with him.

  “I was at Keim’s and I saw these. I thought they might help entertain the children while you work,” Logan had said. “They are such good children. I thought they should have a reward.”

  The Amish did not necessarily consider good behavior something to be rewarded. Good behavior out of children was something to be expected, not bribed, but they did give and receive occasional gifts, and so she thanked him.

  She was grateful that Logan had been thoughtful enough to purchase something that would not go against their culture. A handheld video device for her son would have caused her to make an embarrassing refusal, but a little tricycle? That was not a problem. She wondered if he had figured it out all by himself or had asked someone for a suggestion. Either way, it warmed her heart that he had been so thoughtful.