Hope and Honor

by Marilee Brothers

  I think about my introduction to Ken Hitchcock, about his reaction to me. I’ve seen his soul. The coldness. The anger. But there’s something else as well. The wavy blue line tells me he should not be underestimated. He’s smart and canny. An involuntary shiver crawls down my spine. I can’t wait to leave this place.

  Chapter Six

  A few minutes later, the last of the stragglers enter the hall. I notice one man in particular. His fair hair and sturdy build speak of Scandinavian heritage. He’s gripping the hand of a little boy with blond hair and bright blue eyes. The man stops at the top of the stairs, gives me a fleeting glance and calls over his shoulder, “You wait here for us, girl. Don’t go wandering off.”

  He and the boy enter the hall. I stand and look for the person he spoke to. It would be nice to indulge in girl talk while I’m waiting. So far, I’ve seen none of my gender. Are they all hiding inside their log cabins? Down at the creek scrubbing dirty clothes on washboards? Kneading homemade bread?

  My peripheral vision catches sight of a sudden movement. I walk down the steps and turn right until I reach the edge of the building. I peek around the corner and see a little girl pressed against the rough siding. Her dark hair is braided. Her jeans and jacket are too big and look like boy clothes. Her gaze is fixed on the ground. Her thumb is in her mouth. She clutches a stuffed rabbit.

  I take a step toward her and smile. “Hi. Are you waiting for your dad?”

  She nods.

  I take a step closer, trying not to spook her. “I’m Mel. What’s your name?”

  Without removing her thumb, she mumbles something unintelligible.

  I take a step close and squat down until we’re eye level. “I didn’t quite get your name. Maybe if you take your thumb out of your mouth it will work better.”

  She lifts her head and I’m looking into eyes identical to those of the little blond boy. Bright and blue. My heart breaks when I look into her soul. Streaked with pale blue accents, it’s a soft shade of pink and bisected with a jagged black line. This little girl has experienced severe trauma.

  “I think I saw your dad and brother go into the hall. Am I right?”

  She nods. The thumb comes out of her mouth. “Papa and Gunner.”

  “Can you tell me your name again, sweetie?”

  “I’m Kimber.”

  “Do people call you Kim?”

  She shakes her head. “Nope. People call me Kimber, ’cause that’s my name.”

  “Got it,” I say. “How about you keep me company until the meeting is over. I’ve got nobody to talk to and I’m lonesome. We could go sit on the stairs and wait together.”

  “Not there. No females. We can sit on the bench, though.”

  She takes my hand and leads me to a rickety bench a few yards in front of the porch railing. We sit in companionable silence for a few minutes. I’m dying to know more about Kimber, but don’t want to bombard her with questions.

  “This is Blossom Bunny,” she offers, thrusting the stuffed rabbit in front of my face.

  Blossom Bunny is not attractive. Her fur is dull gray and splotchy. Her long, floppy ears droop down to her skinny legs. Black, beady eyes peer straight ahead atop a little pink nose.

  “Very nice,” I lie.

  “I love Blossom Bunny. She has zippers in her ears. I keep important stuff there.” She lays the bunny across her lap, lifts one of the floppy ears and points out the zipper.

  “Very cool. It’s good to have a place to keep important stuff.”

  She nods solemnly, unzips one of the ears and pulls out a stubby pencil, a little rubber ball and a hair ribbon. Seeing her sparse array of treasures makes me sad.

  She pats the sleeve of my down jacket. “Your coat is pretty.”

  “Thanks.” I look at her thin denim jacket. “Are you warm enough?”

  “No.”

  I unzip my jacket, slide my left arm out, wrap it around her, pull her close and zip us up in it. Her little body is chilled. I want to bitch-slap her father.

  “Now we’re like two snug bugs in a rug,” I say.

  She giggles. “You’re funny.”

  “How old are you, Kimber?”

  “Five.”

  “And your brother?”

  “Gunner’s five too.”

  “No way! You’re twins?”

  “Uh huh. But we don’t look alike ’cause he’s a boy and I’m a girl.”

  “Your eyes look exactly alike.”

  “People say that all the time.”

  “Guess what?” I say.

  “What?”

  “I’m a twin too.”

  I pull the twin heart pendant from the neck of my sweater, a gift from bio dad, Steve. “See the two hearts, how they’re linked together? It means your heart will always be connected to Gunner’s heart.”

  “Really?” She touches the pendant with her index finger. “Is your heart connected to your twin?”

  The innocence of her questions makes my eyes fill with tears. “Yes, we’re still connected.”

  “Does she live with you?”

  “She lives in my heart.”

  She persists. “But where does she really live?”

  How do I explain death to a five-year-old girl? How do I tell her about Hope, about our soul connection? I can’t think of a way, so I chicken out. “She lives far away.” Not exactly the truth, but not exactly a lie either. Call me the queen of denial.

  I still have questions, like why is she out here in the cold, instead inside a snug cabin warmed by a wood-burning fireplace. Does she go to school? She’s old enough for kindergarten. Are New Dawn females allowed to go to school, or will Gunner be the only educated twin? “I’ll bet your mom is getting dinner ready. Are you hungry?”

  “Hungry.”

  I dig around in my pocket and find a cereal bar I’d stashed a while back. I hand it to her.

  She looks up at me with those incredible eyes. “I’ll share with you.”

  I shake my head. “Not hungry. You eat it.” My stomach growls loudly.

  When she smiles, her eyes crinkle at the corners. “See, you are too hungry.”

  She breaks off a piece and hands it to me. I sense it would be rude to refuse. I’m still fishing for answers. “What are you having for dinner tonight?”

  “Whatever Papa cooks. Usually beans and deer meat. Don’t like beans. They make Gunner fart.”

  “Bummer.”

  Apparently Gunner and Kimber are motherless. Is that what the jagged black line indicates?

  She takes her time with the cereal bar, savoring each bite. When she finishes, she brushes the crumbs from her thin little legs. “My mama’s dead.”

  I pull her closer and murmur, “I bet you miss her.”

  “Not so much. It was a long time ago.”

  “So, it just you, Gunner and your daddy?”

  She nods. “Sometimes ladies come to visit Papa. He teaches them how to shoot guns. It’s one of his jobs. Maybe he’ll get a new wife some day.”“

  “Your daddy gives shooting lessons?”

  “Yes, on the days he doesn’t do blinds.”

  Now, I’m confused. “Are there blind people here? Does your Papa work with them?”

  She giggles again. “No, silly. People make the blinds for windows. Papa loads them in a big truck and takes them to people.” She wiggles free of the coat, turns and points at the community hall. “See?”

  I stand and look where she’s pointing. Each of the windows in the front of the building is fitted with tightly closed, slatted blinds. They looked to be constructed of cheap vinyl material. This strikes me as an odd fit for a building constructed entirely of logs. Not that I’m an expert on interior decorating, but shouldn’t the blinds be constructed of wood to match the rustic setting?

  Kimber wants to make sure I understand the whole blinds concept. She whirls around and points at a cluster of nearby cabins. “See, more blinds. On the windows. Not blind people.”

  “Yeah, I get it. People h
ere make the blinds and your daddy delivers them in a big truck.”

  “Exactly,” she says. “When he’s not shooting guns.”

  “I guess a lot of people here shoot guns.”

  “Yes, they do. Do you shoot guns?”

  “No, I don’t know how.”

  “My daddy can teach you. He’s teaching me.”

  I get a sudden, horrifying vision of little Kimber mowing down a herd of elk with a gun larger than herself and I’m at a loss for words.

  It’s almost dark now and the wind picks up. Once again, we wrap ourselves up inside the down jacket, two lone females, waiting for the males in our lives to reappear. When the meeting breaks up, we stand and wait at the bottom of the stairs. Kimber clings to my hand. When her father and brother appear, she drags me over to them.

  Her eyes are bright with excitement. “Papa, I have a new friend. Her name is Mel and she’s a twin, like Gunner and me.”

  He looks down at his daughter and then at me. His eyes are blue, but a different shape and color than those of his children. They register a bit of suspicion as he checks me out. Unsmiling, he greets me with a curt nod. “I’m Jacob Gunderson, but people call me Jake or Swede.”

  I murmur something polite—my mother would be proud—and see Rick and Riley heading my way. I squat down and give Kimber a hug. “I’m glad I got to meet you, Kimber. Maybe we’ll see each other again.”

  She throws her arms around my neck and whispers. “You better come back or I’ll be sad. Blossom Bunny too.”

  Her words cling to my heart as I join the Rathjens and we head for the pickup.

  Rick starts the engine. “Sorry I made you come, Queenie. I didn’t know you’d be locked out. I bet you’re mad at me again, huh?”

  He puts the truck in reverse.

  “Wait,” I say. “There’s something I need to do.”

  I climb out of the truck and hurry after the Gunderson family. “Mr. Gunderson,” I call. “I want to learn how to shoot. Can you teach me?”

  A smile blossoms on Kimberly’s thin face. “See, Papa, I told you she’d be back.”

  Chapter Seven

  We’re traversing down the deeply rutted road in the dark. The truck’s high beam headlights flicker erratically off thick stands of pine. Since Rick is afraid I’ll hurl on his back seat upholstery, I’m wedged between the two of them in the front seat. I’m chilled to the bone. Riley turns the heater on full blast. He throws an arm around me until I’m pressed against his warm body.

  “Not necessary,” I protest.

  “Best way to warm up,” he says. “Body to body. I learned it at a Boy Scouts of America meeting. Scouts’ honor.”

  Rick snorts. “Sure you did, son. Do you buy that crap, Queenie?”

  I shake my head, no.

  “So you’re going back to the batshit bonkers place, huh?” Rick says. “Sudden change of heart? Shooting guns doesn’t seem like your thing. Kinda like riding horses isn’t your thing.”

  “Did you see the little girl? Her name is Kimber and she has a twin called Gunner.”

  Riley says, “Kimber and Gunner, huh? I guess it’s a big deal now, naming your kids after guns.”

  “Isn’t Kimber a nickname for Kimberly?”

  “No, Kimber’s an American gun company. They manufacture high quality pistols and rifles.”

  “Oh,” I say in a small voice.

  “She got to you, didn’t she?” Rick says.

  “Her mother is dead. Her dad shoots guns and delivers the blinds they make at New Dawn. Did you know they make window blinds?” I don’t wait for an answer. I sigh and admit, “Yeah, she got to me. Poor little thing, dressed in boy clothes. And she doesn’t even have a proper coat. Her dad made her wait outside in the cold all by herself.”

  Riley says, “We heard about the blinds. I guess it’s how they make their money, so they can buy guns and protect themselves when the angry hordes storm the gate. Just a matter of time, according to Hitchcock. He seems certain it will either be a gang of criminals or the government. He’s leaning toward the government.”

  “Is he looking to recruit you guys?”

  Rick says, “Probably. He invited us back.”

  I tell them what I’d observed in Hitchcock’s soul. “If I had to guess, I’d say the man is incapable of loving. The only emotion evident in his soul is anger. But, he’s highly intelligent and that makes him a scary dude.”

  After I deliver my report, my eyes grow heavy as the chill leaves my body. The rhythmic whirring of the heater fan and the rocking of the pickup have a lulling effect. My chin drops to my chest. I stop fighting it and wrap my right hand around the twin pendant. Riley adjusts his body so my head is against his chest. As I always do before sleep overtakes me, I evoke the spirit of Hope. I ask her to come to me.

  When I close my eyes, I feel the warmth of her presence, and see her beautiful face, not as she was as a child, but as another version of myself. It’s hard to explain. We’re identical twins and one would think it’s like looking in a mirror, but it isn’t. According to our mother, Sandra, our eyes were slightly different. Our smiles too. It’s how she could tell us apart.

  She’d say, “Okay, you two, give me a smile.”

  Then, she’d laugh and say, “Honor, it’s your turn to take the garbage out.”

  When Hope comes to me, her eyes are luminous, as if backlit by a starry night sky. Her smile is exuberant and filled with joy. I hold the pendant tighter and ask for her help. Before I drift away, her heart whispers to mine. “She needs you. They need you.”

  ****

  I awake with a snort, completely disoriented. Rick and Riley both crack up laughing.

  Rick says, “Damn girl, you snore like a grizzly bear.”

  I rub my eyes, feeling a little crabby. “How do you know grizzly bears snore? You sneak inside their cave?” I look around and see we’re in Nick’s parking lot.

  When his laughter subsides, Riley says, “We figured you’d want to come here, because that piece of crap you call a car is parked outside Number Ten.”

  “Hey, don’t dis Buttercup. She might hear you and get mad.” My car is a putrid shade of yellow, but she keeps on chugging. My motto is, live long and prosper, Buttercup, at least until I can afford something better.

  Rick says, “You want us to follow you to your new place. You look groggy.”

  “I’m okay. I need to talk to Nick and see how Ziggy is doing.”

  Riley opens the door and hops out. “Let me know when you have your shooting lesson. I’ll drive you. Trust me, Buttercup can’t handle the road.”

  As I slide out of the truck, I think about navigating the narrow mountain road in my old clunker and know he’s right. I give him a noisy smooch on the cheek. “Thanks. I’ll let you know.”

  Nick’s pub is packed. It’s Friday night and a lot of folks just got paid. Nick is in his usual place behind the bar. I spot Ziggy. She’s wearing a Nick’s Place pink T-shirt and jeans with a black apron tied around her middle. She’s heading for the kitchen carrying a plastic tub filled with dirty dishes and cutlery. Instead of pushing it open with her shoulder, she gives it a vicious kick.

  I walk over to Nick. “I see you put Ziggy to work bussing tables.”

  He rolls his eyes. “And she hasn’t stopped bitching about it.”

  “Did you get her enrolled in school?”

  “The best we could do was a work-study program until the end of the semester. She’ll get credit for working here, plus she has a couple of classes at the school on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

  “Is she okay with that?”

  “Oh, hell no.” He rubs his temples. “She’s ticked about everything.”

  I pat his arm. “Welcome to parenthood.”

  He lifts his head and gives me a quizzical look. “Why are you here? It’s your day off.”

  “Long story, just thought I’d check on Ziggy.”

  He blows a huge sigh. “Thanks. Might have to ask you to drive her to school once
in a while if I’m busy here. I’ll pay for your gas, of course.”

  “Sure, no problem.”

  “Did you check the back steps?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Thunder Paws is back.”

  “At least he’s not dead. Remember your cathouse promise.” I push away from the bar. My new bed in my new home is calling to me.

  “Hold it,” Nick says. “Look around. See if there’s anybody you know.”

  All I want to do is leave and he’s making me inventory the customers? “I’m sure I know a lot of people here. Can I go now?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. Not until you look around.”

  Well, damn. He’s my boss and I need to stay on his good side. To humor him, I turn and scan the crowd. I see a few people I recognize in the main seating area of the restaurant and wave. Then, I peer into the section we call the Corral. It has two pool tables and usually attracts a rowdy crowd of drinkers. I take a step closer, so I can see the tables in the alcove next to the pool tables. Four big dudes all wearing black T-shirts and faded jeans are hunkered down over their drinks. One guy sits with his back against the wall. His chair is tilted back. He’s wearing a dark blue ball cap with the brim pulled down over his eyes. His brawny right arm sports a full sleeve tattoo. I know that tattoo.

  I look over at Nick. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  He chuckles. “He told me not to. He said if you showed up, he wanted to see if you recognized him.”

  My Homeland Security boyfriend, Mick, is in the house.

  Chapter Eight

  When last I saw Mick, he had spiky black hair and facial piercings. He was lean, almost skinny, hoping to pass himself off as a druggie. Apparently it worked. He got his man. He usually does.

  I saunter into the Corral and head to his table. He lifts the brim of his hat and I look into eyes as clear and blue as a Norwegian fjord. His soul looks much the same, although it’s picked up some etches and markings common to those involved in law enforcement.

  I strike a pose, one hand on my hip, and flutter my eyelashes. Not a natural flirt, this seems silly to me. I lick my lips. “Why, hello there, handsome. You’re drinking Grey Goose vodka and you look like someone I knew a very long time ago, but slightly different. Is it possible we’ve met before?”