“Beg pardon. But I was here when you stepped out. If you’d turned your head you would have seen me.”
Something about his grim tone raised Hope’s suspicions. “How long were you standing there?”
“Long enough to hear your plans. And may I say I am disappointed in your proposition to a stranger?”
“Why, Francis!” In all of his years of service, the servant had never once hinted at insolence. Still, given his longstanding status in the house, she felt he deserved an explanation. “The wagon master will not grant us a place on the wagon train unless I’m married. Even a male servant doesn’t qualify us.”
He looked insulted. Hope hurried to clarify. “It isn’t your age. Trust me. It’s my marital status. Some hogwash about company policy not allowing single women to travel alone.”
“But you’d not be alone. The children and I are accompanying you.”
“Trying to reason with the wagon master was like appealing to the backside of a horse. He refused to waver.”
“Then might I make an alternate suggestion?” Francis ducked his head, but not before Hope noticed his face had suddenly gone red. He twisted his hat in his gnarled hands.
Placing her hand on his arm, she smiled fondly. “What is it, Francis?”
His faded green eyes met hers. “I know I’m not nearly good enough for a woman such as yourself, but rather than giving your hand in marriage to a stranger you found in the gutter. . .” He swallowed hard. “I’d like to offer myself to you.”
A gasp escaped, despite efforts to prevent it. Hope stared in disbelief at the aging servant. “What do you mean?”
“I’m asking you to marry me. Surely you see that it would be better than joining yourself to that man.” He jerked his head toward the door and the lines in his face crunched together into a scowl.
“Oh, Francis.” Although she knew in her heart that any marriage, to Francis or Mr. Riley, would be a farce, she needed someone who could help her build a home and get a good start on a farm. Francis hadn’t lived on a farm in forty years. He would never do. But how did she tell the dear man such a thing without destroying his pride?
She lifted her gaze to his. His eyes flickered with. . .was that anger? Surely, she was mistaken. In his years of service, she’d never seen Francis angry. She glanced again. The careful mask of deference had returned.
“I understand, ma’am. No need for you to say anything else. I beg your pardon for forgetting my place.” Giving her no chance to respond, he inclined his head and walked away.
With some regret, Hope watched the set of his shoulders. She’d wounded his pride. Thankfully, not his heart.
Releasing a weary sigh, she pressed the back of her hand to her forehead. Now what was she going to do about those twins? They’d disobeyed by going into Mr. Riley’s room while she was out attending to business. She’d gone to find Mr. Dobson and pay the two hundred dollars. Otherwise, she feared the men might break in and slice Mr. Riley’s throat while he slept. This was the only way to ensure he would be alive long enough to be of any service to her.
She’d long since given up on the notion of marrying for love. Her first marriage had been to a man twice her age. Her dying father’s wish in order to secure her financial future—marry his best friend and business partner. A man she’d grown up calling “uncle” and his first wife “aunt” before her untimely death.
Silas had been a wonderful uncle but a notsowonderful husband. He was stingy and emotionally cold. She’d never fancied herself in love. But his stinginess had paid off handsomely. She now had her father’s inheritance as well as her husband’s, and she would never want for anything. Anything but the love of a strong, good man. Since her husband’s death, she’d received gentlemen’s attentions from time to time. But her bank account was the obvious draw.
Mr. Riley seemed riddled with emotional pain, and he was a drunken gambler to be sure. But, perhaps, the heart he’d shown beneath the shaggy beard and filth was as big as it seemed. If only he’d have pity on her plight and agree to the marriage. . . .
If she were a praying woman, now would be the time she’d beg for mercy. Instead, she left the prayer unsaid and simply put her hope in Mr. Riley’s desire to live. If he indeed had that desire. For now, he didn’t need to know he was safe from harm. He only had to realize they needed each other. She’d been used enough by men seeking her fortune. For once, she would use a man to give her what she wanted—a future for her children.
Four
The second full day Andy lay in bed, he began to shake. By the third evening, he needed a drink so badly, he clutched his bruised side and climbed out of bed in the dead of night. He tiptoed through the house barefoot in search of something to calm his nerves.
Mrs. Parker had confessed to not being a religious woman, so where was the polite drink of society? Brandy, rum, even wine? He slid his tongue across cracked lips in anticipation.
Wrapped in a blanket to cover his long johns, he shuffled through the house from room to room. After a frustrating search, he bit back a groan. Not a drop was to be found. No decanters filled with the ambercolored liquid that would make the shaking stop, the pain lessen, and the fear of death ease.
Releasing a heavy breath, he headed back to the stairs, tears of need filling his eyes. Slowly and deliberately, he climbed the steps, each foot forward sending waves of pain through his body. If only he’d found the drink, the pain would have been worth it. As it was, Andy could only keep his attention focused on the soft bed awaiting him when he reached the top of the stairs.
“Shh. You’re gonna wake everyone up.”
Andy’s ears perked up at the whispers coming from beyond the door at the top of the steps.
“Hurry up. We ain’t got all night.”
Senses alerted, Andy forgot about his need for a drink. His hands stopped shaking and all of his instincts reacted to the situation.
Though he’d yet to see Mrs. Parker’s troublesome son, Gregory, it didn’t take a scholar to realize what was happening. The boy was sneaking out again.
In a flash, Andy twisted the knob and flung open the door.
Scrambling ensued.
“Hurry, Greg,” a boy shouted and dove through the open window.
Forgetting his injuries—and his blanket, Andy hurried toward the window before Gregory could follow suit. He grabbed the boy by the collar and held him fast, despite the kicking and fighting. “Let go of me!”
“Not until you simmer down.”
When Gregory landed a punch in his ribs, Andy roared in pain and dropped him to the floor. “Why you little. . .”
Light from the full moon shone into the room, illuminating Gregory’s sneer. His face twisted in the kind of look Andy’s ma would have taken a switch to him for. Andy almost wished for a nearby woodshed. This child needed it badly.
“You stink, Mister.”
“Gregory!” Hope’s horrified voice admonished from the doorway. Andy swung around, wincing, and met Hope’s gaze in the dimly lit room. She stood in her robe and nightgown, a candle in her hand. Pink toes peeked from beneath her gown, and her chest rose and fell as though she’d been running.
“Oh!”
Heat crawled up Andy’s neck as Hope averted her gaze and held out the blanket he’d flung off in his effort to apprehend the boy.
Taking the cover, he wrapped himself up. The pain around his middle nearly robbed him of breath and he groaned.
“Come, Mr. Riley,” Hope said, her tone gentle. “Let’s get you back to bed. You must be in a lot of pain.” She turned to her son. “Gregory, take Mr. Riley’s other side and let him lean on you if necessary.”
“I ain’t getting nowhere near him. He stinks like a dog.” He scrunched his nose. “Worse than a dog.”
Hope whipped around. “Keep your opinions to yourself and obey me immediately.” Her sharp tone surprised Andy. Apparently, the terseness surprised the boy, as well, for he pulled himself off the floor and stalked to Andy’s side. He glar
ed up at him and pinched his nose.
“Don’t worry, boy,” Andy said wryly. “I can make it on my own.”
“Good.” Gregory flopped onto his bed.
Hope strode to the open window and shut it firmly. Tears glistened in her eyes.
Andy swallowed hard at the look of pain on the woman’s face. The same look he’d seen on his own ma’s face enough times—the look he’d caused just as Gregory was causing it now.
“You stay put,” he said to Gregory. “I’m keeping an ear out for you and if I so much as hear you get up to use the privy, I’ll be in here so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
Gregory shot from the bed. “I ain’t scared of you.”
Andy eyed the lad, recognizing the challenge in his stance, his tone, and the snarl marring his countenance. It wouldn’t take much to put Gregory in his place. A wellaimed clap to the side of his head, a shove backward. But Andy knew humiliation would only make him more resentful.
Knowing he at least had to get his bluff in on the boy, Andy kept his tone deliberately calm and leveled a gaze at the belligerent youth glaring back at him. “I’m glad to hear that. Perhaps you’ll mind your manners and obey your ma out of respect then. But just in case you’re inclined to try and sneak out again, remember that just one door down is a man four times your size who will tan your hide if you try it.”
“Now wait just a minute—” Hope spoke up, outrage clear in her tone.
Andy silenced her with a wellplaced look and she hushed, taking a step back.
“Ma, are you going to let him—”
Holding his breath, Andy watched the conflicting emotions flash across her face. He hoped she’d trust him and back him up, because if she didn’t, there was no way he could help her son.
She darted a gaze at Andy, then back to Greg. Her shoulders rose and fell with her breath, and she nodded. “Yes, I am. Now get yourself ready for bed.” Her voice was stern, but Andy detected a slight tremble. “You will leave your door wide open, as will Mr. Riley. If he hears you move about, he will do as he’s promised. With my blessing and thanks. Perhaps I will have one night of peaceful sleep knowing that Mr. Riley will not allow you to sneak out and roam the streets like a common hoodlum.”
Gregory’s jaw dropped open then he fixed a venomous gaze on Andy. “I won’t try to sneak out.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll say good night now.” With a nod, Andy exited the room. As he shuffled down the hall, he heard Greg’s voice, filled with betrayal. “Would you really let him whip me, Ma?”
“Son, I will do whatever it takes to make sure you do not ruin your life. You will be a man worthy of decent people if
I have to tie you to your bed every night.”
“But it ain’t fair.”
“Isn’t fair,” she gently corrected. “Fair is for children who have proven themselves trustworthy. Unfortunately, you have shown nothing but disrespect, disobedience, and you’ve demonstrated an utter lack of conscience in regard to the law. I have no choice but to deal harshly with you. No matter how it pains me to do so.”
Andy didn’t hear the reply, but before he reached his bed, he’d finally made a decision. Hope Parker was a fine woman. He had nothing to lose by agreeing to the arrangement. And, for once, maybe he could do something good for someone.
Truth be told, he missed his family in Oregon, and after witnessing Gregory’s bad behavior, he felt the need to try to make it up to his ma for all the pain he’d caused her in his thirtyfive years on earth. Perhaps the year spent teaching Hope and her children to farm would give him that chance. He’d marry Hope, work to make a real man of her son, and try to find a reason to live again.
❧
Hold them steady, Greg. Those horses are going to run away with you otherwise.”
“You hold them steady.” Greg shoved the reins into Andy’s hands. “Why do I have to learn to drive the wagon when I have a driver to do it?”
Andy gathered a slow breath and gave the leather straps back to Gregory. “Because, on the trail everyone has to do their share. Francis’ll be driving the supply wagon, I’ll be riding horseback most of the time, and your ma will be driving the other wagon. Like it or not, you’re going to have to drive the third wagon. Now lace those reins between your fingers like this.”
Hope watched the exchange between Gregory and her new husband with frustration. The boy simply wouldn’t cooperate. And it was obvious Andy was losing patience.
They had arrived by riverboat two days ago after six weeks of whirlwind planning and packing everything they could take with them. She had left her estate in the hands of her attorney and friend, to be sold when she was settled and positive it would all work out.
They had secured a place in the wagon train and, with Andy’s expert advice, Hope purchased all the supplies they would need for the trail. Now, only four days before the train pulled out, Hope’s body already ached from the days of preparation and learning to handle a team of horses.
Thankfully, she’d brought Mrs. Smythe along to do the cooking. At least Hope wouldn’t have to learn to cook over an open fire.
The thought of traveling two thousand miles across Indian lands and treacherous terrain filled her with a variety of emotions. Mostly fear. But a glimmer of expectancy rose when she envisioned the end of the trail, her boy growing strong and manly in a place absent the influences he so easily succumbed to in Chicago.
With only a few more days until they pulled out, it seemed as though they’d never get everything ready in time. Hope had located four seamstresses who were willing to work their fingers to the bone in order to supply them with durable clothing that would last until they reached their destination.
Hope chewed her lip at the thought of what might happen if the clothing didn’t last. She had only rudimentary skills with a needle. She could fix a hem or patch a hole, but those were the extent of her talents. After all, she’d always had her clothing made for her.
Once again, she breathed a sigh of relief that Mrs. Smythe would be accompanying her on the trail.
“My hands are starting to hurt!”
The whine from Gregory brought Hope back to the situation at hand. She sighed.
“They’ll callus over.” Andy’s stonelike face left no question in her mind that he was fed up. She knew full well most men would have clapped the boy’s ears by now, but Andy hadn’t raised a hand. She admired and appreciated his restraint.
But that wasn’t all she admired about this man who had stood with her before a preacher only a few short weeks ago. She knew the marriage was a sham, but that knowledge alone didn’t stop her heart from skipping a beat when he stood close to her.
Now that his bruises had faded and the color had returned to his face, he was more handsome than she’d dared believe possible. If she’d known what a goodlooking man he was underneath the filth and swelling, she might not have had the gumption to ask him to marry her.
Even now, with his face twisted into a scowl, he cut an amazingly attractive figure as he stomped his way toward her. She couldn’t help but admire him. He stood taller than any man she’d ever known, a good sixfootthree or sixfootfour, she’d guess. Being a tall woman, she was used to staring eye to eye with most men. Standing next to Andy made her feel feminine, protected almost, and she liked that feeling.
“The boy won’t cooperate,” he growled. “I’m wasting my time.”
“I understand, Mr. Riley.” And, indeed, who could blame him?
He seemed to lose his thunder before her calm response. The angry creases on his face relaxed. He rubbed his hand over his stubbly jaw. “All right. I have one more idea, but if it doesn’t work, I’m through trying.”
“Thank you.”
Without another glance at her, he closed the distance between himself and the retreating boy in a matter of seconds. Hope strained to hear what they were saying, but it was no use; they were too far away. Her brow lifted in surprise when she saw a slow grin spread across Gregory’s face. The bo
y hopped effortlessly into the wagon seat and grabbed the reins.
Making a mental note to ask Andy about the sudden change, she left the men to their lessons and went to find Mrs. Smythe to see what was on tonight’s menu. Maybe she’d even lie down a bit before the evening meal.
She walked along the line of wagons, and her stomach twisted in excitement. So far, she hadn’t thought much about what the journey might mean for her. She’d been too concerned with removing Gregory from a bad influence. But as she envisioned the lush green fields and snowcapped mountains, her excitement grew.
Perhaps the journey would be a new start for her, as well. A chance to be more than a rich young daughter, wife, or widow. Perhaps she could find something she was good at, something worthy of admiration.
Approaching her own fire she smiled brightly at Mrs. Smythe, who unbent before the pot she’d been stirring.
“Hello, Mrs. Smythe. Supper smells delicious.”
The woman met her greeting with a grim nod.
A foreboding premonition slithered through Hope, pushing her optimism into a distant memory.
“What’s wrong?”
“My back’s killing me, ma’am.”
“Oh, Mrs. Smythe, I’m so sorry to hear that. But Mr. Riley says we’ll all toughen up in a few days.”
The woman shook her head. “I can’t do it, Miz Parker. I hate to pull out on you like this, but I can’t go to Oregon.”
Swallowing hard, Hope tried to process the statement. “Wh–what do you mean? Where will I find another cook on such short notice?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. You’ve been good to me over the years and I hate to let you down. But I don’t want to spend my last years cutting out a new land. That’s for young people, such as you and your new man. Pioneering isn’t for old women like me.”
“But who’s going to cook for my family?” The wretched news had a stranglehold on Hope’s throat and her words barely rose above a hoarse whisper.
The cook’s expression softened to compassion and she patted Hope’s hand.
“You’re one mighty determined woman, honey. If you can pull up stakes and leave all that luxury for months on the trail when only the good Lord knows what you’re going to find on the other side, you can surely learn to cook. And in the meantime, your family will just have to eat what you put in front of them until it gets better.”
Everlasting Hope Page 3