Rich in Hope (Richness in Faith Trilogy Book 2)

by Lindi Peterson

  She shakes her head. “I want strawberry.”

  I continue looking at the flavors. “Oh, look—”

  Stephen taps me on the shoulder. Looking up from the menu I see him shaking his head back and forth. He mouths the words, strawberry is good.

  To which I smile and nod. Okay. Got it.

  “Phoebe is having strawberry,” I say, out loud this time. “What are you having, Stephen?”

  “Not sure. You?”

  I continue running my index finger down the menu. Each new flavor I read becomes the one I want. Until I reach the end and realize any one of the flavors would taste amazing. “I think I’m having peach.”

  Stephen makes a funny face. “Peach? You ever had that before?”

  “No. But I’m all for trying something new. Are you?”

  He closes his menu. “Sometimes. But I’m sticking with chocolate chip mint.”

  The waitress comes to our table, drops off glasses of water, then takes our order.

  White and red décor brings brightness to the space. But even the Christmas garland edging the wall of windows can’t hide the dreary skies. The rain has stopped while gray clouds still hover, moving slowly across the sky. A traffic light swings from side to side, indicating the wind hasn’t died down.

  Glad to be inside, I glance at Phoebe. She and Stephen are having a contest to see who can tell the best knock-knock joke. Phoebe is in the process of telling the one about the banana and the orange. Stephen declares her the winner.

  They laugh, and I still can’t think of a better sound than Phoebe’s laugh.

  The waitress delivers our three bowls of ice cream. She sets them down in front of us and hands us our spoons.

  “Can I get you anything else?” She tucks her tray under her arm.

  “I think we’re okay.” Stephen looks at me.

  I nod.

  “Great. I have to tell you, that you guys are such a cute family. Watching you makes me excited to have my own family one day.” Her eyes sparkle and her mouth widens in a smile.

  My insides jar at her words. Stephen’s eyes widen and Phoebe laughs.

  “We’re not a family.” Phoebe licks her lips. “Mr. Stephen and Miss Jenny are watching me since my mommy is gone.”

  The waitress blushes. “I’m sorry. The way you all were interacting was just so natural, I just assumed…”

  “It’s okay.” Stephen’s tone is calm.

  I’m glad he thinks it’s okay. The combination of the festive music playing, the over decorated Christmas tree in the corner, and the three of us sitting here has propelled me into a world so unlike my normal world.

  A world where I don’t know how to act or what to say.

  Ever since I woke from the surgery to anxious doctor faces, and promises of what could be, I’ve been in a strange world.

  I didn’t expect the strangeness to not only linger but move forward as well.

  But it does.

  Last year at Christmas I was on the sunny beaches of the island of St. John with Jeff, enjoying the down time between jobs, not really paying much attention to Christmas, much to my parents’ dismay, which is why I wanted to go far away for the holiday. My bank account had cash in it, and I didn’t have a care in the world.

  If you had told me in one year my face would be scarred, I would be out of a job, my bank account would be begging for more zeros, and I would be sitting in a small-town ice cream shop with a blind seven-year-old and a hot photographer, well, the only part I would have wrapped my mind around is the hot photographer part.

  And he wouldn’t be sitting with me eating ice cream, he would have been taking pictures of me.

  “Listen,” Phoebe says. “‘Jingle Bells’ is on the speaker. We can practice our caroling.”

  She starts singing the song, pulling me out of my reminiscing. Her voice is clear, a little off tune, but spunky.

  Stephen elbows me. “You aren’t going to sing?”

  “No. You?”

  “I’ll wait until the real deal.”

  “Me, too. Hopefully there’ll be a bunch of carolers and my voice won’t be heard.”

  “You shouldn’t worry about what other people think about your voice. That’s what my mommy tells me,” Phoebe says.

  I smile. “Your mommy is right.”

  Phoebe goes back to singing, her shoulders rocking with the beat of the upbeat Christmas tune. She only stops to shove a spoon of ice cream into her mouth.

  A lady holds the door to the shop open as three young girls walk in. Young as in Phoebe’s age or a little older. The girls are talking and laughing. One of them pulls the hood of a blonde girl’s sweatshirt down then brushes her hair with her hand.

  The blonde girl pushes some hair out of her eyes before saying thanks to the other girl. She then pulls a Santa hat out of her pocket and shoves it on her head.

  After the three girls tell the lady what kind of ice cream they want, they rush to a table. Sounds of chairs pushing across the floor threaten to drown out the festive Christmas music playing. The girls lean into each other as they talk before their laughter leads them back into their own space.

  I glance at Phoebe, oblivious to the girl’s antics. Phoebe’s changed her rocking to the rhythm shoulder beat to a slower kind of move as a song talks about coming home for Christmas.

  A burst of laughter from the girl’s table echoes through the shop. Now Phoebe does pay attention, her spoon halfway to her mouth. She slowly lowers her spoon, then grabs her napkin and wipes it across her mouth.

  I can’t help but be taken back to my childhood of loneliness as I watch it play out right in front of me.

  A LOUD KNOCK SOUNDS on my bedroom door. I open my eyes.

  Darkness reigns outside the windows indicating it’s still night.

  Indicating I should still be sleeping, and unless there is an emergency, no one should be waking me up.

  The knock sounds again, sounding a little more frantic.

  Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I grab my robe from the end of the bed and make my way to the door, opening it hesitantly.

  “Miss Jenny?”

  I look down. Phoebe stands there with her blanket. All I can think is that she had a bad dream. So I ask her. “Honey, did you have a bad dream?”

  “No.” She’s shaking her head back and forth.

  My brain still foggy from being woken up from a deep sleep, searches for a reason she could be at my door. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. My alarm just went off and I wanted to hear more about Princess Bea before I went to school since I fell asleep last night and you didn’t get to tell me more of her story.”

  “Your alarm went off? What time is it?”

  “Six o’clock. I don’t have to be at school until eight-thirty. We have time. I promise.”

  “Oh, okay.” I can’t even comprehend the time and she wants me to add to a story I can barely remember.

  “Can I get in bed with you? I’m cold.”

  I tug my robe tighter around me. “Sure. Come on.”

  Taking her hand in mine, I slip into the bed and she hops up with me. We push the pillows behind us and sit up in the bed.

  “Better?” I tuck the covers around us.

  “Yes. I’m warmer, now.”

  “Good.”

  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep last night.” Her voice is soft, like she might still be a little sleepy too.

  “It’s okay. You were tired.”

  “But I wanted to hear more about Princess Bea.”

  Oh, yeah. I’m supposed to be thinking of a storyline right now. I can’t really remember where we left off. “Didn’t we leave the princess at a dinner?”

  “Yes. Remember she decides not to give the prince the potion? Because she wants to figure it out?”

  Images of princes and princesses push through the fog that is still my brain. The story is slowly coming back to me. Phoebe turns in the bed, curling her body close to mine before she leans her head against my
arm.

  Wondering if she’s falling back asleep I look down to find her eyes wide open and expectant.

  Kind of like how I would describe my heart right now. Everything I know has been thrown out of the window so to speak, and this crazy, new world encompassing a rogue photographer and a small girl-child, both who’ve tugged at my heart more these last few days than a slew of people have over the last few years.

  I can hardly wrap my mind around it. Just like I can’t bring myself to wrap my arms around this little girl next to me.

  Maybe one day, but not today. Focusing back on our princess, I search my mind for the next part of the story. “Okay, so they’ve finished dinner. And the king asks Princess Bea to play for the family and guests. So they all make their way to the music room. Princess Bea walks to her harp. She sits down and before playing she smiles at the prince.”

  “He likes her smile, doesn’t he?” Phoebe asks.

  “Yes. He does. But her father notices it as well. And it doesn’t make her father happy at all.”

  Phoebe squirms momentarily before sitting all the way up. “Why not?”

  Why not? Good question. I look at the window still dark with the sun yet to rise. “Because he doesn’t want Princess Bea to like the prince. He already has somebody he wants her to marry.”

  “Does Princess Bea know?”

  “No. Princess Bea has no idea that her father wants her to marry…to marry Camden.”

  “Who’s Camden?” She asks.

  “Camden is a childhood friend. She’s grown up with him, and he was always mean to her and pulled her hair and made fun of her. But her father is going to put Camden in charge of the army and if Princess Bea marries Camden, her father knows Camden’s loyalty will stay in the kingdom.”

  “Was Camden at the dinner and is he in the music room now?”

  “Yes. He is. And Princess Bea hasn’t smiled at him once or even acknowledged that he is there. Her father isn’t happy at all.”

  Phoebe sits straight up. “Omigosh. What if her father gives Camden the potion before Bea can give it to Prince Jonah?”

  I’m amazed at Phoebe’s ability to create drama. She’s got some girl power for sure. “That would be tragic, wouldn’t it?”

  “Yes. Because Prince Jonah won’t fall in love with her and a princess should always marry a prince. And Camden isn’t a prince.”

  Talking like this makes me think of Stephen and Arabella. Certainly the king wouldn’t want his daughter hanging out with the likes of a common American photographer. No wonder he chased Stephen out of his country.

  “Yes, a princess should always marry a prince. So, the king isn’t happy when he sees Princess Bea smile at Prince Jonah. And remember, he doesn’t know the prince has a letter for him. So he doesn’t know the other king wants to take the lands. Plus Princess Bea’s father really doesn’t want to share the lands, he wants them all to himself.”

  “That’s called being selfish.” She folds her hands in her lap.

  “It is.”

  “Does the prince smile back when Princess Bea starts playing the harp?”

  “He does. Her music once again warms his heart and makes him glad he chose to deliver the letter himself. But he has to figure out how to get an invitation to stay the night in the castle, because if he goes home without delivering the letter his father will be mad.”

  “Oh. Maybe Princess Bea asks him to spend the night.”

  “Ah. I don’t think it’s appropriate for young ladies to ask young men that.” As I speak those words, I’m wondering why I’m preaching what I didn’t practice in my young lady days.

  “Why not?”

  I look down at her innocent face. Of course she doesn’t know what I’m talking about. “Let’s just say, when you are a teenager and you like boys, you wouldn’t be allowed to spend the night with one. Not until you are married.”

  “I’m going to get married when I’m a teenager?”

  “I don’t know when you are going to get married, but take my word on this. It isn’t appropriate, okay?”

  She slightly pulls away from being so close to me, and I realize I spoke my last words with a little more force that I had intended.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound harsh.” This protective nature that comes out in regard to Phoebe is foreign to me.

  “It’s okay.” Once again her voice is soft and small like she is.

  “No, it’s not. I’m sorry. We’ll leave Princess Bea in her music room with all the drama for now.”

  Maybe when she goes to school, I’ll write down the rest of the story, so I’m not totally working on the fly every time.

  It’s the day of the photo shoot.

  It’s like the words are whispered and pass by me. How Phoebe was able to make me forget about the most important day of my new life is a mystery to me.

  For the second time that morning a loud knock sounds on my door. “Jenny. Wake up. Phoebe isn’t in her room.”

  Stephen sounds frantic.

  Phoebe’s eyes grow wide. “I’m in here, Mr. Stephen.”

  Nothing.

  Silence greets us.

  “Stephen?” I call out. “Did you hear her? Phoebe is in here. We’ll be right out.”

  “Oh, okay. Sorry to bother you.”

  The footsteps I didn’t hear approach, retreat quickly, leaving Phoebe and me alone again. A hazy gray replaces the darkness outside the windows. The leaves sway slightly showing off the ever present breeze.

  Doesn’t Stephen know he could never be a bother?

  BESTOWED

  “ARE YOU NERVOUS?” Stephen asks.

  “Very.”

  “It’ll be good. I know it.”

  Ann will be here any minute. We agreed on ten a.m. and according to my phone it will be ten a.m.in one minute. “I wish I had as much confidence in me as you do.”

  “You’ve been around this for the last ten years. You know more of what you’re doing than you think you do.”

  The doorbell rings.

  “I’ll get it.” He taps my nose with his finger. “Try and relax. And stay put.”

  Easy for him to say. “Thank you.”

  By put, he means at the kitchen island where all things seem to go down in the house of Stephen. Conversations take place around this island, food is prepared on this island, meals are eaten at this island.

  Even wounds have been healed while sitting at the island. I think back to Stephen gently touching my legs, wiping the blood from them. Luckily there are no scars and I can’t even tell where the little cuts had been.

  “Here’s Ann,” Stephen announces.

  My mind reels in from thinking about Stephen’s touch and shifts to the journey I’m about to embark on. One that I can’t imagine being successful.

  But Stephen seems to have a measure of faith in me.

  It must be the churchy part of him.

  “Hi.” I stand and greet Ann.

  “Hi. Are you sure you still want me to do this?” Her tone is hesitant.

  I try to calm my heart as I digest her words. I can’t fathom what I would do if she were to back out. “Of course I am. The clothes are in my room, the second room on the right. Everything is laid out on the bed. Whatever you want to wear first, that’s what we’ll go with.”

  “I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do about my hair and makeup, so I didn’t do anything. I have my half sister on call.” She smiles as she talks about her sister.

  I hadn’t even thought about her hair and makeup. I’m not a whiz at it. With so many people doing mine over the last few years, the thing I’m best at is sitting in the chair sipping something cool and preferably bubbly while it’s being done.

  “Is she far?” I ask.

  “She’s next door. I didn’t want to bring her if you wanted to do it, you know. I didn’t want this to be more awkward than it already is.”

  I’m not sure how to take her comment. I don’t take it as an insult. But I’m not sure it’s a compliment either.
“Great. Call her. If she’s up for staying, maybe we could switch the hair up for different shots or outfits.”

  “Trust me, she’d like nothing more. In fact, when you see her, I’m sure you are going to want to ditch me and use her for the shoot.”

  “No. I promise that’s not going to happen, but I would love her assistance with the hair and makeup.”

  “Two seconds, then,” Ann says as she puts her phone to her ear and walks toward the front door.

  “Another save by Ann.” Stephen walks toward me.

  “Stephen, I so don’t know what I’m doing.”

  I try not to focus on that fact, but I feel like such an impostor. Pretending I know how to design, to photograph. At least I didn’t pretend I knew how to do hair and makeup.

  “If it will make you feel better, Cheetah, I don’t mind sticking around.”

  My skin warms at his words. “As long as you don’t call me that crazy name around them.”

  “Promise.”

  He steps closer to me, and in what seems like a thing he’s forever doing, he places my hair behind my ear.

  “Stephen––”

  “Ssh.” His voice is whisper-soft before he leans over and places his lips on mine, pressing slightly. His kiss doesn’t last long enough. He kisses the tip of my nose then backs up a step. “Don’t ever hide anything about yourself.”

  “But I’m more comfortable with my hair untucked.” My lips still tingle at the kiss he bestowed on me with such tenderness.

  A tenderness I could become used to if I let myself.

  I won’t let myself.

  I can’t let myself.

  “Excuse us.”

  Ann’s voice breaks through our kiss-filled air.

  “Come on in.” I step even further away from Stephen.

  Ann walks into the kitchen followed by one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. She favors Ann in so many ways, yet while Ann has the classic girl-next-door beauty, the brunette has an exotic look that captivates.

  Looking over at Stephen, I’m surprised to find him fiddling with his computer, not paying the least bit of attention to Ann and her sister.

  He, who admires beauty, should certainly pay attention to this gorgeous creation. While Ann has put together a simple white pullover T, a pair of casual jeans and a pair of black ballet slippers, her half sister is dressed in a flowy, flowery dress, heels and jewelry to match.