Guardian's Hope

by Jacqueline Rhoades

  Everyone laughed so Hope assumed Grace was joking. She was ushered into a formal dining room, but the behavior was anything but. After being introduced to Nardo, a kind of chaos ensued. Platters filled with immense quantities of food were passed back and forth with a great deal of laughter and name calling. It all stopped as quickly as it began and Hope found herself with a plateful of food before her and a tableful of men staring at her.

  Grace leaned over and said confidentially, “They’re trying to be polite and wait for us to begin. You’d better pick up your fork before they start yowling with hunger.”

  She no sooner picked up her fork than the chatter and laughter began again, this time interspersed with chewing and drinking. She started on her scrambled eggs.

  “So, Hope,” Canaan spoke from the head of the table. “Been in the city long,” and at the shake of her head, “Where you from?”

  “A very small town in Arkansas,” she answered quietly, uncomfortable with being the center of attention. “My father is the preacher of the church there.”

  “Well, that explains a lot. Ow! Would you quit kicking me?” Dov glared at his twin.

  “Why? You kicked me the other night.”

  “That’s ‘cause you were too stupid to figure out…”

  “Boys!”

  “Sorry, Gracie,” they said together. After a few pokes at each other with elbows, they went back to eating.

  Hope began to relax. This wasn’t much different than sharing a meal with one of the families from her father’s church. Mothers always expected the best behavior when the preacher came to dinner, but it didn’t always work out that way.

  “Hope’s a nice name.” It was the one called Nardo wearing a faded t-shirt and a braid that fell halfway down his back. “You got another one?”

  “Yes,” she said with the beginnings of a smile. “It’s Parsons. Hope Parsons.”

  The friendly smile left Nardo’s face and he looked to Canaan who gave a serious nod in response to the silent question.

  “You know a Leonard Abramowitz?”

  “Y-Yes,” she answered nervously. “Lenny was my friend. He took me in when I had nowhere to go. He… he died.”

  Canaan nodded again at Nardo and the younger man left the room.

  “What’s this about? I didn’t bring her here for an inquisition.” Nico started to rise.

  Canaan held out his hand. “Sit, Nico. Hold your questions until Nardo gets back.”

  Nico’s face turned hard. He had no choice but to obey his Liege Lord, but he didn’t have to like it. Anger blazed from his eyes and they seemed to turn golden in the light reflected off the crystals of the chandelier.

  Nardo was back in an instant. He handed something to Canaan who passed it to Nico. The twins’ eyes widened when they saw it and turned to Hope. Nico held it out to her. There was pain and sympathy in his eyes. Why?

  It was her athame, the one that her mother had left her. They obviously knew what it was and what it was used for. And didn’t approve. Why would their reaction to witchcraft be any different than her father’s? Hurriedly, she rose to her feet and began to back away with the athame clutched tightly to her breast.

  “I’m sorry. It’s mine. How did you know? I’m sorry.” She looked at Nico. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sorry. I thought you knew what I was. If you’ll call a taxi, I’ll gather my things and wait outside.”

  “No,” he said. His jaw tightened and his hands curled into fist. “You’ll wait until I can go with you.”

  “No one is going anywhere.” Grace spoke with the voice of fury. “Canaan ad Simeon, this is not the time or place to have this discussion. This is not a court of law. This is our home and this is not the way we treat our guests.”

  “And because this is our home, Grace, this must be done.”

  “Not this way. She’s a bundle of emotions and every one of them is bad. You’re frightening her.”

  “Grace, I am Liege Lord of this House and in this matter I will rule.”

  “Fine! You go right ahead and rule this roost. Hope and I will be at Manon’s.” She grabbed the taller woman’s hand and dragged her from the room. Nico followed them into the kitchen where Grace turned on him. “You’re not invited either. You can go right back in there with the rest of the Neanderthals.” She turned away and then turned back. “And another thing. If you and Canaan decide to beat the hell out of each other, it better not be in my dining room. If one dish is broken, one crystal missing from that chandelier, one chair nicked or scratched, you will both be very, very sorry.” They reached the door to the gym before she turned again. “One more thing,” she said, but her voice was softer now, “don’t hurt him too badly.”

  Canaan roared Grace’s name as Grace dragged Hope through the door. Hope looked back and saw Nico with that half smile on his face and she could have sworn she saw him wink.

  They were out in the alley before Grace slowed to a walk. “Stupid, stupid men,” she muttered. “They could have asked me. I’d had time to read you after all, but no, they have to go all drama and machismo. Idiots.”

  Hope pulled Grace to a halt. “I don’t want to cause trouble between you and your husband, I mean Canaan. He sounded very angry and I don’t want to see you punished on my account.”

  “Punished?” Grace started to laugh but sobered immediately when she saw the look on Hope’s face. “You mean punished, like for real?” And when Hope nodded, “Oh sweetie, I don’t know what you’re used to, but let me tell you; around here the only punishment is going to be Canaan sleeping in a cold bed for an hour or two.” Her smile returned. “The best part of arguing with him is the making up. He’ll go all alpha and make me scream for mercy.” She giggled and winked. “And I’ll love every minute of it.”

  This made no sense to Hope. The women she knew didn’t enjoy being punished and were very careful not to earn their husband’s ire. And what was an alpha? She knew it was the first letter in the Greek alphabet, but Grace’s usage didn’t fit.

  They passed through a gate into a beautiful garden and onto the back porch of a restored Victorian beauty. Scrolled gingerbread danced around the edges of the porch and four colors detailed the trim of the light green house. Grace banged on the door, tried the doorknob and finding it locked, knocked again. She waited a minute and was raising her hand when they heard a voice from within.

  “Hold on, hold on,” said the voice. An older man opened the door and scowled at Grace. He wore a pair of grey sweat pants and nothing else. “The door was locked.”

  “I know, Uncle Otto, and I’m really sorry to disturb you, but Hope and I need to see Manon.”

  “The door was locked,” he repeated, “You know what that means. How would you like it if I came barging in when you were in the middle of…” He seemed to notice Hope for the first time. “…business,” he finished lamely and grinned.

  “I know I told Manon that it could wait,” Grace spoke right over his protest, “but it can’t.” She kissed his cheek as she passed him into the kitchen. “This is Hope. Hope, Uncle Otto.”

  “Pleased to meet you, young lady. I hear you’re another of Dov and Col’s strays.”

  “Well Nico found her first but it was the boys who wanted to bring her home.” Grace was busy starting the coffee and glanced over her shoulder at Hope. She laughed. “Don’t look so stricken. I was the first stray they brought home and it’s worked out very well.” She took mugs from the cupboard and fetched something from the refrigerator which she poured into another mug and put into the microwave to warm. When the microwave dinged, she handed the mug to Uncle Otto.

  “Take this and go get dressed. Your coffee will be ready by the time you get back. You’re needed at the House. Canaan and Nico are about to come to blows and someone needs to be the voice of reason.”

  “I’m on my way,” he said and headed for the door. “If Nico and Canaan are going to kick the crap out of each other, I don’t want to miss a minute of it. Manon will be down in a minute.
”

  “I am right here, Cheri. What is so important that you must interrupt my…” she looked at Hope, “…sleep. The door was locked, was it not?”

  Hope could only stare. The woman was beautiful. She was almost as tall as Hope and she held herself like a queen. She wore a long, loose fitting dress of shimmering silver and blue that did nothing to hide the full figure underneath. Her snow white hair was long and sleep tousled in a very sensuous way and her nails were painted a fiery red. She had never seen such a creature and was intimidated by her presence.

  “Manon, this is Hope and the athame belongs to her. Hope, this is Manon and she will answer all your questions.”

  “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “No you’re not, my sweet, but you will be.” Manon laughed and waggled her finger at Hope. “Lie to others if you must, but never to me or to Grace.

  “Unless I ask you if I look fat. Then you can lie through your teeth,” Grace laughed.

  Hope felt like she’d escaped the Mad Hatter’s tea party only to find herself in the presence of the Red Queen.

  Manon motioned to a chair and smiled reassuringly. “Sit. Please. You are hurt, frightened and confused. Know that you are among friends and welcome in my home. Grace, is that coffee ready? I shall need all my wits about me with this one.”

  Grace put cream and sugar on the table and passed out the mugs. Manon raised the mug, closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the aroma before she took a sip. She smiled at Grace.

  “Your coffee is so much better than Otto’s.” She turned the smile on Hope and shrugged. “I cannot make it at all. No matter how careful I am, how I measure and pour, it still tastes like piss.” She laughed as Hope’s eyes widened at her use of the crude word. “The truth is not always pretty, Miss Priss, and that is rule number one. Rule number two is that whatever is said among us stays among us. You are free to ask us what you will about anything you like and you will always receive an answer. And we will expect the same from you. We come from very different backgrounds, we three, and yet we are sisters under the skin. It is good to have friends, with whom you can be free, is it not?”

  Hope wasn’t sure that Manon expected an answer, but she replied truthfully. “I suppose it is, but I’ve never had a friend.”

  “Pauvre petite, surely as a child you had someone with whom you could share your secrets.”

  Only my mother. “My father thought it would be wrong to show a preference among his congregation. He thought we should devote ourselves to study and the pursuits of the spirit rather than the frivolities of the flesh.” She had tried, how she had tried to please him, but the loneliness was sometimes unbearable.

  “Well, you are alone no longer,” said Manon as if she’d read her mind. “Tell us about this athame. It is very old and had been used only for good until…”

  “It came to me,” Hope finished miserably.

  “Ah, so it is you who are responsible. You stabbed Col in the back with your athame? With such force that he came within a hair’s breadth of turning?”

  “No! I never stabbed anyone. Please believe me. I never stabbed Col!” The thought of harming another human being made her sick. And yet, she’d gone to her bedroom with a knife when she thought Dov was threatened. More proof of her sin. “But it’s still my fault,” she confessed.

  The tears she’d held for the last two days welled up and tried to spill over. Hope swallowed hard and gritted her teeth. Crying in self-pity would bring no forgiveness. Elbows on the table, she buried her face in her hands to dam the onslaught of her grief and prayed for strength. Grace rushed to her side and knelt beside her, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances while Manon reached across the table to stroke her hair.

  Their sympathy was her undoing. The dam burst and a river flooded forth. It had been so long since she’d been touched with sympathy; so long since she’d been able to cry without being scolded for her weakness. A box of tissues appeared next to her hand and she used them one after another until they were gone. A roll of paper towels replaced them. The sobs were replaced with a pitiful weeping.

  “Aw, sweetie, enough with the tears. They only feel good for a little while and then they make you worse. Manon, we should have given her tea.” Grace laid her head on the table so she was close to Hope’s face. “When I first came to the House, I started crying like you are and Col and Dov didn’t know what to do. They made me tea and gave me a towel to wipe my eyes. The Neanderthals had never heard of tissues apparently. The tea had to be ten years old and it tasted worse than Manon’s coffee and the towel was one they used in the gym and it hadn’t been washed in months. It was stiff and it smelled like must and man sweat. I almost gagged, but it made me stop crying.”

  Hope sniffed back the last of her tears. She didn’t move, but Grace knew she was listening.

  “They looked so pitiful, like two little kids, you know, like they didn’t know what to do and then, when they realized I’d stopped, they looked so surprised and proud of themselves. I could call them if you like. Their method is crude, but it works.”

  Hope lifted her head from the table. “They were so brave and fierce when they rescued me, yet later, when I scolded them for their foul language, they were like two little boys. Yes, ma’am, they said, just like school boys. I almost laughed, but I know from experience that you must be firm with wayward boys.”

  “And she’s back.” Grace warmed up the coffee and peeked under the lid of the cake dish. “She knew we were coming so she baked a cake,” she sang as she brought the dish to the table. Plates, forks and napkins followed.

  Manon laughed and rubbed Hope’s back affectionately. “I cannot make a decent cup of coffee, but my cakes…” She kissed the tips of her fingers. “Chocolate,” she said, using the pronunciation of her native France. “C’est bon.”

  “Now, while we stuff our faces with Manon’s delicious chocolate cake, you can tell us about the athame, how it came to you and how it ended up in Col’s back. No tears, no recriminations. Simply tell the story.” Grace picked up her fork.

  Chapter 8

  “My mother died when I was nine,” Hope began, hesitantly but without tears. “My father rid the house of everything that would remind us of her; her pictures, her clothes, her few pieces of jewelry. She committed suicide, you see, and I think my father was so hurt by her betrayal, both of him and the teachings of his church, that he wanted no mementos. My sister and I had nothing in remembrance of her.” She remembered being punished for repeating something her mother once said. It was a small thing, nothing of importance. Her father had beaten her until she screamed. She never mentioned her mother again.

  “One day last year, our best layer, Midge, somehow worked her way through a hole in the ceiling of the hen house. I had to tear out boards to get to her and when I did, a metal cookie tin fell out along with the boards. It was rusty and coated with grime as if it had been up there for years.”

  “Inside the tin were items I found strange at the time; a set of star shaped candle holders, a little crystal bowl, a beautiful piece of rose quartz, and what I thought was a letter opener. I couldn’t figure out why anyone would hide such pretty things. A letter at the bottom explained it all.”

  Her finger nervously drew a design on the tabletop. She drew in her breath and steeled herself against a similar reaction as the men’s across the way. These women had asked and at last she would speak the truth out loud.

  “My mother was born a witch and these things, passed down from her mother and her mother before that,” she said all in a rush, ”Were things she couldn’t bear to part with when she married my father.”

  Hope glanced at the two women who were watching her closely. When they showed no reaction, only nodded for her to continue, she let out the breath she’d been holding and looked out across the distance. She smiled fondly at some remembrance only she could see. “I should have known, looking back, but all mothers have magical powers where their children are concerned. Don’t you t
hink? They know what you did when they weren’t in the room. They can see around corners and know when you lie. I thought making flowers dance was something every mother could do and after she died…” she shrugged. “I tried not to think about it.”

  The fork full of cake stopped halfway to Grace’s mouth. “And your father didn’t know about this? I can’t imagine trying to hide it from Canaan.”

  “Hush, ma petite, and let her finish.” Manon smiled to offer encouragement.

  “Oh no. It would’ve earned us both a beating. Not even my sister knew about the dancing flowers. I thought it was something special my mother only shared with me. Now, of course, I understand that my sister was still too young to keep a secret. Anyway, the letter asked that I keep them in remembrance of her love. She must have hid them there before she killed herself.” Hopes eyes clouded with pain.

  “It was lucky your father didn’t find them first.”

  Hope’s eyes cleared and she laughed bitterly. “Luck had nothing to do with it. Taking care of the chickens is woman’s work and they’d already become one of my chores. I was always a curious child, always in trouble for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong. She probably thought that hole in the ceiling would be irresistible to me, but after she was gone, I didn’t have the time for mischief. Her chores became mine as well.”

  “Ah, you poor child, such a burden for one so young.” Manon’s words were kind, but her scowl was fierce. “Was there no one to help?”

  “At first, neighbors volunteered, but my father always refused. He told them we could handle it and by we, he meant me.”

  “And your sister? Did she not help?”

  “Not much and that was my fault. I wanted her to have a happy childhood so I did it all and after a while it became a habit. I spoiled her, I’m afraid.”

  “Your father, he encouraged this?”