Hope (15 page)

“Thank you. ‘And the earth . . .’”

Pause.

“Verse 1: ‘In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. . . .’”

“Hope, you have company.”

Hope looked up at Dan’s soft announcement. It was still so early that the sun was barely visible through the broken windowpane. Luther’s intermittent snores resonated from behind his and Harriet’s closed door. “Me?”

Parting the curtain a fraction more, Dan said softly. “It’s a young girl.”

“It must be Fawn, the youngest Bennett girl. I spoke with her yesterday. Maybe she’s talked to her parents.” Quickly brushing her hair, Hope slipped into one of Harriet’s oversize coats and headed for the door.

Dan was waiting for her, arms crossed. Wearing his coat now, he blocked her path. “You’re not going out there.”

“But she wants to talk to me—she isn’t a threat.”

“You’re not going out there alone.”

Hope opened the door a fraction, and the pig squeezed around her. Dan lunged for the animal, but its fat backside was already waddling toward the open pen.

Hurriedly stepping outside, Hope watched the old porker settle into the mudhole with a satisfied grunt. Dan trailed her onto the porch.

“She won’t talk with you here,” Hope protested. “You’ll only intimidate her. Stay here.”

Grasping her shoulders, he turned her toward the stand of cottonwoods. “What do you see over there?”

“The Bennett boys.”

“Holding what?”

Hope squinted. “Rifles.”

She turned to look at Fawn. The girl must have talked to her parents; otherwise she wouldn’t present herself so openly.

Fawn waved, friendly-like. “It’s all right, ma’am! My brothers ain’t gonna shoot!”

“What do you think?” Hope whispered. She followed Dan’s eyes back to the stand of trees. Four of Luther’s offspring stood leaning on their rifles, keeping an eye on the exchange.

Dan’s voice brooked no nonsense. “I don’t trust them. Come back into the house.”

Hope continued to study the situation. She didn’t trust them, either, but someone had to show a little faith, or the standoff would go on forever.

“I’m going out there.”

“Hope,” he warned, “you’re not to go out there.”

Now the Bible says, “Wives, obey your husbands.” It doesn’t say a thing about women obeying government agents—leastwise not flat out. “Keep an eye on that pig,” she murmured. “If anything happens to her, we’re sunk.”

Right now that old sow was the only thing standing between Luther and Lyndon and all-out war.

Taking a deep breath, Hope walked to the edge of the yard where Fawn was huddled deep in a bedraggled jacket that might once have been red. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Fawn said as Hope approached. “Need to do some serious jawin’.”

“All right.” Hope waited for the girl to put her thoughts in order.

“Pa’s a knucklehead.”

Hope felt a twinge of compassion. “You tried to talk to him about the feud?”

“Yes’um. But he’s shore nuff a knucklehead.” Fawn shoved her hands deeper into the coat pockets. “He won’t listen to nary a word about a truce. Keeps jawin’ ’bout ‘an eye for an eye’ or somethin’ like that.”

“He won’t even talk to his brother?”

“No, ma’am. Says Uncle Luther’s an even bigger knucklehead than he is, and he don’t want nothin’ to do with that Nut Muffin.”

“Oh, dear.”

The girl brightened. “Did you have any better luck with Uncle Luther?”

“No, your uncle’s an even bigger Nut Muffin—won’t even hear of a cease-fire.” She planned to broach the subject again at breakfast, but her expectation was slim that Luther had changed his mind overnight. “We’ll just have to pray about it. Papa always said God would supply our needs.”

Fawn stood in the early morning light, tracing irregular patterns in the dew-covered grass with the tip of her scuffed boot. “Got me a plan.”

“You do?”

“Yes’um—iffen you’ll say it’s all right for me to try it.”

It wasn’t Hope’s place to grant her permission to try anything, but she certainly wouldn’t stand in the way of progress.

“I’m for peace at almost any cost.”

Fawn broke into a wide grin. “Thank ya, ma’am! My plan ort to work—but iffen it shouldn’t, I want you to ’splain to the Lord that I done my best.”

Smiling, Hope nodded. “I’ll tell him. What is this plan?” Would Fawn propose they trick the feuding brothers into meeting—make them sit down and talk about the situation like rational adults? Luther could be stubborn—and Lyndon . . . Her eyes shot to Fawn, who suddenly broke away and was now dashing headlong toward the pigpen. Lightning quick, the young girl released the wire hook and threw open the gate. Waving her arms and yelling at the top of her lungs, she charged the sow. “Sooooeeeee!”

Startled, the old porker shot to its feet, making a beeline for the exit. Out of the pen it streaked, running faster than Hope thought her four squat legs could carry her.

When the girl and the pig were halfway down the road, Fawn turned to yell over her shoulder. “Don’t be mad, ma’am! Now that Pa’s got his pig back, there ain’t no argument!”

Hope’s jaw dropped when she realized that Fawn had outsmarted her!

Bounding off the porch, Dan started after the pig. Shots sounded, and he turned in the middle of the yard and lunged toward Hope.

Speechless, Hope watched the devious girl and the pig hightailing it toward home. Pig snorts gradually faded in the far distance; silence surrounded the barn lot.

“Watch the pig, Dan,” Dan mimicked as he came to a skidding halt beside her.

Hope slowly turned around to see the Bennett boys casually lift their rifles again and take aim.

“Ohhh . . . ,” she murmured, “we are in so much trouble.”

Chapter Eight

John Jacobs glanced out the front window and groaned. There was that nosy Veda crossing the street toward the mercantile, carrying that infernal casserole basket. He set his jaw. This time, he was going to tell that woman to mind her own business. Whom he chose to marry was his doings, not the town’s, and certainly not Veda Fletcher’s.

Why, the reason he’d placed that ad in the journal in the first place was so he could court a woman without the whole town knowing about it. As it was, he had had to woo Miss Kallahan by mail, and Megaline Harris, the postmistress, had told everyone in town that he was exchanging letters with some woman in Michigan.

Some woman in Michigan. The very idea of referring to Miss Kallahan as “some woman.”

Shouldering her way into the store, Veda set the basket on the counter. No doubt another gastric delight. John mentally cringed at the renewed determination in Veda’s eyes.

“Afternoon, John.”

“Afternoon, Veda.”

“Looks like snow.”

“Let’s think spring, Veda.”

“Think it if you like, but we still get snow this late in the year. I’ve pulled tender young green onions out of snow many a time. Never took my stove down until first of June—ever.”

Lord, forgive me for being so mean to poor Veda, but the woman gets on my nerves worse than chaffed thighs.

But courtesy came first at the Jacobs Mercantile. The customer was always right, and Veda was a good customer—paid her bills on time and didn’t complain when a sugar shipment came in late.

“I can’t stay long, John. Eudora and I are hanging new curtains this afternoon, but I had to see if you’d had any further news. Don’t think I’m nosy, now.”

Veda nosy? Never.

“News?”

“Regarding your fiancée.”

“No news—I’m expecting her any day now.” Even as he defended Hope Kallahan, he knew he was grasping at straws. If Hope were coming, she’d have been here by now. He had to face up to the fact that she’d gotten cold feet and wasn’t coming. Dear Lord. How could he face Veda and the town in his despair?

“Oh. That’s a pity.” John could see it was all she could do to keep from turning handsprings. Veda tried to hide her joy. “Now, John. You wouldn’t be trying to fool the town, would you? You’ve told everyone that Miss Hope Kallahan is arriving any day, but we’ve not seen hide nor hair of her.”

“I haven’t told everyone,” John corrected.

“You’ve told me. And Edna and Louise.”

Medford has three ways of surefire communication: telegram, tell Veda, or tell Louise.

“Just where is this woman?”

John was wondering the same thing. Where was Hope Kallahan? And why, indeed, hadn’t she sent word if she’d been fortuitously delayed?

“I don’t know where she is,” he admitted.

He’d diligently met each stage that managed to get through. He’d had no further correspondence from Miss Kallahan. She wasn’t coming. She’d simply decided she didn’t want to marry him. Her letters had sounded as if the arrangement pleased her. But women change their minds.

He could forgive her for changing her mind; what he couldn’t tolerate was neglect. Neglecting to inform him of a change in heart was unforgivable.

“Is it possible your fiancée got cold feet?” Veda asked, coyly lifting the cloth on the basket.

John caught a whiff of chicken.

“Miss Kallahan said she was coming. Something undoubtedly has delayed her, but I trust that she is still coming. Now, if you don’t mind, Veda, I have an appointment with Edgar.”

Veda’s brow arched. “The tailor? Your fiancée hasn’t even arrived, and you’re about to be fitted for a wedding suit?”

“That is precisely what I’m about to do.” Jerking his vest coat into place, he stepped around the counter. He’d had just about enough of this inquisition. He wasn’t meeting her niece, Ginger, and that was that. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Veda trailed him out the front door. “My niece, Ginger, arrived on yesterday’s stage. Have you seen her yet?”

Only two women got off that stage yesterday. The statuesque young woman with dark hair and ivory porcelain skin who’d turned more than her share of men’s heads must have been Freeman Hide’s granddaughter. Freeman’s whole family was good-looking. Were John not already contracted, he’d be sorely tempted to ask Freeman for introductions.

The other woman was as homely as sin.

“Yes, I did. Lovely young woman.”

“You did!” Veda glowed. “Pretty as a picture, isn’t she? Didn’t I tell you she was a jewel?”

“Yes, ma’am, you did.”
At least once a day for the past four months.

“She’s most delicate you know, fragile as china. The long trip from San Francisco wore her out, so she’s taken to bed for a few days. Once she’s up and around, I’ll bring her over to the mercantile.”

Wonderful. She’s trying to marry me off to a sickly girl with the constitution of fine china.
He stepped off the porch and started across the street.

“John!” Veda hurried after him. “You’re going to the box supper, aren’t you?”

Box supper? That was a misnomer if there ever was one. It was a man trap. Snares in a basket—albeit bait dressed in an interesting fashion and offered up for auction, but snares nonetheless. The bidder wasn’t supposed to know whose box he was bidding on, but one generally had a strong hint.

Every time he attended one of those infernal box suppers, every eligible woman in town dropped clues on which box was hers. The town matchmakers had put him in an impossible situation.

If he dared bid on a certain basket, other women were hurt or angry, and either they or their daughters gave him most unpleasant looks during the course of the long evening.

If he didn’t bid, he went without supper.

Enjoying a carefree meal in the comfort of his home above the store wasn’t an option for that night. In a town the size of Medford, every absence was noted and unduly speculated upon. He’d tried to get out of going once, and the flood of chicken soup the next day had created such a tizzy for him that he vowed to never try that again.

John picked up his stride, hoping Veda would take the hint. When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw she was still close on his heels. Oliver trotted along behind her.

“You have to eat, John, affianced or not. Just say you’ll come to the box supper Friday night. By then, my Ginger will be feeling up to entertaining callers.”

He set his jaw and kept walking. “I won’t be calling on your niece, Veda.”

Veda hurried to keep pace with his long-legged stride. “I’m not talking about calling on her—I know you’re not at liberty to do that—not at the moment, but it won’t hurt you to be sociable, will it?”

The woman was a bulldog. There’d be no peace until he agreed. “All right, Veda. I’ll come.”

She paused, grinning. “Now, see. That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Ginger’s entering a box, you know. I’ll make certain you know which one.”