Vestige of Hope

by Sara Blackard

  “In the past, they haven’t stuck around very long,” Viola replied. “We’d see them one day, then not see hide or hair of them for months.”

  “Just because you didn’t see them didn’t mean they weren’t there,” Hunter said. “Linc seemed adamant that you were his, and someone that obsessed is liable to stalk in the bushes and spy on you. He may have been watching you for days.”

  Viola shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. The idea of Linc watching her caused vomit to rise into her throat. She peeked at Hunter and wished she could move closer to him, have him wrap his arm around her.

  “So he’s skulking around,” Beatrice said. “That’ll make it that much easier to put an end to him when he messes up. I say we take this fight to him. Both Viola and I can ghost around in the woods. We can track them come morning and finish this by tomorrow evening.”

  Hunter shook his head. “It’s not that easy, Bea. We can’t know where he is after all this time. He could have circled around and is watching as we speak. If we go after him, that’ll make it that much easier to take us out one at a time until he gets what he wants. Viola and, we’re assuming, your mine.”

  Hunter pushed his hand through his hair. Frustration fairly pulsed from him. Viola reached her hand over and patted his where it clenched on the table. He quickly grabbed her fingers and held them, his thumb running over her knuckles.

  “If there were more of us, it wouldn’t be a big deal,” Hunter said. “We could go off in pairs and be kind of safe, or we could go confront them head on and probably come out on top. But with only the three of us, I don’t like the odds. No. Until Orlando gets here to back us up, we stick together. No one is alone out of the house, ever.”

  Beatrice’s mouth fell open, and she shook her head. Viola knew Hunter’s plan would chap Beatrice’s hide, but it would be necessary.

  “Ever, Bea,” Hunter insisted. “If we need to go to the barn, either we all go, or the one who stays behind bars the door. Have to use the outhouse? Guess what? The buddy system never lets you down. That way the Sweeneys can’t get any of us alone. I’d rather we all go, but I’m hoping that the bar on the door will keep them out. Whoever is inside can look through the peephole before opening the door.”

  “I can’t do it,” Beatrice retorted. “The Sweeneys won’t get the drop on me, and I’m not giving up my freedom.”

  “Would you rather die?” Viola asked, anger at her sister’s selfishness making the words come out harsh. “What if they kill you? What if they take you as a warning or for ransom? I can’t think of you not being here or getting hurt because of me. No, Beatrice, you will do as Hunter says. He knows what he’s doing. And when it’s time to act, he won’t hesitate to include us in the plan.”

  Beatrice stood up so fast her chair crashed over behind her. As she stormed out of the house she ranted, “If we hunt down those skunks like I said, then we wouldn’t have to worry about them anymore.”

  Viola turned, pulled her hand from Hunter’s, and sighed. As she moved to stand, he motioned for her to stop. He stood up and moved to leave.

  “Bar the door,” he said. “I’ll go see if I can cool her down.”

  Viola nodded, knowing she should talk to Beatrice herself, but not having the energy to do so. Maybe Hunter could get Beatrice to listen. All Viola knew was that if she tried to talk to Beatrice right now, she was liable to just get angrier. So she lifted the bar into place and went to clean the supper dishes, praying that God would give Hunter the wisdom needed to deal with her stubborn sister.

  Hunter walked to the barn. The chinking and logs did nothing to block the banging and furious one-sided conversation taking place among the animals. He understood Beatrice’s frustration. He wanted nothing more than to take the fight to the Sweeneys, and he knew he and the ladies might even get the drop on them. Yet to do so would put everyone in even greater danger. After the disaster in Colombia and his failure to Hope, he just wasn’t sure if he could trust himself. He wasn’t sure if God could trust him.

  He paused at the side door into the barn, placing his forehead against the rough wood. Beatrice’s angry rantings were muffled through the barn wall.

  “Lord,” he prayed, taking one more deep breath, wanting to feel God’s presence, though Hunter knew he didn’t deserve it. “Give me your wisdom.”

  He watched the sun shimmering on the lake. The mountains reflecting on the surface created a picture that took his breath away, huge and rugged yet softened by the unfurling of the aspen leaves that circled the middle of the mountains like a velvety skirt. In all of Hunter’s travels for the army, he’d never seen a place more beautiful. He took one more deep breath and went to face the maelstrom that was Beatrice Thomas.

  Hunter opened the side door that led into the barn and let his eyes adjust to the dark interior. He admired again the sturdy log walls and efficient design that could hold five horses, the milk cow, and all the gear needed for living in the wilderness of the 1800s. The hay loft stretched out above and was low on hay. He was glad it was summer, and the horses roamed out in the corral.

  Beatrice’s voice sounded from above him. “So, the prison guard checks on the prisoner.”

  “Don’t you think you’re being a little dramatic? Permission to board, my lady?” Hunter asked with flair as he walked to the ladder.

  “Permission granted, I suppose,” Beatrice answered.

  Hunter climbed the ladder, wincing with every step on his bad ankle. The dust and hay particles tickled his nose. He sneezed as he reached the landing, his ribs spiking with pain. His moan of discomfort changed suddenly to one of awe. Beatrice sat on a low bench facing a window that overlooked the vast meadow. The meadow blended into the aspen and pine-laden forest that climbed up the mountains still capped in snow. The slowly setting sun finished the picture with light shades of yellow and orange just tinging the blue sky. Hunter knew within the hour the sky would be a riot of color, and this spot would prove the best seat for viewing the sunset.

  “This is incredible,” he said as he awkwardly walked half bent over to avoid smashing his head on the rafters. He lowered to the bench and settled with a huff. “This is unexpected. How did I not know about this?”

  “Well, since it’s on the backside of the barn, and you’ve been stuck in the house laid up or making moon eyes over my sister, you haven’t been up for doing much exploring,” Beatrice replied, steaming with anger and frustration, and if tumbling back in time hadn’t fried his instincts, also doubt and loneliness.

  Hunter grunted. “Can’t argue with that.”

  They sat in silence for several minutes. It was a comfortable silence that seemed to capture the serenity of the beauty before them. He took it all in, letting his eyes shift from shadows to light as he memorized the details. He tried to remain relaxed, but also kept his eyes sharp for anything that shouldn’t belong, like a no-good Sweeney staking the place.

  After at least a quarter of an hour, Beatrice sighed. “My pa built me this bench and brought the glass all the way from Denver one summer. I spent a lot of time up here thinking and, I guess if I’m being honest, escaping. He said if I was going to spend so much time up here mulling things over, I should at least have a comfortable seat and good scenery to make the mulling more enjoyable.”

  Hunter leaned over and bumped her shoulder. “He sounds like a very thoughtful father. It’s like something my dad would do. In fact, my brother Chase used to spend so much time in this tree at our childhood home that my dad decided he needed a treehouse so Chase would have more room to move around. They spent an entire weekend knocking that thing out. Secretly, I think it petrified my mom that Chase would fall out of the tree and break his neck, so to keep my mom from worrying so much, my dad built the thing.”

  “My pa’s amazing.” Beatrice’s voice was airy with longing. “He understood I wasn’t happy here, that I dreamed of leaving, so he did everything he could think of to make life here better for me. Things like this bench and sending off fo
r books on every subject under the sun.”

  Hunter looked at her profile. “Why aren’t you happy here?” Hunter asked, hoping she’d open up to him.

  She sighed. “You aren’t going to leave this alone, are you?”

  “Bea, I’m not going to force you to talk,” Hunter said, hoping his sincerity came across to her. “I just thought you might want someone to talk to who isn’t family.”

  “It’s so hard to explain,” Beatrice replied. “The lack of people here almost drives me insane. I want to see more of this world. To find a way to bring joy to others and meet new people. I know that sounds silly, but it just gets lonely and depressing out here.”

  Beatrice picked at the seam in her pants. Hunter gave her the space she needed. If she talked, she talked, but he didn’t want to push her too hard. She huffed as she picked up a stalk of hay and crushed it between her fingers. The dry, grassy smell wafted to Hunter’s nose. He had a sense she wasn’t finished, so he waited for her to continue.

  “Honestly, I just feel like I’m not where I’m supposed to be. That this—” She gestured with a sweep of her hand to the meadow and mountains before them—“Isn’t my destiny. But where am I supposed to go? We have no relatives I can go live with, and a single lady on her own is just not acceptable. I could go to college, but I have no desire to be a teacher or a nurse. So I’m stuck, and I hate that my discontent is viewed as such an oddity. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family. I love the mountains and the freedom. I just wish there was more.”

  “I understand how you feel,” Hunter replied. “I felt the same way back home. I liked my job, my brothers-in-arms. I loved when Chase and I could hook up on my vacations and go camping, surfing, or hiking.”

  Beatrice shook her head, her eyebrows pulled together in confusion. Hunter laughed, realizing something he said wasn’t familiar to her. He shrugged. “Sorry. Ask me later about what I said that confused you, and I’ll explain. Anyways, there was always a disconnect, a feeling like there was something missing. I tried not to dwell on it, but when I got here, I realized there had been a big part of me missing.”

  “I kind of don’t think time travel is God’s everyday answer to discontentment.” Beatrice huffed.

  “Yeah.” Hunter pushed his hand through his hair. “You’re probably right.”

  “And now, because of those lowdown, stinking Sweeneys, the freedom I love about this place is being ripped away from me!” Beatrice got more riled, ripping hay into pieces. “It’s not right. I can take care of myself, Hunter. I don’t need you keeping tabs on me or anything. I’ve wandered these entire mountains with nothing and no one but Firestorm, my Colt, and my hunting knife. I’ve never come up against anything I can’t handle.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Bea. You are very capable,” Hunter replied with sincerity. Feeling his lack of confidence rising, Hunter huffed in frustration and continued. “The thing is, I’m the one not capable. Not only am I still injured, every step up that ladder was painful, but I’m not good enough with the guns here yet. I’m not good enough, period. I can’t keep her safe without you, Bea. I need your help here, and that’s hard for an army grunt like me to admit.”

  “I don’t know about that.” Beatrice smirked, the anger and frustration fading a bit from her face. “You appear to be doing just fine.”

  Hunter shook his head in disagreement. His draw of the gun earlier when they arrived at the cabin had been clumsy, the heavy gun awkward in his hand. “No, that Colt is like drawing bricks from my holster with how unyielding the thing is. I’m totally, completely, and utterly at a disadvantage here. If we don’t stick together, it could end up in another tragedy. I don’t think I can go through that so quickly again.”

  “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop during your conversation with my sister, but I heard you talking about your mission and that poor girl, Hope. I’m so sorry,” Beatrice apologized.

  “Missions fail all the time,” Hunter explained, ignoring the confused look once again gracing Beatrice’s face. “It was bound to happen to us, especially with the level of danger and secrecy our missions required. We’d had other soldiers injured or killed, but we sign up for that, and even with those KIA—I mean, killed in action—our missions had always been completed successfully. Hope Isaac’s family were civilians, missionaries in Colombia who the US government recruited as dignitaries. The government thought with their knowledge of the local culture and their way with the local people, the Columbian president, who is basically a drug lord, would be more open to communication with the Isaacs. The US government was wrong.”

  Hunter pulled his legs up and placed his arms crossed upon his knees. He looked out the window and tried to keep the images of that horrible day from playing in his head, the images that rolled like a film stuck on replay every time he closed his eyes. He prayed at some point the memories would stop haunting his dreams.

  “The Columbian cartel kidnapped, tortured, and held the Isaacs hostage. Nothing was traced to the Columbian president, though we all know without a doubt it was his directive that had them taken. We went in to get them, a quick in and out job. We had extensive intel, which isn’t always the case. But when we got on the ground and in the thick of it, I hesitated at the worst time. I could feel God nudging me to move in, to engage, but I wanted everything to be perfect. My hesitation killed that poor couple and left Hope with no one.”

  “You don’t know that,” Beatrice countered. “They could’ve died anyway, or possibly one of your men could’ve been killed or maybe even Hope.”

  “Maybe,” Hunter replied, shrugging. “But I also know that I failed God when I failed to follow what my heart told me was His urging. I won’t do that again. I can’t always have things the way I want them. I won’t always be able to control the outcome or even the process, but He is always in control and has my back. ‘The Lord your God is in your midst, a victorious warrior.’ That’s from Zephaniah chapter three. My dad made me memorize it when I enlisted. I know sticking close and going in pairs chaps your hide. I don’t want to take away that freedom you hold so dear, believe me I don’t. But we have to go into this battle with a sound strategy. Our best chance of us all surviving this is through being smart, sticking together like glue, and waiting for reinforcements.”

  “I’m going to go loco!” Beatrice pulled her hair in frustration.

  “We don’t have to stay at the house. We can still go hunting and what not. We just have to go together. Plus, it’ll only be for a few weeks. As soon as Orlando gets back, we can reorganize and restrategize.”

  “Then we take the fight to them,” Beatrice growled.

  “Absolutely,” Hunter replied. “I don’t want to be on the offensive for the rest of my life. As soon as we get all the information from Orlando, we find out just what those Sweeneys have to say for themselves. In the meantime, do we have a deal?”

  “Sure,” Beatrice answered. “You know, Hunter, I don’t understand half of what you say sometimes. What happens to the English language in the next hundred-or-so years?”

  “It gets botched, Bea, totally and completely botched,” Hunter replied with mock sadness.

  “See, you just made my point.” Beatrice snorted.

  Hunter laughed right along with her. Breathing out with relief, he gazed out the window at the incredible sunset painting the sky in brilliant oranges, pinks, and purples and thanked God again for the life he had fallen into.

  Chapter 15

  Viola stood at the sink washing dishes from dinner and butchering the elk, her movements slow with the weight of tiredness. She was thankful for the fresh meat, but since they woke before sunrise to butcher it as early as possible, she was more thankful at the moment that the chore was done. Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.

  When Viola had fallen into bed the night before, fatigue made her eyelids so heavy they felt like bricks. She was sure she’d be sound asleep before Beatrice got settled. Yet sleep evaded her, skirting away like a skittish squirrel, only to leave
the terror of the day to chase her every time she closed her eyes. Memories of Linc’s angered yell echoed in her ears. The cold of the cave seeped into her skin. When she’d finally fallen asleep, Beatrice elbowed her shortly later to get up.

  The sound of approaching hoofbeats sent Beatrice running to the window. Viola dried her hands as Beatrice gave a whoop of excitement and threw the door open. Viola ran out the door without hesitation, knowing Orlando must finally be home. The smile froze on her face as River Daniels slid off of his paint mustang, embraced Beatrice in a side hug, then approached Viola with a hopeful hunger in his eyes.

  He was everything she had dreamed about all last winter, all strength, confidence, and gorgeous to boot. Her breath caught as he stopped in front of her, much closer than a friend should. He raised his hand as he peered into her eyes and brushed the hair that was forever escaping from her bun.

  “Viola,” his deep voice whispered. “I’ve dreamed of seeing you again all winter long. I don’t know how it’s possible, but you’re more beautiful than the day I left you. I’m so sorry I’ve —”

  “Vi, you going to introduce me to your friend?” Hunter’s voice dripped with menace as his words pushed her into the present.

  She stepped back, her face heating in the infernal blush. She glanced back at Hunter and gulped. His face was hard as stone as he stared at River, who’d gone rigid beside her. Hunter glanced at her and her heart clenched at the hurt and vulnerability he masked from everyone but her.

  She cleared the rock from her throat. “Hunter, this is our friend River Daniels. River, this is Hunter Bennett.”

  Viola felt tension rolling off River, his body coiled, ready for action. She wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Why couldn’t it have been Orlando to ride up?

  “What is this man doing here?” River’s voice had an edge she’d never heard before.

  “We found him injured with some broken ribs and a banged up ankle. He’s been staying here healing,” Viola answered, consciously keeping her hands from wringing in her apron.