скачать книгу бесплатно
She’d make mistakes, of that she was certain. But surely he was being a bit overbearing. Take the cows, for instance. They’d seemed perfectly fine to her. Certainly she wouldn’t have ventured into their midst had it not been for Theodore nearly being trampled, but really they’d seemed gentle enough. Even that lonely cow in his own pen had seemed sad when he’d received her scolding swat on the nose. Why, she was almost sure she’d heard him sniffling.
She’d just have to get to know the farm and the animals as quickly as possible so that she didn’t feel so out of sorts.
When a long all-encompassing yawn commanded Hope’s attention, she realized that she’d not gotten more than an hour of sleep combined. But even so, she had to get up and face the day.
When she felt Theodore nestle in closer against her legs, she lifted the covers and peeked at her kitten. The adoring way he squeezed his eyes shut and purred brought a smile to her face. She wasn’t alone. She had this sweet one. And Paul had once written that God was always there in the best and worst of times—that He was an ever-present help in times of trouble.
Picturing Paul’s broken body, she had to wonder if God had been a help for Paul when he’d been pinned beneath the tree. She’d counted on Paul showing her the way in her newfound faith. Would her miniscule understanding of God be enough to find what had been so real to Paul?
Maybe Paul’s sister would be a help. If she was anything like her brother—kind, understanding, tenderhearted—then Hope would have nothing to worry about. She’d be all right. She had to believe that from here on out there would be an endless swath of blue skies.
Jane was nothing like Paul.
In fact, Hope would’ve vowed the woman was some imposter, if not for the way Aaron and his family and the townspeople crowded around her now. They’d all gathered for Paul’s funeral beneath one of the large pines anchoring the small cemetery. And now they offered their condolences as the lanky undertaker dropped shovelfuls of reddish dirt, reminiscent of his mat of red hair, over the simple pine box.
Hope struggled to steady her hand as she dabbed at her eyes and grappled for composure. Closing her eyes, she listened to the last bit of musky earth being thrown over Paul’s grave and then the shovel’s dull clang as the undertaker struck the soil to pack it down—as if to seal Paul’s fate.
When she opened her eyes to see the gangly man yield one final clanging blow to the earth, she wished she would wake up from this horrible nightmare…to open her eyes and find herself standing at the church altar, at the very cusp of a brand-new life with Paul.
She grieved the man she knew from his letters. She grieved the life they could have had. But seeing the way each person in attendance was wrought with such deep sorrow, she realized that she grieved never really knowing Paul.
These people…they’d known him. They’d seen how he walked and how he rode a horse. They’d heard his voice, his laugh. They’d felt his touch.
She was an outsider.
There was no mistaking that Jane was incensed by Hope’s presence and clearly thought she was an intruder. From the outset this morning when Jane had arrived home, she’d been cold and frosty whenever she was alone with Hope. She’d made no bones about her displeasure with Paul’s deathbed decisions. Jane had seemed equally incensed by Aaron’s assurance that he would watch out for Hope. She’d even said as much.
Witnessing the way the woman’s shoulders heaved on a loud sob, Hope’s heart swelled with compassion. After all, Jane had lost her brother, suddenly and tragically.
When she felt a gentle touch at her elbow, she looked to find Aaron standing at her side.
“I’ll see you and Jane home now—that is, if you’re ready.” His voice was low, and his blue eyes were moist and undeniably sad—a sadness that seemed to be almost permanently etched into his roguish features.
“That’ll be fine. Thank you.”
When he gestured for her to walk with him down the footpath, she turned and stared at where Paul had been laid to rest beneath the newly turned earth. “Will you give me just one more moment, please?” She glanced back at Aaron.
When he nodded and walked away, she approached the grave and stood there for a long moment. She’d had no problem dreaming of what life would be like with Paul when she was back in Boston, but the harder she tried to generate some kind of image of herself with him now, the further removed she felt. She couldn’t seem to see anything other than the glaring fact that she barely knew him.
“He was a real nice feller, wasn’t he?” The undertaker stood beside her, wedging his shovel into the earth and barely missing her foot.
“Yes, he was.” She tucked her right foot next to her left one, resisting the urge to turn and see just how far away Aaron had gone. “A fine man.”
Pulling one overly large floppy glove off, the long-limbed man reached out to shake her hand. His razorlike Adam’s apple bobbed so severely she thought it likely to cut straight through his throat. “Name’s Pete. Pete O’Leary.”
“Nice to meet you, Mr. O’Leary.” She shook his hand, struggling to school her expression against the way his sweaty palm clamped against hers.
“If’n you ever need anything. You jest give me a holler.”
She smiled, though not enough so as to encourage the man in any way. “Thank you for your kindness, but I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”
“I heard that he went and left his farm to you. And that you was to be married. Is that the truth?” he inquired with as much candidness as Hope imagined possible.
Just then a weasellike animal poked its head out from a pack strapped to the man’s back. “All right, Conroy. You seen the perty lady. Now you get yerself back in there, ya hear?” Mr. O’Leary reached over his shoulder and gave the animal’s head a gentle pat. “Conroy’s my ferret. Bought him off’un a travelin’ salesman.”
“He’s a fine-looking ferret,” she commented as the adorable animal wiggled his long-whiskered nose at her and then dived into the sturdy denim pack.
“He goes with me most places—cept’n fer church. Though, Lord knows that bein’ there’d do his thievin’ soul some good.” Mr. O’Leary leaned a gangly arm on the shovel handle and sighed as the ferret rebelliously popped up again, perching his front paws on the man’s rail-thin shoulder. “The critter can’t seem to keep his dishonest paws from takin’ that which ain’t his.”
The earnest show of the man’s distress and the delightful look of innocence on the ferret’s whiskered face coaxed a smile from Hope. She was grateful for the diversion so that she didn’t have to field the man’s inquiries. “With a face like that, how could he possibly mean to be ill-behaved?”
“That’s what I been tellin’ myself, but after a while a body’s gotta wonder.” He shrugged out of the pack and folded his legs beneath him, then tucked the long, lean ferret back inside. “This is not social hour at the opera house.” Jane’s terse voice sounded at Hope’s ear.
Hope turned just in time to see Jane’s cutting glare swing from her to the undertaker then back again, but she refused to cower in response.
“Stop your fraternizing and come along. Can’t you see that we’re waiting for you?” Pivoting, the woman stalked down the trail toward the wagons, not even bothering to give Mr. O’Leary an appreciative look for his labor and not thinking enough to pass one last look at her brother’s grave.
“Thank you for your hard work, Mr. O’Leary.” Hope peered up at the man, deciding that although he was a little rough around the edges he seemed harmless enough.
“Glad to do it.” He looped his arms into his pack and tugged his shovel out of the dirt. “It’s my job.”
Turning, Hope made her way down the trail. She caught Aaron’s gaze fixed on her as if he’d been watching for a long while. Had he sent Jane up to get her? He’d seemed completely oblivious to the woman’s spiteful ways.
When she’d almost reached the cluster of mourners, Aaron came to meet her and guided her toward his wagon. My family, as well as a few others, will be coming over in a little while with plenty of fixings for a meal. I hope you don’t mind the lot of us barging in on you, but this is how we do it here in Boulder.”
“That’s perfectly fine.” She managed a dim smile as she maneuvered through the tall grass. “As soon as we get there, I’ll do what I can to get things prepared.”
He shook his head. “You won’t be doing anything, Hope. That’s what the others will be there for.” He came to a stop and stared down at her as if to enforce his point.
“Until the past twenty hours, these people had no idea that I existed. To be counted among family now,” she reasoned, thinking about how Jane clearly viewed her as an outsider, “is a bit uncomfortable.” And to have Aaron telling her what to do settled over her with equal unpleasantness. Besides, she would rather busy herself than to field the questions she was sure would come her way—just like with Mr. O’Leary.
How did you and Paul meet? How long had you corresponded? When were you to wed? And most inevitably, why had Paul not told us about you?
“Paul obviously didn’t view you as an outsider,” Aaron argued.
“Please. It’s not that I don’t appreciate your consideration—” she tugged on the strong thread of gracious manners that had been woven into her from the time she was young “—but I would feel better if I could be helping.”
For a long moment, Aaron peered down at her as though taking her full measure. Yesterday she’d refused his apathetic proposal of marriage. Honorable, though it may be, seeing as how this man considered it his job to make decisions for her, declining his hand was a very wise decision—just like breaking off her engagement with Jonas had been.
“Aaron,” Ben called, motioning him to the other side of the grassy knoll, “Jane’s going to need your help here.”
Hope followed in Aaron’s wake, lifting the skirts of her cobalt-blue dress as she picked her way around the tender spring flowers that had poked through the soil. She hadn’t dreamed she’d need traditional mourning attire upon her arrival, and her lack of it only seemed to irritate Jane further. Paul’s sister had scanned her up and down not once but several times today, as though to make some silent barbed statement.
“She says she’s feeling pretty weak,” Ben commented, his voice low and measured. When he slid a cautious gaze to Hope, she couldn’t miss the hint of apology there.
“Oh, I am, Aaron. Very weak. I’m so glad you’re here.” Jane’s breathy whisper filtered to Hope. The woman threw herself into Aaron’s arms—almost.
When he sidestepped to gain his balance, Hope stifled a gasp. But she could hardly fault the woman for being given to exceptional outbursts of emotion after suffering such shock.
“You are a great strength to me. I’m sure that Paul would offer his gratitude if he was—” Jane’s eyes suddenly pooled with fresh tears. “I don’t know what I would do without you, Aaron. Honestly, you are meant for me.”
He passed a disconcerted glance to Ben, his throat convulsing as though he’d just swallowed a small horse. He stared down at where Jane had circled her arms around his chest and burrowed her cheek into his dark gray vest. “Well, I, uh…I’m glad to help.”
“Thank you,” Jane whispered, one side of her thin lips lifting in what looked to Hope like a triumphant grin.
Clearing his throat, Aaron pried her arms loose and took one sizable step away from her. “Don’t you think we should probably go since the others will be coming soon?”
“Yes, of course. You’re right, as always, Aaron.” The way Jane latched onto Aaron and led the way, Hope half wondered if she was making a silent claim. The icy look she sent Hope could’ve frozen one of the yellow spring blooms dotting the grassy knoll within seconds and furthered her suspicion.
“We’ll be right behind you to help with the meal, Hope. Don’t you worry about a thing,” Ben’s wife, Callie, called as she took her husband’s hand and climbed into their wagon.
Hope waved and trailed behind Jane and Aaron, watching as Jane nearly sprinted the last few feet to claim a seat at the front of the wagon, not even bothering to wait for assistance.
“You’ll have to sit in the back again, Hope. There’s just not room up here. You won’t mind, will you?” She gave Hope a sickeningly sweet look, her face all pinched in apology as she took great care spreading out her skirts as though decorating an elaborate layered cake.
Hope struggled to prevent her disbelief from making its way to an all-out expression. “Of course, I don’t mind.”
With a firm but gentle touch, Aaron easily lifted her into the wagon and then took his own seat next to Jane. When Jane clasped a possessive hand over Aaron’s muscular arm, Hope determined that Paul’s sister was definitely marking her territory. As far as Hope was concerned, Jane could have the man. But being a woman of principle, the fact that Jane was being so nasty about the whole thing just didn’t sit right.
Once Aaron had the wagon headed down the road, he glanced at her with a concern-filled look. “Are you sure you don’t mind all of us coming to your house for a gather—”
“Paul’s house,” Jane corrected darting her attention to Aaron then back at Hope. “It’s Paul’s house.”
Hope determined to find some common ground on which to stand with Jane if this day was going to be anything more than horrible. “I’m sure that Paul would’ve wanted it that way.”
Jane twisted in her seat. “Excuse me for saying so, but honestly, how would you know what Paul would’ve wanted?” She narrowed her hazel-eyed gaze and pursed her thin lips, making them nearly disappear. “You never even met him.”
“I—I just thought that Paul, being as kind-hearted and giving as he was—”
“Yes he was, wasn’t he? So generous that he gave you his estate.”
“Jane,” Aaron admonished.
“It’s all right, Aaron,” Hope placated. “She’s had a very difficult day.”
Jane’s shrewd expression suddenly turned sorrowful just like that. “Oh, I’m just so beside myself with grief. My dear, dear brother Paul…dead,” she sobbed, hugging her arms to her chest and dabbing at her eyes.
Surely, this woman couldn’t be so shallow as to exercise such pettiness—especially at a time like this. Hope would love to give her the benefit of the doubt, but she’d deny her own intelligence in doing so. Instead, Hope reminded herself that she was irrevocably connected to this woman, and although she couldn’t help feeling incredulous at Jane’s flagrant show of melodramatics, she must be as gracious as humanly possible.
Aaron gave Jane’s arm a brief squeeze, bringing a peculiar stop to the lamenting. “Why don’t you decide where you think we should have the gathering? How does that sound?”
Jane sniffled. Dabbed at her eyes. Hiccupped. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
After several moments of silence, the woman sniffled once again as if for good measure. She stared up at Aaron, her shapeless loglike eyebrows bunched inward. “I know my brother better than anyone. Why don’t we all gather at Paul’s home?” she announced, as though the idea was brand new. “I’m sure he would have wanted it that way.”
Hope nearly bit clear through her tongue. She couldn’t imagine how a woman could be so petty—especially at a time like this. Determined to stay strong, she silently conceded that Paul’s sister would be no help at all. Hope was in this alone.
Chapter Five
Aaron watched from the front room as Hope made her way to the small spare bedroom to put her shawl away. His throat grew tight as she passed by Paul’s bedroom, pausing momentarily and peering inside, her slender hand curled around the etched metal doorknob. She quietly closed the door and entered the room across the hallway.
She’d been stalwart all day long, from the time he’d dragged himself from the hayloft early this morning to take care of the chores until now, when at least two dozen people she didn’t even know were set to arrive. And she’d been so patient with Jane.
It’d taken Aaron by surprise, the downright rude way Jane responded to Hope about the gathering on the ride here. Paul had mentioned that Jane could be testy, but Aaron had never seen that side of her.
Ever since his wife and baby’s death, Jane had been the picture of neighborly support. She’d shown up at least once a week at the wood shop, a basket laden with baked goods hanging from her arm. She’d even brought a noontime meal by on several occasions. Aaron had been grateful for the offerings, but he’d never seen them as anything more than kindly gestures.
Now he wasn’t so sure—especially with the way Jane had taken to clinging to him like mud to a pig.
Hope had held her own with Jane. Oddly enough, that had struck a chord of satisfaction and pride in his heart, but still he felt compelled to watch over the situation. He’d dropped Jane off at her house on the edge of Paul’s property, hoping that a little rest before the meal was served would remove the woman’s sharp edge. Although Hope had smoothed over Jane’s rudeness today with understanding—a surprising trait, given her fancy ways and attire—he hadn’t missed the way embarrassment had colored Hope’s fair cheeks when Jane had glared at her earlier today as she’d climbed aboard the buckboard in her bright blue dress.
As far as Aaron was concerned, it shouldn’t matter a lick what color a person wore to a funeral. And frankly he didn’t think God much cared, either. What mattered most in Aaron’s book was honoring life. Paul’s life had been honored today—that was certain. It was honored by his friends and neighbors who’d recalled his kindness and acts of mercy and also by this woman he’d been set to wed. She’d honored him in the quiet strength she’d shown in the face of a difficult set of circumstances, in the gracious way she’d answered questions from some of the townsfolk earlier and in the patient way she’d endured Jane’s near-tantrum this morning when Aaron and Ben had informed Jane of Paul’s deathbed decisions.
But life had only just begun for Hope here. There was plenty to be done, and the complete naivety she’d shown around Paul’s cattle was proof enough that she didn’t have the first idea about farm life. Aaron couldn’t imagine her continuing on with such poise and courage when faced with milking the cows or digging her hands into the soil.
He’d help her out and keep an eye on the situation with Jane because he’d promised and because it was the right thing to do. But he’d do so with as minimal contact with Hope as possible because for some reason he couldn’t keep his thoughts from straying straight to her.
Last night when he’d finally nestled into the hayloft to sleep he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about the way Hope had saved that barn kitten from sure death, the way she’d kept her calm, the way she’d said, “Excuse me,” to the cattle as she made her way through their midst and the way she’d met Aaron’s concern with such innocence and determination in her gaze.
“Well, where is she?” Katie, his brother Joseph’s wife, asked, intruding on Aaron’s thoughts. Thankfully.
“Who?” He hadn’t even heard Katie and Joseph enter the house.
“Hope. That’s who. I met her at the funeral. She’s a dear.” Katie peered at him as though he’d spoken some foreign language. “Is she all right?”
Concern for her rose within him just as fast as a rainstorm in the mountains. “What do you—”
“There you are.” Katie crossed to meet Hope as she entered the room and set a stack of dishes down on the table. “How are you doing after everything?”
“I’m fine.” The faint smile on Hope’s face was far from convincing and strummed another unexpected chord of compassion in Aaron’s heart. “I was just freshening up.” He gave her a quick once-over. She hadn’t looked disheveled when they’d arrived home. In fact, she still looked picture perfect.
It was the exact opposite of the windblown, no-fuss, natural way Ellie had always been.
“I thought that perhaps we could use some of the dishes I brought from home for the gathering today,” she said as she glanced back at the fine china. “I just unpacked them.”
Was Hope putting on airs? Was she intent on impressing the lot of folks here with her obvious trappings of wealth? Folks here weren’t so easily awed. Oh, maybe some of the ladies would fawn over the flourish of it all, but most folks put more stock in hard work, endurance and good living.
Katie strode right past surface pleasantries and encircled Hope in a hug. The rigid way Hope had held her shoulders back and head high all day seemed to lessen some, and for that Aaron was thankful. “I think the dishes will be a lovely touch to the gathering, Hope. Thank you for offering them.”
As much as he was uncomfortable with this whole situation, he couldn’t bear seeing her try so hard to be strong. He was worn out just watching her and was intent on making sure she rested throughout the gathering.
“Hope, I want you to meet my husband, Joseph.” Katie glanced over her shoulder at Joseph.
“I’m sorry about your loss, ma’am. Please accept my condolences.” He stepped closer and held his hand out to Hope. “Paul was a good man. He’ll be missed.”
Hope hesitated for a moment then took his hand as though suddenly aware that Joseph was unable to see. “Thank you. It does come as quite a shock.”
Joseph had been without his sight for almost a year now. Aaron had encouraged him that he’d done a remarkable job adapting, but Joseph would funnel all of the credit to his wife, who’d initially come to Boulder as his teacher.
