The Perfect Hope (19 page)

“Oh?” She kept her voice casual, absolutely pleasant. “And how was the game?”

“Good. Suns pulled it out, took it four to three. Liam caught a foul ball.”

“He did!” She smiled, added quick applause. “He must be thrilled.”

“Yeah, it’ll stay with him awhile.”

“It’s great the boys had a night out with all of you.” With her eyes direct, she let silence hang.

“I’ve known her since high school.”

Hope merely angled her head, said nothing.

“Look. Hell. We hook up sometimes. Nothing serious. Christ, what’s your problem?” he demanded when she remained silent.

“I don’t have a problem. I’m waiting for you to finish.”

“Fine. I ran into her, that’s all, and she talked about getting together. Seeing the inn, and, you know, maybe we could rent a room.”

“Oh.” Hope folded her hands neatly. “That must have been awkward, as you’re currently sleeping with the innkeeper.”

With his scowl, his eyes held a fulminating green. “
Awkward
’s a stupid word. It’s a girl word. It was weird. I had to tell her I was seeing somebody because I didn’t want it to be weird.”

“Was she angry?”

“No. She’s not like that. We’re friends.”

All reason, Hope nodded. “It’s good, even commendable, you can stay friends with someone you’ve slept with. It says something about you.”

“It’s not about that.” Something about her calm, goddamn
reasonable
responses put his back up. “It’s about being clear. I’m not sleeping with anyone else, so you’re not sleeping with anyone else. That’s clear.”

“It absolutely is.”

“I’m not like that asshole you were tangled up with.”

“You’re nothing like that asshole,” she agreed. “And, just as important to me, I’m not the same person I was when I was tangled up with that asshole. Isn’t it handy we are who we are, and maybe better, can be who we are with each other?”

“I guess it is.” He hissed out a breath, and finally most of the frustration. “You throw me off,” he admitted.

“How?”

“You don’t ask questions.”

“I ask plenty of questions. Otherwise I wouldn’t know you got that scar on your butt taking a tumble sledding when you were eight. Or you lost your virginity in the tree house your father built you—fortunately some years later. Or—”

“About where we’re going,” he interrupted. “Women always ask where we’re going.”

“I’m enjoying where we are so I don’t need to know where we might be. I like being here. I’m happy being with you, and that’s enough.”

Relieved, he sat on the side of the bed, shifted to face her. “I’ve never known anybody like you. And I can’t figure you out.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek. “It’s the same for me. I like that you’d come here tonight, to tell me all this. That it bothered you enough you’d need to tell me.”

“Some women can’t handle a guy being friends with another woman, or having a conversation with one he’s had sex with.”

“I’m not the jealous type. Maybe if I had been, if I’d been less trusting, I wouldn’t have been betrayed, but I’m not made that way. If I can’t trust the man I’m with, I shouldn’t be with him. I trusted Jonathan, and I was wrong. I trust you, and I know I’m right. You don’t lie, and that matters to me. I won’t lie to you, and we’ll be fine.”

“I’ve got more friends.”

Laughing, she linked her hands around his neck. “I bet you do.” She kissed him lightly, then lingered over it. “Are you going to stay?”

“Might as well.”

“Good. Let me put this work away.”

HE PUT EXTRA
time in most evenings, sometimes alone, sometimes with one brother or with both. If she didn’t have guests, they had dinner together, or went out somewhere, then stayed at his place.

She never left anything at his house, which he found strange. Women were always leaving little bits of themselves behind. But not Hope.

So maybe he picked up a bottle of the shower gel stuff she used to keep at his place. Hell, he liked the way she smelled, didn’t he? And he sprang for a couple new towels since his were heading toward ratty.

It wasn’t like he’d filled his place with flowers and smelly candles.

She stocked his beer, he stocked her shower stuff, and yeah, the wine she liked. No big deal. She didn’t make an issue out of it.

She didn’t bitch about the dog, and he’d been primed for that one. But she didn’t—hell, she’d bought Dumbass a bed and a toy so he’d be at home when they stayed over in her apartment.

He thought about that more than he should—more than he liked—that she didn’t do what he assumed she would.

The constant surprise of her kept him off-balance in a way he’d come to appreciate.

And he sure as hell appreciated she wasn’t the type who whined when work kept him tied up, as it did now.

He glanced around the bar side of MacT’s, pleased with the lay of the land, the gleam of the hardwood, the symmetry of the lights.

“When we get this bastard done,” he began as he and his brothers worked to finish the bar, “I want a Warrior’s Pizza. It’s Beckett’s turn to buy.”

“Can’t do it.” Beckett paused, swiped at his sweaty face. “I need to get home, give Clare a hand. She’s so freaking tired by the end of the day.”

“It’s Ry’s turn anyway,” Owen said. “And I could eat. Avery’s closing tonight, so it works out.”

“How’d it get to be my turn?”

“That’s how turns work. God, this bitch is big. And beautiful.”

With the last piece in place, they stepped back, admired the dark, lush gleam of mahogany, the detail of the panels they’d built and installed.

It still lacked the rail, the top—and the taps—but Ryder saw it as damn good work.

Owen ran his fingers over the side. “The way this is moving, we’ll have this place punched out in a week, week and a half, tops. It’s handy Ry’s stuck on the innkeeper and has to keep himself busy right here.”

“It’s looking good,” Beckett agreed. “Only downside is between all this work, and Ry keeping Hope so damn busy, we haven’t gotten as far on finding Billy as we thought we would.”

“It’s a lot to get through,” Owen reminded him. “We’re getting there. Lizzy’s old man managed to expunge a hell of a lot from official records. There are gaps. Jesus, what kind of father basically tries to erase his own kid?”

“The kind kids run away from,” Ryder said. “Like she did.”

“Owen? Are you in here? I saw the lights when . . .” Avery walked through the opening from restaurant to bar side, stopped dead. “Oh! Oh! The bar. You finished the bar. You made my bar! You didn’t tell me.”

“If you hadn’t been so nosy you’d have been surprised tomorrow. The top’s going on tomorrow. The counter guys are scheduled to do the insert in the morning.”

“It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.” She rushed in, ran her hands over it. “It feels beautiful.” Then she spun around, grabbed Owen, danced, spun to Beckett, then to Ryder. “Thank you, thank you! I have to see the back.”

She scurried around, made happy noises. “As beautiful from this side as the front. Oh, I wish Clare and Hope could see, right now! I can text Hope, tell her to come over.”

“She’s got people,” Ryder told her.

“It’ll only take a minute. I need a girl here. I can’t believe you got this done in here without me knowing,” she continued as she pulled out her phone.

“It wasn’t easy,” Owen admitted.

“But it was really sweet. She says she’ll be right here. It’s really happening. I have so much to do. Let me take a picture of the three of you in front of the bar.”

“I’ll take one of you and Owen in front of it,” Ryder said.

“The three of you first, you built it. Then one of me and Owen.”

They obliged her, with Owen going behind the bar as if tending.

“One more,” she murmured, and snapped.

“Now you, Red Hots.” Ryder picked her up, sat her on the front lip. “Don’t lean back or you’ll fall in.”

“I won’t.” In fact she leaned forward, resting an elbow on Owen’s shoulder as he came out to stand beside her.

“I’m going to put these up on Facebook right away. I want everybody to see—Owen.”

She held out her arms, wrapping around him as he helped her down.

“Jesus, if you need a room there’s a few of them right across the street.”

Ryder glanced over just as Hope lifted a hand to knock.

“I was about to come over before Avery texted me,” she began when he let her in. “I’ve got—Oh. You’ve finished the bar.”

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Avery stroked its side as she might a beloved pet. “My boyfriend and his brothers built it for me.”

“It’s a piece of art. Really. It’s wonderful. It’s wonderful in here. I love the colors, Avery, and the lights. The floor. Everything. You’re going to have an enormous hit.”

She stepped up, stood in the opening to study the restaurant side. “And you got the waitress station in. I couldn’t really visualize, but—”

“It’s in! I didn’t even see.” Avery leaped up, dashed through.

“You made her night,” Hope told Ryder.

“You’re revved about something else,” Ryder observed.

“It shows? I am revved. I found something in one of Catherine’s letters to a cousin. It was long, and full of family chat, comments about the war, a book she’d read that she’d hid from her father. And mixed in, I found this passage about Eliza.”

“Something new?” Owen asked.

“It talks about being worried because their father was arranging for Eliza to marry the son of a state senator. And Eliza was bucking him. It’s clear bucking wasn’t something her father tolerated. More, it talks about Eliza sneaking out at night to meet one of the stonemasons their father hired to build walls on the property.”

“A stonemason,” Owen considered. “Beneath her station, right? Daddy wouldn’t approve.”

“Catherine writes she’s afraid of what will happen if Eliza’s caught, but she won’t listen. She claims she’s in love.”

“Is there a name? Did she write his name?” Beckett demanded.

“No, at least I haven’t found it yet. But this has to be Billy. It has to be. She was in love, risking her father’s considerable wrath. They both were. The letter was written in May of 1862, just months before Lizzy came here. Months before Antietam. If we could just find some records of who worked on the estate, or find the names of stonemasons from this area . . .”

“If she came here, he was here,” Avery agreed. “Either lived here, or joined the fight and was sent here. It’s a good lead, Hope.”

“It’s the best we’ve had in weeks. Months, really. You can see it unfold, at least parts of it. Her father was strict and fierce, and women—daughters—were to do what they were told, marry who they were told to marry. She fell in love with someone he’d never approve of. She ran away, ran to him. Came here to wait for Billy. And died waiting.”

“It was a long way to come back then—New York to Maryland,” Beckett said, “and in wartime. She risked a lot.”

“She loved,” Hope said simply. “Enough to give up her family, her lifestyle, risk her safety. She’s been so quiet lately. I wonder if I tell her what I found, if she’d be able or willing to tell us more.”

“Worth a shot,” Owen agreed.

“Let’s go over now. Right now,” Avery insisted.

“I have guests, and one couple in E&D. I think this wouldn’t be the best time. Tomorrow. After checkout. I’ll try then.”

“I’ll come over. Eleven thirty?”

“Yes, good. I really think we’ve turned a corner. We’re closer to finding him. I have to get back.”

“I’ll walk you over.”

“All right.”

“Stay here,” Ryder told the dog.

“You didn’t have much to say,” Hope pointed out as they left.

“Thinking. Okay, you’re probably right, and he’s the stonemason she was messing around with. But without a name, it’s still a crapshoot.”

“We’ll get a name.” She wouldn’t give up until they did. “I have more letters, more papers to go through, and so does Owen. We’ll find it.” She turned to him at the door of Reception. “Try being positive.”

“It goes against the grain.”

“Don’t I know it.”

“Have you had dinner?”

“Not yet. I had a little time, so I started looking at the letters.”

“I can bring you something. Guests figure you eat.”

“All right, thanks. A dinner salad would be great. The Palace.”

“That’s it?”

“They’re huge.” She kissed him lightly. “Thanks. And the bar does look beautiful.”

“It’ll look better when they pull the tap and draw me a beer. I’ll bring your pitiful definition of dinner by in about an hour.”

“I’ll be here. Oh, and if you’re interested, I’m getting sticky buns from the bakery for breakfast.”

“I’ll be here, too.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

H
OPE BID GOOD-BYE TO THE LAST OF HER GUESTS. A
midnight storm had brought welcome rain the night before and left behind a sodden blanket of heat and humidity. She stood in it just a minute, looking across the lot, through the herd of trucks. She needed to find twenty minutes to get over there, update pictures of the fitness center’s progress for the website.

But this morning held other priorities.

She walked back in, to the kitchen where Carolee polished the granite island.

“We need supplies,” Carolee told her. “I know it’s on your to-do list, but I thought I might go ahead and get them now. She might be more comfortable with less people around.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You just try to find out. I’ll take the list and load us up. Justine’ll be around later, so you can fill us both in. Hope, what do you think’ll happen when you find Billy for her?”

“I don’t know. If she . . . passes over, well, I’m going to miss her.”

“I know what you mean. I like being able to talk out loud and not feel like I’m talking to myself. And feeling her around. You know what I mean.”

“I really do.”

“I won’t be too long.” Carolee got her purse, put the supply list inside. “Oh, where’s my head? When you started telling me about that letter this morning, I forgot to tell you the news. Justine’s hired the manager
and
the assistant manager for Fit.”

“She found someone? That’s great news. Did she find someone local?”

“Local as they come, and with plenty of experience, and according to Justine, with energy to spare.”

“That sounds like just what you’d want in a fitness center manager.”

“She’s got a way, Justine does”—Carolee gave Hope a one-armed hug—“of finding the perfect person for the right job. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

Alone, she took a breath. As she’d decided after considering all morning, she started for the stairs. Best to try this at Ground Zero.

Two steps past her office, the phone rang. She nearly let the machine pick up, then backtracked to answer.

“Good morning. Inn BoonsBoro.”

Twenty minutes later, she tried again. And Avery rushed in the door.

“I got hung up. Have you tried talking to her yet?”

“No, I got hung up myself. Do you know Myra Grimm?”

“Maybe. I know Brent Grimm. He works at Thompson’s, and he’s a regular at Vesta. I think Myra’s his older sister. Why?”

“She wants to book the inn for a small second-time-around wedding. I can tell you she divorced Mickey Shoebaker sixteen years ago, took her maiden name back, lives a couple miles outside of town and works at Bast Funeral Home.”

“Fortunately I haven’t needed to do business with her.”

“She met her future husband there three years ago when he buried his wife.”

“Huh. You wouldn’t think of funeral homes as hook-up parlors.”

“Love finds a way,” Hope said with a laugh. “Anyway, he popped the question, as she put it, and they want to get married here next month.”

“Moving fast.”

“They aren’t getting any younger, she tells me. Just a small wedding, maybe twenty or twenty-five people. In the afternoon. Details to follow.”

“A small second-time-around afternoon wedding,” Avery considered. “I could do some simple food, and Icing could do a cake.”

“I suggested both. She’s going to talk to her fiancé, but again, as she tells me, he’s fine with whatever she wants to do.”

“Handy for her.”

“She sounded giddy. It was sweet. Well.” She looked toward the stairs, then turned as Clare rapped on The Lobby door.

“I wanted to be here, if it’s all right. She helped me, and I thought maybe having us all together would help.”

“Good idea. Let’s go on up. E&D’s her favorite place, so we’ll try there.”

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Avery brought up the rear behind Clare. “But not spooky strange. It’s kind of like going to talk to a friend. One you don’t know all that well, really, but care about.”

“I’m learning more every day. She led such a restricted life. Not just because of the times, the culture, but her father was so stern, so hard-line. Do you know I haven’t found a single letter from Eliza in her sister’s things? There should have been. People wrote letters routinely back then.”

“The email of the nineteenth century,” Avery commented.

“Sisters would have written each other,” Clare agreed. “But if the father was so rigid, he may have destroyed any letters Lizzy wrote.”

“I think that may be it. There’s plenty of subtext in the letters I have read,” Hope continued. “Catherine feared him. It’s horrible, really, to imagine being afraid of your own father. And I think Catherine founded the school, once she was married and out from her father’s thumb, because of the way she and her sister were restricted. Catherine loved to read, and discovered a love of medicine during the war. She wanted to study, but that was out of the question.”

“So she founded a school so other girls could study.” Clare’s eyes went damp. “So other girls could pursue their dreams.”

“And Lizzy?” Hope added. “All she really wanted was to fall in love, get married, make a home, and raise a family. Everything her father expected of her, except for the first step because love didn’t enter into his plans for his daughters.”

She slipped the key in the lock, opened the door. “We had guests in here last night. The room hasn’t been serviced yet.”

“I think we’re okay with an unmade bed. Sit down, Clare,” Avery ordered.

“I’m fine.”

“Pregnant women should never turn down the opportunity to sit.”

“You’re right.” Clare lowered into the purple velvet chair. “Does she stay in here, do you think, when you have guests like last night?”

“It depends. Sometimes I feel her up in my apartment. Or in The Library if I go in to refill the whiskey decanter or restock the coffeemaker.”

“She spends time with you,” Avery added. “Tell us about the letter.”

“I told you.”

“Tell us again, and maybe you’ll be telling her, too.”

“There are hundreds of letters. My cousin and the school archivist made enormous efforts to find letters written to and by Catherine. The bulk of what they have and what I’ve had access to were written to her. Letters from friends, relatives, the governess she had as a child, her music master, and so on.”

Avery nodded, sat on the edge of the bed.

“There are letters from James Darby, the man she married, and several from her to him. They’ve been my favorites so far. In them you can see the evolution of their feelings for each other, the affection, the humor, the respect. He fell in love first, I think, and I think his loving her, understanding her, helped her discover herself.”

“Lucky for her,” Clare stated. “She married someone she loved, and who loved her.”

“I think they had a really good life,” Hope said. “He not only financed the bulk of the school she wanted to build, but came to share that vision with her. He was from a good family, financially and socially solid, so her father approved. But they loved each other. She was able to have a full life with the man she loved. It wasn’t a marriage based on fear or duty or convenience.”

When she caught the scent of honeysuckle, Hope eased down beside Avery. “Love opened her life. She loved her sister, but she was young, afraid, and didn’t know yet what it was to be in love. She kept her sister’s secret, as far as I can tell. And my sense of her, from the letters, is loyalty. I don’t believe she would have betrayed you. She wrote to your cousin Sarah Ellen. They were close to the same age, and she shared her heart, her thoughts, her joys and worries with her. She feared for you, if your father learned you were slipping away to meet Billy. He was a stonemason, working on your father’s estate. Is that right? You need to tell us if that’s right, so I can keep looking.”

She appeared in front of the door leading to the porch.

“He carved our initials into a stone. He showed me. Initials inside a heart in the stone. He put it into the wall, so it would last forever, and no one would know but the two of us.”

“What was his name?” Hope asked.

“He’s Billy. My Billy. I was riding, and went past where I was permitted, alone. Down to the stream, and he was there, fishing on a Sunday afternoon. He should not have been, and I should not have been. A brisk March afternoon, and the water in the stream pushing through the thawing ice.”

Lizzy closed her eyes as if looking back. “I could smell spring trying to break through winter, yet snow still lay in the shadows. The sky was winter gray, and the wind still bitter.”

Opening her eyes, she smiled. “But he was there, and it was no longer cold. I should never have spoken to him, nor he to me. But we knew as if we had always known. A look, a word, and hearts opened. Like in the novels Cathy would read me, and I would laugh at love at first sight.”

Hope wanted to speak, to interrupt. His name, just his name. But didn’t have the heart.

“We met when I could get away, and loved the rest of that cold March, into the blooming spring and to the lushness of summer.”

She held out a hand toward Hope. “You know. All of you know what it is to feel so strongly for someone. He worked with his hands, not with wood, as your loves do, but stone. This alone would make him unworthy in my father’s eyes. We knew it.”

“Did your father find out?” Hope asked.

“He would never believe or suspect I would defy him in such a way. He chose a husband for me, and I refused when I had never refused him. At first, it was as if I hadn’t spoken. He simply continued with his plans for the marriage. I continued to refuse, but, in truth, I would have had no choice. And the war . . .”

She turned to Clare. “You understand what war does to those who fight it, and to those who are left behind to wait and fear. He said he must fight, must go, or have no honor. I begged, but in this he would not be swayed. We would leave together, marry, and I would stay with his family until he came back for me.”

“Where was his family?” Avery prompted.

“Here?” Lizzy’s fingers worked at the high collar of her dress as she looked around. “Near? It fades. His face is clear, his voice, his touch. Hard hands. Hard and strong. Ryder.”

“Yes,” Hope murmured. “Strong, hard hands. You eloped with Billy?”

“I could not. That very night my father signed my marriage contract. I should have remained silent, but I shouted at him, I raged. I thought of Billy going to war, and I raged at my father. I would never marry but for love. He could beat me, lock me away, throw me away, and still I would not do what he demanded of me. So he did lock me away, in my room. He struck me.”

As if that memory remained all too fresh, Lizzy touched her cheek. “My mother took to her bed, and he struck me again, and dragged me to my room, locked me in. I could not get out, could not get away. Three days and nights, my father kept me locked in my room with only bread and water. I did what I should have done before. I told him I would obey. I asked his forgiveness. I lied and lied, and I waited for my chance. I left that house and my family, my sister whom I loved, so much, in the dead of night with what I could carry. I took the train to Philadelphia. So afraid, so excited. Going to Billy. I traveled by coach. So hot. Such a hot summer. I was ill. I wrote . . . to his mother. I think. It fades. I wrote, and I came here. He was here.”

“Billy came here?” Hope asked her.

“Near. He was coming. I could hear the cannon fire, but I was so ill. He was coming. He promised. I’m waiting.”

“Eliza, I need his name. His full formal name.” Hope got to her feet. “He was William.”

“No. He was Billy, but Joseph William. He would build us a house, with his own hands. Will your Ryder build you a house?”

“He has a house. Eliza—”

“And a dog. We would have dogs. I left my dogs and my home and my family. But we would have dogs and a home and make a family. I think I was with child.”

“Oh God,” Avery murmured.

“I think . . . Women know. Is that true?” she asked Clare.

“I think it is.”

“I never told him. I only began to know when I came here. Then the heat, and the sickness. And it fades. It’s too long.” She held out a hand they could see through. “It all fades.”

“Oh, don’t—” Hope began, but Lizzy faded away like her hand.

“Pregnant and alone and sick, while the man she loved went off to war.” Avery rose to crouch by Clare’s chair, lean her cheek on Clare’s hand.

“It wasn’t like that for me. I was never alone. I had family who loved me. But yes, I can understand how frightened she must have been, and God, how determined. To leave everything with only what she could carry, to come to a strange place—and to realize she was carrying a child.”

“Then to lie in bed, sick and dying, listening to cannon fire. He fought at Antietam,” Hope said. “I’m sure of it. He was near, and he was a soldier.”

“His family was near, too,” Avery reminded her. “And we’re not looking for a William, but a Joseph William. Maybe Williams? Would they have called him Billy?”

“I don’t know, but having a potential first and middle name, or a potential first and last, is going to help.”