What Hope Remembers

by Johnnie Alexander

  “Are you listening to me?” she asked.

  “I’m sure it’s routine. Prominent citizens are injured in a fire. Of course the sheriff is going to do everything he can to demonstrate his concern. Prominent citizens then donate to his reelection campaign.”

  “The fire wasn’t an accident.”

  He leaned back as if shocked by the news. “What do you mean?”

  “Arson.”

  “But who would do something like that?”

  She hesitated a moment as if the words choked her. “I think they suspect Gabe.”

  Yes! The news Logan wanted to hear. About time too. He squelched his desire to shout for joy and instead looked puzzled. “Why him?”

  “I don’t know.” She ran a strand of her hair through her fingers. Such an annoying habit. “Probably because he already has a record.”

  Logan feigned ignorance. “What kind of record?”

  “His cousin robbed a convenience store, and Gabe was with him when it happened.”

  “Maybe they’re right.”

  Amy stared at him, as stunned as if he’d slapped her. “They’re not.”

  “But if not him, who? Surely not Tess Marshall. She wouldn’t have set a fire then died in it. Who else had motive?”

  “What motive did Gabe have?” Her tone was angry, indignant even.

  “Maybe for the insurance money. Maybe because he didn’t want Tess to sell the stables. Maybe—”

  “I have a different theory,” she said. “Dylan Tapley.”

  “You think Dylan set that fire?”

  “More likely he hired someone.”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  She leaned forward and smacked the table. “He wants that land. I’m beginning to believe he’d do anything to get it.”

  “Dylan’s desperate to prove to his uncle he can be successful, I’ll give you that. But you can’t seriously believe he’d stoop to murder just to get a land deal.”

  “He probably didn’t mean for anyone to die. But I’m convinced he’s behind this.”

  “I don’t know, Amy. You don’t want to hear this, I get it, but if the authorities think it was Gabe, then they must have evidence.”

  She straightened her shoulders and stared at him. The cold light of her eyes practically dared him to blink. “Did you know Dylan planned this?”

  “It wasn’t him.”

  “If I find out you knew . . . that you allowed this to happen . . .”

  “Are you kidding me? Of course I didn’t.”

  She only stared, her jaw set like stone. “I can’t believe you. I want to, but I can’t.” He reached for her hand, but she jerked away. “Don’t call me. Don’t text me. Never even think my name.”

  “Amy, please.”

  She grabbed her bag and walked out. The splotched burns on her calves and ankles tore at his heart, but he couldn’t look away. Her misguided attempt to save the stables had marred her beauty. But that didn’t change his desire for her. He’d have to give her more time, that was all. Time to mourn Tess Marshall. Time to get over Kendall.

  Eventually she’d see that they belonged together. Then all his dreams of wealth and prestige would come true.

  Gabe could take the physical pain. No matter how bad it got, he’d cope. The treatments, the therapies, were excruciating, but he fought through the agony.

  However, the pain of losing Tess, of not saving her, was different. He could never forgive himself for not saving her first. If only he’d known she was in the stables, he’d have searched for her. Gotten her to safety.

  “Mr. Kendall,” Ken Abbott said. “This doesn’t look good for you.”

  “How can you think . . .”

  “Amy Somers said that your aunt wasn’t home when the two of you went to Boyd’s. Obviously you didn’t expect her to be there.”

  “She’d gone into town, so no, I didn’t. I didn’t expect someone to set the stables on fire either.”

  “Was Ms. Somers in on the plan?”

  “There was no plan.” Gabe emphasized each word.

  “Somebody went to a great deal of effort. Setting the timers, hooking them up to the heating rods. We did our homework. Your aunt was near bankruptcy. About to lose the property. You have to admit this is all very suspicious.”

  “It is,” Gabe said, no longer able to hide his anger. “And instead of suspecting me, suspecting Amy, you should be finding out who did this. Because if I find out who’s responsible, I’ll—”

  “Don’t finish that sentence, son.” Steve Kendall stepped forward to face Abbott. Gabe hadn’t realized his dad had come back into the room. “You will not question Gabe again unless his attorney is present.”

  “If he’s innocent, he doesn’t need an attorney.”

  “If only that were true. I think you can find your way out.”

  After Abbott left, Steve took his stance in front of the window, his posture military-straight, his hands clasped behind his back.

  “They’re going to arrest me, aren’t they?” Gabe said. “I can’t do this again.”

  “The evidence is circumstantial. They have no proof.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” He didn’t know why he bothered to ask the question. If Tapley was behind the break-in, he could be responsible for this too.

  His dad shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Did you know Tess was about to lose the property?”

  “I knew she was in trouble.” He looked down, examining his burnt fingers. “She could have sold the place, but I talked her out of it. This is all my fault.”

  “I know you don’t want to hear this, son. But it’s possible Tess did this. Maybe it was her only way out.”

  “No,” Gabe said harshly. “She would never have endangered the horses. Or got caught in the fire herself. That doesn’t even make sense. Someone else did this. And as soon as I get out of here, I’m going to find out who.”

  “Make me one promise.”

  “If I can.”

  “Don’t talk to anyone again without a lawyer present. If they charge you, they will find you guilty.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “You claimed innocence before and the jury didn’t believe you. Do you think a jury will believe you a second time?”

  “I don’t have a motive.”

  “Abbott thinks you do. The same motive Tess had.”

  “So now you think Tess and I planned this together?” Gabe shook his head in disbelief. “And here I thought you believed me.”

  “I do, Gabe. But you can’t shut your eyes to their accusations.”

  Gabe leaned back into his pillows and stared at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this is happening all over again.”

  “It won’t. I won’t let it.”

  “What can you do?”

  “First? Get you an attorney. Then later, when your name is cleared, we’ll talk about your future.”

  His future? He didn’t have one.

  40

  Amy woke early the next morning after a restless night’s sleep with one steadying thought. She needed to get the arrowhead from the Hearth, and she needed to give it to Gabe. As soon as she dressed, she drove over to Tess’s. The graveled driveway gave way to packed dirt, which eventually turned into a barely discernible lane along the edges of the wood. Her BMW bounced and jerked, but she maneuvered it around and through the ruts and weeds until she could go no farther.

  She walked across the long, weathered boards bridging the stream and entered the woods with a brief prayer she could find the Hearth. The path was obscure in places, and a couple of times she had to double back, but eventually she found the split-trunked tree that sheltered the ruined fireplace.

  Its stone remains were caught in a tangle of vines and fragrant wild roses. Over the years, more of the stones had fallen, but the interior corner was still intact.

  When Amy and Gabe had found this place, they imagined stories about the people who had built the fireplace and about the house that must have
stood there at one time. Sometimes the stories were realistic, plausible. Other times they pretended the fireplace was a portal into another world.

  It had been their secret place and hallowed by love’s first kiss.

  Amy carefully parted the long grass, keeping a wary eye out for snakes, then knelt before the ruins.

  “I should have brought gloves,” she muttered as she brushed away cobwebs with a squeamish gesture. She reached within the stones of the crumbling chimney. Relief flooded through her as her fingers touched the tin canister hiding within the recess.

  She carried the box to the split-trunked tree and perched in a nook created by two of its lower branches. Breathing a prayer of thanks, she ran her fingers across the dirt-encrusted lid. About ten years had passed since she’d last held this box, but she remembered the moment as if it had just happened.

  She’d come here shortly before moving to a private liberal arts college in Pennsylvania. On that day, she had placed the arrowhead inside the box for safekeeping. It was only an artifact from a long-ago civilization, not that rare in these central Ohio fields and pastures. But this one was special because she and Gabe had found it together while watering their horses in the springs branching off the southern branch of Glade Creek.

  The arrowhead symbolized the summer of their youth, their token of future dreams. She never wanted to lose it, never wanted anyone else to find it. So she’d left it here.

  She’d also left a letter for Gabe, though she was sure he would never read it.

  Another moment passed and another while Amy relived her memories of that sad and glorious summer. Sad because Gabe was mourning the loss of his mom. Glorious because the two of them together had made it so.

  And because it was the last happy summer Amy ever had.

  She pressed her palm against the lid, then gripped an edge with her fingernails and pried it off.

  Instead of her letter to Gabe, the box contained two envelopes. Her name, written in Gabe’s distinctive handwriting, appeared on each. The arrowhead lay beneath them.

  Gabe had been back. He’d taken her letter and left the arrowhead behind.

  She paused to remember what she had written.

  Only a short note saying she needed to leave, that she wanted to find her own way instead of following AJ and Brett to OSU. She told him the box was the safest place she knew to keep their arrowhead. Someday, when the time was right, she’d come back for it.

  She tucked the arrowhead into her hand, holding it like she had the day Gabe slipped it to her, the day when neither of them could speak for the emotion clogging their throats.

  The day of her parents’ memorial.

  The last time she’d seen him until he found her at the engagement tree.

  While holding on to the arrowhead, Amy opened both of Gabe’s envelopes, scanned the dates, and read the earlier one first. It had been typed and printed, probably so he could revise as he wrote. The message was brief, a spilling of his heart.

  Dear Amy,

  I ship out next week to an undisclosed location. Hint: it’s hot there.

  So why am I writing to you? Because I have to write to someone, and who better than the girl who took away my heart on a hot summer day? We rode out here to the Hearth, you and me, and we placed our summer finds in a tin and hid it within a chimney. A kind of time capsule of a year bookmarked by grief. First the loss of my mom, and then the loss of your parents.

  The last time I was here I came for the arrowhead. It was stupid, but I wanted to give you something to hold on to. That’s why I handed it to you at the memorial.

  I’ll never forget your face—so sad, so broken. You have no idea how much I wanted to kiss away all your tears right there in front of everybody.

  What a scandal that would have been. Your grandfather would have tanned my hide, but I like to think your gran would have found it secretly funny.

  I just want you to know, my sweet Amy, that no matter where in the world I am, no matter where you are, I will always love you.

  My heart is yours,

  Gabe

  Beneath the signature were handwritten lines.

  Come back for the arrowhead, Amy. Come back for it soon. When the time is right, place it in my hand. I’ll be waiting.

  Amy sat in the tree nook, her back against a rough branch, and let Gabe’s words flow through her. He’d written the letter years ago. Could he still be waiting for her to place the arrowhead in his hand?

  It was as if their minds were in sync with one another, that his plan had somehow, all these years later, become her plan.

  Or was this God’s plan? Did he care enough about two broken people to use an arrowhead—a lost relic from another time—to bring them together again? To help them become whole?

  She read the second letter, penned in ink.

  My dearest Amy,

  I don’t know what I hoped to find when I pulled out our box. Until I opened it and found my last letter to you. Untouched. Unopened. The disappointment was so keen that then I knew. I had hoped to find you had been here. I had hoped to find a letter from you.

  I need you, Amy. I need you now, today, when the finest man I’ve ever known has been laid to rest. Rusty’s gone, and I feel lost.

  Where are you, Amy? Why aren’t you here?

  I think I’d rather have found a letter telling me to get lost, that anything I thought we had was puppy love, a first crush, a summer fling. I’d rather have had that than nothing at all.

  Maybe that’s all it was to you. But not to me.

  When I saw the arrowhead, I wanted to throw it as far away from here as I could. But something stopped me. As strange as it sounds, I felt like God stayed my hand.

  If you ever come back, I want you to find our arrowhead here. So I’m leaving it in the box. I’m leaving the box in the chimney. And I’m praying that someday you’ll come here again. And you’ll know that, wherever I am, I’m still waiting for you.

  With all my love,

  Gabe

  Amy read the letters again, hearing Gabe’s voice whispering his words in her ear.

  She wished he had said something about the letters. About how he felt. Why hadn’t he?

  The answer was hurtful but plain.

  He didn’t say anything because all along he knew she was lying about not remembering him. He knew she had returned to the Hearth and hidden the arrowhead in the only place that mattered.

  That was one reason, but the ugly voices in her head gave her another. After they’d met again, someone must have told Gabe what kind of person she’d become. He was content to be friends, to hang out together, go on a date now and then. But he was no longer waiting.

  He no longer wanted her.

  How could she blame him?

  “Is it too late?” she whispered. “God, please don’t let it be too late for Gabe and me.”

  41

  Amy paused outside the elevator and took a deep breath. Then she dug the arrowhead from her bag and slipped it into her pocket. She’d chosen her outfit with special care for this afternoon’s visit. The dark blue of the textured dress deepened the clear blue of her eyes while the gold belt and matching cuff bracelet added glamor.

  If things went well, it’d be a memory she and Gabe would always treasure, and she wanted him to remember her as looking beautiful. If things didn’t go well . . . She shook her head. She didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

  She smoothed her skirt, applied a fresh coat of lip gloss, and strode confidently toward Gabe’s room. The blind on his window was open, and she peeked inside, then drew back. Steve Kendall and Ellen were in the room along with one of the specialists. The conversation appeared intense, and a wave of jealousy swept over Amy that Ellen was included.

  Amy backed away from the window and slipped into a nearby alcove. It held a few chairs, a couple of tables with magazines, and a coffee station. She busied herself pouring a cup of coffee she didn’t want, adding sugar and cream, going through the motions while
scarcely aware of what she was doing.

  She took a sip of the coffee and made a face. Definitely not worth the calories, and that had nothing to do with eating issues. How did anyone stomach this stuff?

  Voices sounded in the hall, and she peeked around the corner. The conversation was now taking place in the hall. She pulled a strand of hair through her fingers, took a deep breath, and walked confidently toward the small group.

  “Colonel Kendall, Ellen,” she said cheerily, then extended her hand to the doctor. She held the practiced smile that revealed her single dimple. Brett wasn’t the only one blessed with charm. “Hello, I’m Amy Somers, Gabe’s friend. And you are?”

  “Dr. Grant,” he replied. She let him hold her hand a second longer than necessary. “My pleasure.”

  “And mine. How is Gabe?”

  “Restless.” Steve smiled at Amy. “As soon as the paperwork is complete, he can leave.”

  “Gabe’s being released?” Amy said. “Isn’t it too soon?”

  “We’re arranging at-home care,” the doctor said. “His bandages need to be changed a couple of times a day, and we’ll be keeping an eye on his pain management. But he’s free to go.”

  “The question is where,” Ellen said. “Steve and I believe he shouldn’t be alone, so I’ve offered my home.”

  “I see,” Amy said warily. “What does Gabe want to do?”

  “He wants to go to Tess’s,” Steve said.

  “Of course he does. That’s where his friends are. Me, my brother, my cousin. We’ll take care of him.”

  “Ellen is also his friend,” Steve said. “Please don’t take offense, but she’s known him longer than any of you.”

  I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Amy fingered the arrowhead in her pocket, feeling its rough edges beneath her fingers. Arguing about who knew Gabe first and best was a waste of breath. She needed a more persuasive argument.

  “We’re only thinking of Gabe,” Ellen said. “You must see that.”

  “So am I.” Amy straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “But it really doesn’t matter what you or I think or what we want. All that matters is what Gabe wants. He loved Tess.” She looked pointedly at the colonel. “Please don’t take offense, sir, but she opened her home to him when no one else did.”