What Hope Remembers

by Johnnie Alexander

  She gave him another teasing smile, then by silent agreement they walked toward the graveled drive.

  “When were you discharged?” she asked.

  “A while ago.”

  “Couldn’t have been that long ago.”

  “Why do you say that?” he asked, keeping his tone light. He should tell her, get the ugly truth that he’d endured the humiliation of a dishonorable discharge out in the open. But he didn’t want to spoil this moment. It might be his only chance to talk to her. Once she learned of his record, she’d stay as far away from him as she could.

  The truth could wait.

  “Like I said, you look like a—a Marine.”

  “What does a Marine look like?” he asked.

  “It’s the way you stand, the way you walk. Even inside the house, you were scanning the room. Watching everyone.”

  “Didn’t know I did that.”

  “You can relax. We don’t have terrorists in Glade County. Nothing ever happens out here.”

  He gave a polite chuckle. “Guess some habits are hard to break.” The wariness may have started while he was on tour, but his senses had sharpened even more in prison. Maybe Tess was right about him needing time to acclimate to the world beyond the iron bars.

  They reached the graveled drive, then headed back toward the front porch.

  “What about you?” Gabe asked. “What do you do?”

  “I used to be a lobbyist-slash-consultant in Columbus. But circumstances changed.” She sighed, then gave a wry smile. “Now I’m painting the cottage. Hanging around with Jonah.”

  “Did you like it, being a lobbyist?”

  “Most of the time.”

  “What were your favorite causes?”

  “The ones that paid the most money.”

  “So you’re a mercenary.”

  “Just being honest.” She caught his gaze as if to assess his reaction. Maybe she already knew his recent history. AJ could have told her.

  This could be her way of challenging him to come clean with where he’d spent the past few years.

  Later. He’d tell her later.

  “Most of my projects were land developments,” she said. “Which was helpful since that’s Brett’s area of expertise. He usually knows what’s available, the zoning and all that.”

  “Sounds interesting, I guess. Nothing I’d ever want to do.”

  “Why not?”

  “Politicians.” He tugged at his open collar. “Having to wear a tie.”

  “You sound like AJ. Our grandfather wanted him to go into politics. Instead, he teaches school and coaches football. Such a waste.”

  “I doubt he thinks so.”

  “Think of the power he gave up.”

  “Is that what you want? Power?”

  “Not enough to run for office myself. But to be a hidden influence behind the public face can be exciting.”

  “Then why did you give it up?”

  “It was time.” She paused on the sunny side of a hickory tree. “I guess I’m in a kind of limbo right now.”

  “I guess I am too.”

  “You don’t have any plans for the future?”

  “Only to help Tess fix up her place.”

  “It’s not easy, is it? Being grown up. Responsible.”

  “At least I have a chance to ride again. I missed that.”

  Amy’s expression hardened and she turned away. As she did, her shadow was swallowed by the long shadow cast by the tree. She slid a strand of her hair through her fingers, an unconscious gesture she’d had even as a kid.

  What had happened to the girl who could ride for hours? Who never wanted the day to end when she was at the stables?

  He should say good-bye. Walk away and leave her be. But his heart wouldn’t let him. The worst she could do was say no. He took a deep breath.

  “How about we ride together sometime? Maybe go back to the Hearth.”

  See if that triggers your forgotten memories.

  Amy froze as her mind raced. If Gabe went to the Hearth, he’d retrieve the tin box they’d hidden within the chimney’s loose stones. He’d find the letter she’d written him before she left for college, and he’d find the arrowhead.

  Hiding the items in the box had been her way of saying a final good-bye to her childhood dreams. But if he found them, he’d know she remembered every moment they’d spent together.

  Maybe she should try to get there first. If she could even find the place again. It’d been hard enough last time, and that had been over ten years ago.

  Her heart cried to say yes. To go riding with him, to be with him when he retrieved the box. But she couldn’t. Those memories had to stay tucked inside her hidden canopy. Protected and unsullied from who she’d become.

  “It’s sweet of you to ask. But I haven’t ridden since—”

  “Aunt Amy,” Jonah shouted as he raced across the lawn. When he reached her, he bent over, hands on his knees, and panted to catch his breath.

  “You okay there?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Daddy said it’s time to go. I have to get a good night’s sleep because of my appointment.”

  “What time do you need to be there?” Amy asked.

  “I don’t know.” He lifted his shoulders so they almost touched his earlobes. “Daddy said we have to get up before the rooster crows. But we don’t have a rooster.”

  “Give it time.” The way Brett was embracing country life, he’d have an entire flock of chickens and probably a few ducks before the summer was over.

  She glanced at Gabe, sensing he was curious about the appointment but was too polite to ask. “It’s routine, a few tests to be sure he’s healing the way he should.”

  “I get to pick where we go to lunch,” Jonah said.

  “Pick someplace good,” Amy said. “If you stop by on your way home, I’ll have a special treat for you.”

  “What kind of treat?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. But it’ll be yummy.”

  “You’re not going to make cookies again, are you?”

  “What’s wrong with my cookies?”

  “They’re gross.” Jonah covered his mouth with both hands. “I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”

  “They weren’t that bad. Only a little burnt.”

  Beside her, Gabe chuckled, and she shot him a dirty look.

  “At least she tried,” Jonah said, obviously parroting one of the adults in his life.

  “My aunt Tess baked snickerdoodles for me today,” Gabe said. “They’re delicious.”

  “Snickerdoodles are my favorite.”

  “Mine too.”

  “My mom makes them.” Jonah pulled at a blade of grass, then studied it intently. “Seems like she hasn’t made them in a long time.”

  At his plaintive tone, Amy rested her hand on the back of his neck. “She’ll be home before you know it. And I bet she’ll bake you all the cookies you can eat.”

  “I guess so.”

  Amy wrestled with what else she could say to brighten Jonah’s mood. He missed his mom—she understood that—but she didn’t know how to cheer him up. If only Shelby were here. She always knew what to say. Amy glanced at Gabe, a silent plea for help.

  He bent to Jonah’s level, his hands above his knees. “I’ve got an idea. What if I share my snickerdoodles with you? They might not be as good as your mom’s, but you still might like them.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “I can bring them to you tomorrow.”

  “We’ll be gone all day.”

  “Not a problem. I’ll leave them on your doorstep.”

  “Do you know where I live?”

  “Two or three miles down the road from me.”

  “I think that’s a great idea.”

  Gabe held up his palm for a high five, and Jonah smacked it.

  “Thank you,” Amy mouthed over Jonah’s head.

  “Any time,” Gabe mouthed back.

  They returned to the house, and Gabe held the door open for A
my and Jonah to precede him into the hallway. Brett and Dani, sitting together on one of the stairsteps, greeted them. Jonah made a beeline for the couple and fell playfully against Brett’s shins.

  “Whoa there, buddy,” Brett said as he grabbed his son around the waist and sat him on a lower step. “You ready to go home?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “I think we do.”

  Amy touched Gabe’s arm. “Have you met Brett’s wife?”

  “Didn’t have the pleasure.”

  “Dani Somers.” Amy gestured from one to the other. “Gabe Kendall.”

  “He’s Tess’s nephew,” Brett added.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” Dani said. “I don’t know what we’d do without Tess’s help.”

  “Thanks, I’ll pass that on to her.” He gestured toward the expensive camera Dani held in her hands. “I take it you’re a photographer.”

  “One of the best,” Brett said.

  Dani blushed and slightly shook her head. “He’s biased. But I’m the official historian for events like this one.” She raised the camera. “Would you mind?”

  Gabe tapped Amy’s arm. “How about it? Will you join me for a photo?”

  “Amy doesn’t like her picture taken,” Brett cut in.

  “I wish you’d quit that,” Amy snapped.

  “Quit what?”

  Brett thought he knew so much. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She took a calming breath, then smiled at Gabe. “I’d love to have my photo taken with you.”

  “Sitting or standing?” Dani asked.

  “Standing, I guess,” Amy said, and Gabe nodded.

  Dani posed them against a screen she’d set up in another room. Amy stiffened when Gabe casually put his arm around her waist.

  “Can you pretend you like me?” he whispered. “For the camera.”

  “I suppose,” she whispered back. She consciously relaxed against him, nestling within his arm. The same feeling she’d had all those years ago returned, still as strong and powerful as it had been the day their lips first touched.

  As Dani clicked the shutter, Amy couldn’t help but raise her eyes to Gabe’s. For this moment, but only this moment, she’d let her heart have its way.

  “You two are so photogenic.” Dani shot a few more photos, then lowered the camera. “These are going to be great.”

  Gabe leaned toward Amy’s ear. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  He grinned and dropped his arm. “Dani, do you think I could get a print of at least one of those?”

  “Why do you want a print?” Amy asked. “They’ll probably be on social media.”

  “It’s not every day I get my picture taken with a beautiful woman. I might not get another chance.”

  Dani shifted her gaze from one to the other. “It’s up to you, Amy.”

  “I want to see them first.”

  “You’ll have to look at them another time,” Brett said. He and Jonah were leaning against the doorframe. “We need to get this guy home.”

  “I’ll email them to you,” Dani said to Amy. “Just give me a couple days.”

  “Thanks.” Amy smiled triumphantly at Gabe. Though she wasn’t sure what she’d won.

  6

  Tess poured two cups of decaf and set a plate of snickerdoodles on the kitchen table. The evening had worn her out, but she didn’t want Gabe to see how tired she was. At least she’d been able to talk to AJ about the mounting feed bill. He’d promised to cover it for her. She’d hated to ask, especially since it was a short-range solution to a long-range problem. Her creditors wouldn’t hold off much longer. Then what would she do? And how could she explain it to Gabe?

  Every morning, Tess thanked God that she was the one Gabe called about his release. But she dreaded telling him the drastic step she was considering. She’d have to tell him sometime, and soon, but first he needed time to get over the ordeal he’d been through. He couldn’t do that if he was worrying about her or the future of the stables.

  At least tonight they could bask in the warm feelings of being together for the first time in way too long and enjoy the companionable aftermath of a pleasant evening with the neighbors.

  “Did you have a nice time?” she asked when Gabe joined her. He’d changed from his dress clothes into shorts and a T-shirt.

  “Nicer than I expected.”

  “Because of Amy?”

  “We took a short walk. Chatted a little.”

  “I guess it’s not surprising. You and Seth Norris were the only single men there, and he just graduated high school a year ago.”

  “It sounds like you don’t think much of her.”

  Tess hadn’t meant to sound like anything, but Gabe was probably right. The news that Amy was living at the cottage had nettled, though Tess couldn’t explain why.

  “Amy is . . .” She paused, then shrugged. “She’s Amy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing really.” She slowly stirred a packet of Splenda into her decaf. “To tell you the truth, I didn’t expect her to be there.”

  “Why not?”

  “She hasn’t shown much interest in the foundation. Though I suppose she has better things to do.”

  Gabe reached for another snickerdoodle, and Tess picked at a loose thread on the yellow-and-blue tablecloth.

  “You were fond of her when we were kids,” he said.

  “True. But then she grew up and, oh, I don’t know. She no longer has time for those who were fond of her when she was younger.”

  “She seems troubled to me,” Gabe said. “Did you know she was in some kind of clinic?”

  Tess straightened, trying to remember if she’d heard anything about that. “When?”

  “She didn’t say. But she told me about Jonah—you know, her nephew?”

  “I know Jonah. We’ve been praying for him for a long time.” She shook her head, thinking about the weeks he’d spent in the children’s hospital. “Thankfully, he seems as healthy as any boy his age.”

  “You didn’t pray for Amy?”

  “I would have if I’d known she was ill. But no one said anything.” She picked up a cookie she didn’t really want just to have something to do with her hands. “I haven’t seen Amy in over a year. At her grandmother’s funeral. No, wait. She was at Richard’s funeral too.”

  “Who’s Richard?”

  “Richard Grayson. Remember the old banker?”

  “Not really.”

  Tess debated whether to fill him in on Richard’s part in the Misty Willow saga, then decided against it. Nothing could be gained by gossiping about the past.

  “You were talking about Amy. What’s wrong with her?” she asked, then inwardly chuckled. Apparently her qualms didn’t include gossiping about the present.

  “She didn’t say that either.”

  “Sounds like she didn’t say much.”

  “I guess we both have our secrets.”

  Once again, Tess wished she could take away the burden Gabe carried. Or at least help him to see he had nothing to be ashamed of. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “She might not like living across the road from a convicted felon.”

  “Don’t call yourself that. It’s not who you are. The circumstances—”

  “The law doesn’t make exceptions for circumstances.”

  “Sometimes they should.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

  Tess’s heart ached at the resignation in his voice. She longed to remove the sting of the past few years. And the sting of how it could affect his future. All because Gabe was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  No one in their right mind could blame Gabe for what happened. Except his father. Steve Kendall didn’t care about circumstances, only the stigma of having a prison inmate for a son. She’d love to know how many times Steve had visited Gabe. Certain she’d hate the answer, she refused to ask the question.

  “Why doesn’t she ride anymore?” Gabe asked, breaking
through Tess’s muddled thoughts. “If I remember right, she was a promising student.”

  “Um, she was.” Tess allowed her thoughts to drift into the past. Images flashed in her mind. Amy sitting on the fence, looking out over the pasture. She and Gabe riding into the woods behind the pond. The conversations with Joyanna Sullivan about having Amy return to the stables.

  “It was like her love for horses died when her parents did.”

  “Riding makes me feel whole. Free.”

  “People grieve in different ways.” Tess rose from the table and retrieved a glass container from the counter for the cookies. “Her dad was so supportive of her riding. I suppose in a strange way the two are connected in her mind. Without him, riding lost its appeal.”

  “I could never give up riding.” He grimaced. “Except when I was forced to. I think it’s what I missed most.”

  “Not my home cooking?” Tess teased.

  “That’s a given. I meant in general. I can tell you one thing, galloping across a field is something I’ll never take for granted again.”

  “You can ride every day now if you want to.”

  “When I’m not looking for a job.”

  “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that for a while. You need time. Relax. Enjoy yourself.” She placed her hand on his. “Figure out what you want to do.”

  “That’s the problem, isn’t it? I don’t know.”

  “There must be something.”

  “I wanted to be a Marine. But I can’t go back to that, can I? And there’s not much need for my skills around here. Even if someone would hire me.”

  “People around here will understand. You just need to give them a chance.”

  “That means telling people. Not something I’m eager to do.”

  “Something will come up. I know it will.”

  “Always wearing the rose-colored glasses, aren’t you?”

  “Worries are always with us. I choose to be as optimistic about them as I can.” Brave words firmly spoken. Harder to believe if she couldn’t hold on to the land she loved. Losing Whisper Lane would be like losing Rusty all over again—everything they’d built together gone with the stroke of a pen on a sales contract.

  How could she do it? What would happen if she didn’t?

  In the silence that followed, the peaceful hum of the refrigerator was interrupted only by the whir of the ice maker. The open kitchen windows welcomed a gardenia-scented breeze that toyed with the muslin curtains. Tess barely registered the faint nocturnal chorus that whispered comfort to her soul.