All for Hope

by Olivia Hardin

  She wondered when they had grown up, when life had become something other than a fairy tale she was expecting to sweep her off to happy ever after. She could sense Brennan was getting impatient. It was almost comical that he would be in a hurry for the shackles of marriage when he’d spent most of his adolescence fighting any sort of true commitment.

  Christmas Day finally arrived, and after attending church services, the family gathered in the living area to decorate the tree. Hope noticed immediately that Kay wasn’t there, and she knew she’d likely ruined the family's Christmas. She forced a smile when Sir James motioned her to sit beside him, and she quickly curled up on the floor with Michelle on her lap.

  “I love watching the children open presents. It’s amazing to see the wonder in a child's eyes. Christmas brings more blessings than most people realize.” He grinned, watching as Jeremy passed gifts around the room.

  Hope set aside her own gifts and made a pile of the numerous ones for Michelle in front of her. The baby screeched with glee at the bright, colorful wrapping paper and ribbons. Sadness rippled through her. This was Michelle’s first Christmas, and Justine wouldn’t see it. So many firsts her friend would miss with her daughter.

  Thoughts of Justine brought to mind to her own parents, and a stabbing pain pierced her chest. She had never missed a holiday with her family. This would be her mother’s first Christmas without either of her daughters, and guilt crept up to replace the hurt in Hope’s heart. Was all of this worth it?

  As if in answer, Sir James chuckled behind her, squeezing her shoulder.

  She turned to face him and gave him a sympathetic gaze.

  “I'm sorry about the trouble we've caused with Kay—”

  “Cider anyone?” Kay's deep voice resonated, and Hope swiveled quickly.

  James laughed boisterously, shaking her shoulders. “Trouble? Hah! Merry Christmas, everyone.”

  Meg and Jeremy’s children took their grandfather’s words as their cue, and paper and bows went flying. Gasps filled the room as everyone tore into their gifts. Hope was amazed at the wholesomeness of the celebration. One would think that a family with such wealth would enjoy a superficial Christmas, but the gifts were not overly extravagant, and clearly had each been chosen with love.

  For the moment, all doubt evaporated as Hope allowed herself to get lost in the festivities. From across the room, Brennan chatted with his cousin but spared a glance at her. He winked and tossed her the same grin that used to turn her inside out. She shook her head with an upturned eyebrow.

  No used to about it, she thought. That smile still turns me inside out.

  Brennan heard the front door to the cottage open, followed by a loud smack and a bang. He knew the sound. Whenever Hope had her hands full, she would kick the door closed with one of her feet before trudging into one of the rooms to set down her groceries or whatever was in her arms.

  He sighed and looked over through the kitchen to Michelle’s bedroom. There was no movement of shadows, so he knew the little one was still down for her nap.

  “Need any help?” he called out, wiping his hands on a rag and making his way up from the floor where he’d been checking the leaking kitchen faucet.

  “No,” she replied from the bedroom. “But wait until you see what I’ve got.”

  He approached her from behind, slipping his arms around her waist to kiss her cheek. She had a large box in front of her and before he could even say another word, she was ripping away the tape and labels to get at its contents.

  “How did you get this?” he asked, the words rushing and with a tone of accusation he couldn’t seem to stop.

  She chuckled with a glance at him over her shoulder. “We talked about it, Bren. Remember I said I wanted Mark to have a way to get in touch with me, especially for an emergency? I opened a P.O. Box in the next county. I told him I’d check it from time to time. He sent this in time for Christmas, but I hadn’t been by—”

  Buried amidst the packing was a large envelope with the words: Merry Christmas, Love Mark. Brennan felt his stomach drop, and he stepped away from her, releasing his hold on her. She didn’t notice; she just set the envelope aside and continued digging into the box.

  Inside were three wrapped gifts: one from her mother, her father, and one from Mark. Hope was chattering, but he wasn’t listening. He vaguely noticed each gift. From her mother, a thick coat and mittens. From her father, her diary and her grandmother's Bible. The third box, from Mark, contained a charm bracelet with a trinket that said “Mother”.

  Hope began to cry, and Brennan clenched his fists at his sides, digging his fingernails into his palms. He watched her narrowly as she turned, plopped her rear onto the bed and draped the bracelet across her wrist to hold it up in the light.

  She inhaled a deep breath and slowly opened Mark's letter. He might not have even been in the room as she read the words, the expression on her face radiant with affection. A few moments passed, and she folded the pages and inhaled with her eyes closed.

  “My parents are so sweet,” she said. “Mom worrying about how cold it must be wherever I am. Geez.”

  When her eyes finally met his, she blinked and frowned in confusion.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He slipped past her and picked up the discarded note from Mark Terrance. Without asking, he opened the letter and read the contents.

  Hope,

  I pray that you and Brennan and Michelle are still as well and as happy as you seemed in your last letter. It was an enormous relief to finally hear from you again. Everyone loved their gifts, especially my sons. They believed they were gifts from me. I chose not to tell Cindy about you. I just don't believe she would be able to keep it hidden. I love her dearly, but stealth is not her forte.

  Your mom was worried about how cold it might be where you are hiding. Your parents asked me about Brennan. I can't give them many answers. You know I never thought he was worth much, but when he called me that day and said he was going after you, I could have kissed him. I wanted to do more to help you. I wanted to go after you. He was the one who found the courage to do it.

  I hope your Christmas is beautiful. I'm sure Michelle is enjoying herself. Did this package reach you by Christmas day? I want to think that it did, but I can't be sure. The charm bracelet was one that my children wanted to get for their mother. It suited you more, though and so I convinced them to get something else for Cindy.

  You were made to be a mother, and I sometimes laugh at the irony of the dire situation that finally made you one. Just keep your amazing faith and everything will work out.

  I suppose I should stop now. I feel like I could go on forever, I have so many things to tell you. We'll be writing to each other for a long time so I suppose I don't have to hurry. Just be careful and remember, I love you.

  Love,

  Mark

  Brennan wanted to crumple the letter in his hand, but instead he folded it neatly, forced a smile and left the room. He could feel Hope’s eyes watching him, burning into his back. He fully expected her to question him, but as luck would have it, Michelle awoke at that moment.

  He recalled their conversation about Mark not long after they started this journey together.

  Are you in love with him? he’d asked.

  No. Maybe. I don’t know really.

  He hadn’t liked the answer at that time, but now that he’d invested all of his heart in her, offered her all that he had to give, he certainly didn’t like it any more. She had been in love with Brennan once, so much in love that she had asked him to leave her forever so that she could get over him. But when he’d left her, who was there to fill in the void? Mark Terrance.

  After retrieving the baby from her crib, Hope joined him in the kitchen where he was back at work under the sink, banging and knocking tools around in frustration.

  “Like I said, my parents are funny. I'm sure it's my virtue that has them worried.” She laughed, a nervous sound, and he knew she was trying to break the tension.r />
  He peeked his head out to look at her,

  “Will you tell them about the wedding?” He studied her expression, watching her eyes widen then narrow.

  “They would only try to find me. I'll write to Mark after we're married.”

  “And when will that be?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  The response was quick, with barely a breath between his question and her answer.

  She stared into his eyes without blinking.

  He met the gaze and waited. After a few moments he dropped his pipe wrench and groaned as he used his arms to pull himself from under the cabinets.

  “Tomorrow, what?” he asked, placing his hands upon her shoulders.

  “I’ll marry you tomorrow. I’ve given you every chance to change your mind and you’re still here. I figure that means you’re serious.”

  He stood, approached her and took her face in his hands. Slowly he kissed her, pressing his lips to hers with a feather soft touch. When Brennan pulled back, he studied her eyes before speaking again.

  “Even though it probably seemed like it at times, I never meant to play games with you, Hope. I’m as serious about making you my wife as I’ve ever been about anything.”

  Her eyes glistened with moisture, though they didn’t completely well with tears.

  “Mark’s just a friend, Brennan. You know that, right?”

  The icky feeling of being foolish spread through his veins, and he grunted with a shake of his head. “Yeah, I know.”

  He settled back onto his rear end beside the kitchen sink and was just about to dive back into the plumbing job when he glanced up at her. He could see the look by the look on her face that she probably did know and that included the fact that he was feeling jealous about her friend. The “loser” feeling throbbed through his limbs.

  When Hope pulled up a chair and settled Michelle on her lap, he could see seriousness alter the lines of her face. Her cheekbones sharpened as she pursed her lips tight before speaking.

  “If we’re really going to do this, I should probably tell you something.”

  Brennan leaned back against the cabinet with legs bent and settled his forearms against his knees to listen.

  “You asked about what it was that happened to me. The thing that I said Mark stood by me through?”

  “Yes.”

  “Before I started volunteering at the shelter, I met a lady who worked in the building with Mark and me. She was a janitor, and she was also an addict. I sort of took up counseling her. I was just too stupid to realize she didn't really want help. Still, I wouldn’t give up, and I kept pushing, trying to convince her she needed to do what was best for her son. That he needed a mama that would be there for him.”

  Hope paused, combing her fingers through the wispy locks of Michelle’s blonde hair. Her hand cupped the baby’s cheek, delicate in its movements as she leaned forward to plant a kiss on the little one’s ear. He watched her close her eyes and inhale, and he knew how special that baby scent was when he saw her smile.

  “So one day she came to my house with a little boy in her arms. She told me to keep him. He was about two, and she said she didn't want him anymore. She said I was right that he needed a good mama and that she wanted me to take him.”

  A deep sigh rushed from her lips, and she glanced out the window of the cottage, lost in thought. “He was so beautiful. Cocoa colored skin and blue eyes—so striking. I did everything legal, of course. Thomas lived with me for six months, and I was just working with protective services on the adoption when his father showed up. I asked for visitation but his father—his father said he didn't want a white woman playing mother to his boy. I probably made a nuisance of myself because I just couldn’t let him go. Thomas’s father had a restraining order put on me. I never saw him again.”

  “Oh Hope.” He didn’t know what to say to that, so he let his words trail off as he ran his hands through his hair, helpless.

  “That was when I first learned that the system doesn't always work. That was why I took Michelle rather than waiting for the courts to save her. The judiciary system is one place I cannot, will not put my trust.”

  “I'm glad you told me. It's cleared up a lot of things in my mind.”

  “What things?” Hope asked as she stood.

  “Kidnapping a baby just wasn't in your personality. At least not in the personality of the Hope I thought I knew. I guess I was wrong about some things?”

  “Some things?” She grinned in mock astonishment.

  “Some things,” he enunciated with a laugh. “Don't push me, soon-to-be Mrs. Rawley.”

  “Yes, Mr. Rawley.”

  Guillory’s gut told him something was off the moment he stepped into the hotel room. For one, the guy was “tweaking,” meaning he was spastic and frantic in his movements, a sign that he was likely high on methamphetamine. Even without the probable drug use, there was something about a liar that he could just sniff out.

  Gerald “G-man” Traylor claimed he was a victim. Both lips were bleeding and split open. His right eye was swollen to the point that he likely couldn’t see out of it and there was a gash at the back of his head. He said “some dude” forced his way into the room and demanded all of his money.

  “Bro, I was just tryin’ to defend myself, ya’ know what I mean? He was knocking my head against the wall and I was like ‘pow.’” He jabbed his left fist in a form that would likely sicken a prize fighter. “And he was like ‘bam’ and he just kept hitting me, dude. I thought I was gonna die, bro.”

  “What were you doing before he forced his way into the room? You said you were watching television, but were you having a bite to eat, a drink—” He waited, leaning his head forward in anticipation of more information.

  “Nah, man, I ain’t ate nothin’ tonight. I’m ‘bout to get me some groceries soon as we get this cleared up.”

  Guillory nodded, and glanced around the room. “Lotta blood there.” He glanced at the bright drops along the floor, leading towards the hotel door. “You sure you don’t want paramedics?”

  “I’m a’ight,” G-man insisted, gesticulating with both hands in wild movements. “So whadya think, bro? You gonna get my money back, you think? You gonna find the dude?”

  “How much did you say he took again?” The officer glanced at his notes. One hundred fifty seven dollars.

  “One.” The guy held up one finger, waving it in front of Guillory. “Five.” One hand with five digits waving. “Seven, bro.” The other hand joined the first with two fingers pointing in Guillory’s direction.

  “Huh.” Guillory pondered. “Funny, we just picked up a guy about a block from here. He just happened to have $157.00 in cash on him. He also had a knife stuck in his ribs.”

  G-man’s face paled a bit, but he didn’t calm down any. “Yeah? Seriously, bro. You think he’s the dude that robbed me?”

  “Do you have your car keys with you, Mr. Traylor?”

  “There, man, on the bed.”

  Gerald Traylor was not the sharpest tack in the box. His keys had a carabiner clip like the ones mountain climbers use. Guillory leaned forward and saw the manufacturer’s name on the clip. The same name they’d found on the knife embedded in the “dude” with the $157.00. The knife with an o-ring that was pulled apart indicating it was ripped away from its clip. The guy wasn’t seriously injured, but he did have a much different story than G-man.

  Surprise, surprise. A drug deal gone bad was at the center of this entire affair.

  “I think we’d better go down the station and figure this out, bro,” Guillory told G-man, and before the perp could argue, a uniformed cop came inside to escort him from the room.

  The days were ticking by in agonizing slowness for Robert Guillory. Retirement couldn’t come soon enough for him. He was tired of the game, the constant circle of painstaking investigations getting ripped apart by criminal attorneys who knew how to play the law. He was sick of the laws that were more intent on protecting the criminal than th
e community. Overall, he was just tired.

  When his cell phone rang, he flipped open his belt harness and put it to his ear with an irritated “H’llo.”

  “What’s the matter, Sergeant Friday? Long day in the field? You are still on the job, right?”

  “You’re such a prick, Pollard,” he said to his friend even as he gave the room one last look over and headed to his car.

  The caller’s voice turned low as if he was revealing a dark secret. “I may be a prick, but I found her for you, Rob.”

  Officer Guillory stopped in mid-stride and dropped his head back to look at the clear, starry sky. Twenty days. He had twenty days until retirement. Was he really going to find a way to close the Sheffield case before he left the force?

  “You’re sure, Johnny? It’s her?”

  Johnny laughed, a harsh, gravelly sound. A remnant of all the cigarettes Pollard used to smoke. “Hell, yes, I’m sure. I found her. Baby, husband and all.”

  The marriage didn’t take place the day after Hope’s package arrived from Mark, but within ten days, they were Mr. and Mrs. Brennan Rawley. Brennan’s Uncle James arranged for the minister and also for the conveniently “lost” marriage certificate. In order to relieve Hope’s worry, it was decided the marriage certificate wouldn’t be recorded into the public record.

  Although the threesome – Hope, Brennan and Michelle – were living in the cottage, they spent their days at the manor as often as not. Uncle James and Jeremy would be leaving toward the end of spring to spend the summer months attending to estate matters in Durma, so the family decided to enjoy as much of the time together as possible.