Hope's Design (The Daughters of Riverton Book 2)

by Dawn Kinzer

  Hope had left out the part that included Henry joining them the previous Fourth of July after he’d begun to court her. She should have listened to her inner voice then. When he’d expressed excitement over a new park opening that would primarily contain freak shows, her stomach had roiled at his comments. He’d expressed no compassion, but only enthusiasm over the plight of people who would most likely be employed because of their disfigurements and trials.

  But she’d been taken in by Henry’s good looks, charm, and popularity, and she’d refused to accept what her gut knew about his true character. She should have stopped seeing him after their visit to the park that Fourth of July. If she had, she wouldn’t have accepted his proposal some months later and avoided painful consequences.

  Four months had passed since she’d broken their engagement, but the horrible memory of that night still lingered, threatening to steal any contentment she might find in Riverton.

  Hope savored the soft biscuit and sweet, fruity jam as her gaze traveled around the table. Everyone was enjoying the meal, conversation, and companionship. Everyone except Ben, because he wasn’t there.

  She laughed at jokes, joined in conversations, and even played several games of badminton because she didn’t want to ruin anyone else’s fun, but her heart wasn’t in it.

  The reverend and Sarah finished a game of croquet with the children and found chairs in the shade. There wouldn’t be a better time. Hope slipped into a vacant chair next to them.

  “The children beat us, Hope. Can you believe it?” Sarah’s laugh was filled with lighthearted joy, and her eyes twinkled. Her hand caressed her expanding middle. “Oh, my, this child is active. Only three months to go. Ellie better be prepared. She may have her hands full when the time comes.”

  Hope gasped. “You’re giving the baby to her?”

  “No, no, no!” Sarah laughed. “She’s going to be my midwife.” Sarah rubbed her tummy again. “It will be a special delivery with Auntie Ellie helping to bring him or her into the world. Ellie’s one of my closest friends, and she was like a sister to me even before Peter and I married.”

  “Oh.” Hope relaxed.

  “Glad we got that cleared up.” Reverend Caswell cocked his head. “Something else on your mind besides babies?”

  “Yes, there is.” Hope slid to the edge of her chair, then folded her hands in her lap. “Reverend—”

  “Friends and family call me Peter.” The warmth in his eyes said he considered her one or possibly both.

  “Peter, thank you for including my parents in your prayer.” Hope’s throat thickened. “It meant a lot to me.”

  He nodded. “Sarah and I have been praying for them, and we’ll continue until they return.”

  “I know, and that’s why I wanted to have a few minutes alone with you. I received a letter from my mother yesterday.” Hope had savored every word—several times. “She’s in good spirits, and so is Father, but the conditions for most workers are deplorable. Accommodations for canal employees provide little protection against wet weather or jungle life. Some are using old boxcars or tents for housing. Anything with four walls, a roof, and a floor is considered living quarters. There’s no cold storage, no fresh milk, and little meat. Distilled water is delivered to each house daily. When it it’s not available, they have to boil any water they can find.”

  Sarah frowned. “It’s worse than I thought.”

  “I knew various diseases would be a threat, but I can no longer close my eyes to the extent of sickness and death. Malaria and yellow fever are only two possibilities. There are many others. My mother writes as though she’s not vulnerable, and I know she believes God will protect both her and my father. I wish I had her faith, but I’m scared.” Hope’s eyes burned as her vision blurred, and she caught Sarah’s eyes filling with moisture along with her own.

  Peter grimaced. “Regardless of faith in God’s provision, the government has a responsibility there.”

  “My mother sounds optimistic that help has arrived. Mary Hubbard, the newly appointed Superintendent of Nurses has come with the Chief Sanitary Officer, Dr. Gorgas. They also brought two other nurses with them.”

  “Daddy!” Mary came skipping toward them and leaped into her father’s lap. “Come push me on the swing!”

  Sarah leaned over and tickled the little girl’s side.

  Mary giggled. “Push me on the swing, Daddy! Please.”

  “Anything for my girl.” Peter jumped up from his chair, threw her over his shoulders, and ran toward the swing with the little girl bouncing against him, laughing all the way.

  “God has led your parents to Panama for a reason, Hope.” Sarah leaned forward and squeezed Hope’s hand.

  “Thank you for listening. It means a great deal to me that you care so much about their welfare.” She’d left friends behind in New York, but God had certainly surrounded Hope with wonderful people here in Riverton.

  “We’ll continue to pray for them and their safe return. In the meantime, seek what the Lord wants of you.”

  What did he want from her? Her parents were ambassadors of his love and peace, and if she were to be like them—like Christ—Hope needed to become a peacemaker.

  “Please excuse me, Sarah. There’s something I need to do.” Hope headed for the house and entered the kitchen through the back door.

  Ellie folded a dish towel and laid it on the counter. “Is there anything I can get for you, Hope?”

  “Yes, there is something.” She had to his risk rejection. “Would you mind if I took supper over to Ben?”

  ***

  Hope rapped on the front screen door to Ben’s farmhouse, then waited. The only sound she heard was the blood whooshing through her ears as her heart pumped faster. This was a mistake. She should have waited until Jake left the party and come with him, but she’d slipped away quietly, afraid he’d try to dissuade her.

  She took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped inside. “Ben, are you in here?”

  No response. Hope tiptoed through the rooms to the kitchen. Used dishes were piled in the sink, but the counters were clean. She set her picnic basket on the small table, bare except for a light blue tablecloth with several red stains—possibly berry juice. The window over the sink faced west, so the sun’s last rays brightened the kitchen with a warm glow.

  She peered through the dust-covered glass at the barn and fields below. A cow mooed. Maybe Ben decided to start the evening chores without Jake. Hope opened the back screen door, skipped down the steps, and began hiking toward the barn.

  A crow cawed from the top of the small building to her right—the very shed that Ben had almost stood guard over the day she and Annie had visited. What was so secret about an old shed that probably only held farming or gardening tools?

  She shouldn’t investigate, but this might be the only time to find out what was so important in there. Hope would just peek through a window. That would be it. She wouldn’t enter, no matter how tempted to go inside and poke around.

  No sign of Ben anywhere. If she was going to do this, now was the time. Hope glanced back at the house and around the yard, then strode up to a window on the side of the shed. Although the sun shone through large windows facing the west, several lanterns were also lit inside, giving Hope a clear view through the window on the south side.

  Ben’s back was to her, but he stepped to the right, and Hope gasped. Stunned, she couldn’t move.

  He tossed a paint brush into a jar filled with liquid, wiped his hands on a towel, and then turned off the lanterns. Hope ducked beneath the window and then around the corner to hide until he left the shed and headed toward the house. Her horse and buggy were tied to a post in the front of the house, and the picnic basket was sitting on the kitchen table, so escape seemed impossible.

  She might only have a short moment, but her resolve to stay out of the shed dissipated like steam rising from a boiling kettle. The door to the kitchen slammed, and Hope grabbed her chance. She slipped inside the warm sh
ed, which would have been stifling had he not left several windows open, then stood in the middle of the room, not knowing where to let her eyes feast first.

  Paintings, mostly nature scenes, stood propped against two walls, three or four deep. Though alone, she stepped with caution, as though fearful of waking someone. Awe filled her as she perused the stacks of artwork and drank in the display of talent on the canvases. In one piece, water cascading over rocks evoked a feeling so strong, she could almost hear the rushing water.

  Hope turned toward the spot where Ben had been working, and the wooded scene on the easel drew her. So vivid were the details and colors, she almost believed she could step into the painting if she got close enough. The way he painted beautiful, feathery moss growing on trees... Hope reached, her fingertips almost brushing—

  “Don’t!”

  She whipped her hand back and swung around, her face burning.

  Ben stood there, his jaw clenched. “The paint is still wet.”

  “I—I’m so sorry!” She tried to swallow, but her throat felt as dry and scratchy as dead pine needles.

  “What are you doing here?” Angry eyes bore into hers, and his chilled tone confirmed his displeasure.

  A slight shiver raced down Hope’s spine. She’d overstepped boundaries by investigating the shed’s contents. “I thought you might have stayed away from the party because of me. So, I brought you some supper as a peace offering.” She bit her lip, hoping it would stop her chin from quivering and her eyes from watering. “I didn’t expect to find this...” She waved her hand, pointing to the painting on the easel. Hope blinked, but the effort was lost—a hot tear slid down her cheek.

  “Why are you crying?” Ben’s face scrunched, but his voice had lost its fire. “I know it still needs some work, but is it that bad?”

  “Bad?” Hope threw her head back, then faced him, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. “No—it’s that good! Why didn’t you tell me you could paint like this? That you could paint at all?” Her gaze returned to the detailed canvas. Ben was an artist like her—no, he was far better. But now they shared common ground, and perhaps it was a place where they could meet and become good friends. “I should have known from things you said, the suggestions you made about my own work. I don’t understand why you’ve kept your talent a secret.”

  Ben led her to a wooden chair in one corner of the room. “Please sit down,” he whispered and offered a small smile. She complied, and he pulled a stool next to her.

  “I’m listening.” Hope folded her hands in her lap.

  His eyes softened. “First of all, I didn’t stay home from the picnic because I was worried about myself. Things have been awkward between the two of us, and I didn’t want my presence spoiling the day for you.”

  “I’m sorry you missed the fun.” Did he hear her sincerity? He would have enjoyed the games, the food, the camaraderie the men had shared. “And I missed having you there.”

  ***

  Ben couldn’t control his pleasure at seeing her cheeks darken. His lips slid into a smile at hearing her admission—and one she didn’t intend by the look in her beautiful blue eyes.

  She fidgeted for a moment. “So, you’re a painter, and a remarkably good one.”

  “I appreciate your assessment, but I’m mediocre at best.” Ben sighed. It hadn’t been easy keeping his work a secret all these years. Maybe this was God’s way of giving him someone to talk to who could understand. It wasn’t that Jake didn’t try, but he couldn’t grasp the passion Ben felt about art.

  “You must know that your work is far from average.” Hope lifted her chin and quirked an eyebrow. “How have other artists, gallery owners, or collectors responded to your work?”

  “My brother is the only person who knows I paint.”

  Hope’s forehead furrowed. “Don’t you want your work to be seen and enjoyed?”

  “No.” Ben squirmed. “My paintings aren’t for public viewing. They’re private.”

  “But...” Hope looked away, as if mulling the concept over in her mind, then turned back to him. “But shouldn’t a God-given talent like yours be shared?”

  “That may depend on someone’s view. Is it wrong to offer up one’s creativity for God’s pleasure? To paint for him alone?”

  “No...if that’s what God wants.” Hope reached out and grasped his hand between hers. “But your paintings could help bring peace to a troubled person or help soothe an aching soul. They’re a little bit of heaven on earth.”

  “I can’t, Hope.”

  “Then, please tell me why.”

  Jake knew, and he’d never told anyone. Could Ben trust Hope as well? If he were to ever have any chance at an honest friendship with her, he’d need to know one way or another. Maybe it was better to find out now than to wonder.

  “Can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean it, Hope.” He wiped the sweat trickling past his temple and down the side of his face.

  She sat at the edge of her seat. “I promise!”

  Ben glanced toward the ceiling and heaved a sigh. “You look at my paintings and see something good in them.”

  “They’re not just good—they’re brilliant.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “All right. Through your eyes, you’re able to see something that’s worthy. But all I see is failure at accomplishing my vision—what’s in my head. An inability to transfer what I either view around me or what I envision from my imagination. Whatever I paint always falls short. They’ll never be good enough to hang on any wall.”

  “That’s not true.” Hope scowled. “Give me the opportunity to prove it to you.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “You’re insufferable, Benjamin Greene.”

  “And you don’t know the whole story.”

  She stood and lifted her clenched fist. “Then you’d better share it before I bop you on the nose.”

  “It’s my penance, Hope.” This was it, the time to cleanse his soul. Keep nothing back.

  She slunk back down into the chair. “Your penance? You can’t keep talking in riddles, Ben,” she whispered.

  “Here’s the entire truth.” Time to risk looking like a weak fool. But if she didn’t see him that way when he finished, he might possibly gain an ally. “I was fifteen and in love with Mary Sue Higgins. A bully who also liked her kept stealing my art supplies. He’d make fun of me, claiming I’d never be a real man. He ripped up a drawing I’d worked on for hours, a birthday gift for Mary Sue. I was so angry, I wanted to hurt him badly, but I just stood there with the shredded pieces balled up in my hands.”

  Ben was right back there at school. The sounds of students happy to be out of classes for the day, the smell of summer heat and sweat, and Percy Sanders’ black eyes filled with hate.

  “You know the Bible says to turn the other cheek, so I walked away. Only, Percy didn’t stop. He came at me until I fell, then he shoved my face into the dirt and called me a coward, along with several other ugly names. Schoolmates closed in around us, and Percy urged them to taunt me. Jake tried to pull him off, but he was much smaller than Percy. I managed to get free, but I was in such a rage, I rammed my body into him as hard as I could.”

  Ben closed his eyes, his breathing ragged. He had to finish the story. “Percy fell backwards, hit his head on the school’s concrete steps, and blacked out. Our teacher heard shouting through an open school window, but by the time he got to us, the whole thing was over. Percy was rushed to our local doctor’s office.”

  Hope had paled, but she hadn’t left the shed. “Then what happened? Was Percy all right?”

  “No.” Ben cleared his throat, then took a deep breath. “The impact to his head did something. He lost sight in both eyes.”

  Hope gasped and put her hands to her mouth.

  Ben couldn’t blame her. It still horrified him after all these years. “Everyone who saw what happened all testified that Percy had started the fight and I had t
ried to walk away. They swore I was acting in self-defense.

  “Mary Sue’s parents claimed I lacked self-control and refused to let her have anything more to do with me. But even if they had, I think Mary Sue was a little afraid of me after what she’d witnessed. I didn’t sleep for two nights, trying to re-sketch her gift in time for her birthday. I got it done and took it to her house. But she refused it and said it had come at too great a cost—to Percy.”

  Hope gazed to the right and seemed to escape into her own world for a moment, then she turned to him with glassy eyes. “Even at that young age, it must have hurt a great deal to lose the girl you cared about in connection to your art—the other love in your life.”

  Hope understood. A little bit of the pain that Ben carried melted away. Yes, maybe they could be friends, the kind who confided in each other. “It’s made it difficult to trust people, women, or my work.”

  “So, you don’t share your paintings or even the fact that you’re an artist with anyone because you believe it’s your punishment for your part in Percy going blind.” Hope jumped up from her chair. “You were defending yourself. Yet, you’re going to let an accident that happened years ago keep the rest of the world from seeing beauty and hope—God’s creation—through your work.”

  He’d been wrong! She didn’t understand at all. “How could I possibly receive praise or money for something that was part of another man’s loss? My eyes still work. I can paint and tell the difference between red and blue! I still have that much, but Percy will never see the shade of his wife’s hair or the color of his baby’s eyes. I’m to blame, and I need to pay for it.”

  ***

  The truth hit her like a steam engine going full speed. “That’s what Jake meant when you wouldn’t get involved in Charlie and Jamie’s fight. Jake said there was more to it, but he couldn’t explain—it was your story to tell.” It made so much more sense now. Jake had said Ben wouldn’t tell her his reasons until he trusted her. Did he trust her now? Or would he have kept his secret if she hadn’t found his paintings and demanded an explanation?