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

  hOPE’s

  DESIGN

  THE DAUGHTERS OF RIVERTON, BOOK 2

  Dawn Kinzer

  © 2016 by Dawn Kinzer

  Morningview Publishing

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written consent of the author. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews. For information, contact the author at [email protected].

  Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.

  This story was inspired by the author’s hometown—the setting, people, and history. (See author’s notes.) However, this is still a work of fiction and the product of the author’s imagination. The names of any real-life historical characters, as well as the town’s name, have all been changed.

  Visit the author’s website: www.dawnkinzer.com

  Cover design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design – www.indiecoverdesign.com

  Images ©

  https://us.fotolia.com, File: #93785249, Woman

  http://www.bigstockphoto.com, Photo ID: 90389699, Lilacs

  Book Layout: © 2013 BookDesignTemplates.com

  Hope’s Design/ Dawn Kinzer.1st ed.

  ISBN: 978-0-9978154-3-6

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION AND REFLECTION

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  MEET THE AUTHOR

  FREEBIE!

  SARAH’S SMILE – BOOK 1

  If you enjoy Hope’s Design, please check out Sarah’s Smile, Book 1 in The Daughters of Riverton series. Also available on Amazon in e-book and paperback here.

  FREEBIE!

  Download this short story as a gift when you sign up at www.dawnkinzer.com to receive my author newsletter sharing interesting tidbits about my books, photos, and other fun stuff.

  To my daughters, Brooke and Ana

  And my stepdaughter, Katrina,

  May you always follow your dreams...

  And unto one he gave five talents,

  to another two, and to another one;

  to every man according to his several ability;

  and straightaway took his journey.

  ~ Matthew 25:15

  chapter one

  Riverton, Wisconsin

  June 1904

  “Next stop, Martindale.”

  The end of her long journey—almost. The railroad didn’t reach her final destination—the small country town of Riverton, Wisconsin. From what she remembered, with a population of over two thousand, Martindale was four times the size of Riverton.

  Hope Andrews peered out the window at people on the platform saying farewell to passengers boarding the train. An elderly couple wiped tears from their eyes after giving a young man one last hug. He stiffened, as though embarrassed by their outward signs of affection, then softened and embraced the gray-haired lady before planting a kiss on her cheek.

  One woman, wearing a faded dress and holding the hand of a little boy dressed in stained trousers, seemed to search the car’s windows for a passenger. Her face lit up in recognition, and she waved frantically. Was she saying good-bye to a husband leaving home in search of work?

  That man—talking to a porter. Despite the thick, hot air in the train car, Hope shivered. Similar build, hair color, and taste in clothes, but it couldn’t be Henry. No one would divulge she’d traveled to the Midwest.

  The stranger turned his face, giving Hope full view. Her shoulders relaxed, and she sighed in relief. Shame on her for letting even an imaginary Henry Shelton affect her—their relationship had been over for months.

  A whistle blew, and the train inched forward. Cornfields and grazing cows would fill a portion of her scenery for the next year, maybe two. Quite a change from New York City, but for now, what alternative did she have? Because of Henry, she’d given up her home, her friends, and possibly any chance of becoming a real fashion designer.

  Hope fingered the sketch pad in her lap. Discouraged by the rejections she’d received after submitting several dress designs, her parents had tried to convince her that God had given her creative abilities for a purpose beyond what she could even imagine. Hope desperately wanted to believe that possibility, but sometimes her faith waned. Her parents’ enthusiasm came from experience. God always used them in big ways, no matter where they ventured. Somehow they knew the right things to say and do—as though the Almighty whispered instructions whenever they needed a little help. As much as she wanted to be like them, Hope didn’t even come close.

  A woman looking not much older than Hope and carrying a crying baby dropped onto the bench seat facing her. An off-key duet ensued with the wailing child as a little girl about four years old with brunette curls and soft brown eyes settled next to the lady, chattering nonsense and spitting one question after another.

  “Hush, Marcie.” The mother patted her daughter’s thigh. With weary eyes and hair escaping pins, the poor woman appeared frazzled. She threw an apologetic glance in Hope’s direction. “I’m sorry the baby’s making a fuss. The train’s movement should lull him to sleep.”

  It couldn’t be easy traveling alone with two little ones. Hope offered an understanding smile. “Are you traveling to visit someone?”

  “No, we’re on our way home. We’ll be getting off in Martindale.” The baby gave a few last whimpers, then quieted. “We take the train every two weeks to visit my mother, clean her house, make sure she’s eating properly. My husband and I keep trying to convince her to live with us, but she refuses to leave her home. It’s difficult taking the children, but she looks forward to seeing them, so I do the best I can.”

  “You’re a kind daughter to be so thoughtful.” Hope, wanting to be like her own mother, strived to help others, but too often she acted on impulse and the results were less than positive.

  At twenty-six, Hope’s friends were already married and mothers themselves. They found it difficult to understand Hope wanting anything more than a family and Henry. She couldn’t blame them—they didn’t know the real man beneath the handsome, charming exterior.

  Henry managed his temper in social settings where lack of control could damage his career as a lawyer. But away from observing eyes, he found various ways to punish her for displeasing him. Even now, thousands of miles away from him, her stomach churned at the memories. Hope refused to stay associated with a man who lacked genuine kindness, let alone become married to him. She’d broken their engagement, knowing she risked facing not only his rage, but public judgment.

  If just seeing Henry’s likeness set her heart pounding like a horse r
acing down the track at the Kentucky Derby, maybe she hadn’t left the painful situation behind after all.

  Though he claimed to love her, Henry had been unsupportive of her aspirations. He thought it foolish for her to think she could ever see her designs on the front cover of The Delineator or women using Butterick patterns to make the clothes at home for themselves.

  Out of concern for her well-being, her wise and intuitive parents had pressed Hope to tell them what had gone wrong in the relationship. When she admitted she’d begun to witness mean and controlling behaviors, they believed her—a relief since Henry seemed a continual presence wherever she traveled in the city.

  He never did anything to cause trouble—he was too smart for that. But because of his unwillingness to leave her alone, Hope’s parents insisted she leave New York while they were out of the country. Although Hope refused to believe Henry would physically harm her again, they feared for her safety, and Hope knew her father wouldn’t focus on his job at the Panama Canal if consumed with worry.

  Ashamed she’d fallen in love with someone cruel and untrustworthy, Hope would have kept Henry’s true nature to herself. But her closest friend, Charlotte, confused over the broken engagement, had insisted that Hope spend a night with her so they could talk into the early morning, just like when they were young girls.

  Hope tried to discreetly keep the bruises on her arms covered, but while dressing for bed that evening, Charlotte had spotted darkened areas. Mortified, Hope had crumpled into a teary mess. Then, stumbling over her words, she’d explained the ugly marks Henry had inflicted when she returned his emerald ring, and she begged Charlotte to keep her secret. She’d agreed, and Hope had gained another ally.

  There had only been one other physical encounter with Henry. He’d arrived at her home unexpectedly one evening while her parents were out, acting despondent over losing in court earlier that day. After reminding him that she wasn’t alone—house staff still milled about—she’d allowed him inside. Hope carried an emotional interest in the eight-month-old case involving a child’s death, and she believed Henry just needed a chance to talk about the disappointing verdict.

  But the conversation quickly turned, and he begged her to accept his ring and renew their engagement. When she continued to refuse, he grew frustrated and slapped her. The horrified look on his face before he ran out the door had convinced Hope that Henry had never intended to harm her, but she couldn’t trust it wouldn’t happen again.

  When Hope’s father accepted the position in Panama, Charlotte tried to persuade Hope to stay with her family. She and her parents had considered the option. But, following much discussion and prayer, Hope agreed to put some distance between her and Henry, and Charlotte promised to keep Hope’s whereabouts a secret.

  ***

  Benjamin Greene stood in line for the train leaving Vilene. After getting up with the sun to pray with his father, he’d downed the scrambled eggs, ham, fried potatoes, and toast with blackberry jam his mother had insisted he consume before leaving. The hearty breakfast still satisfied his belly. Ben appreciated Samuel giving him a ride to the train that morning. Although he’d spent almost a week at the family farm, there’d been little time to talk brother-to-brother without someone interrupting.

  Older brothers, Samuel and David, had built homes on the property for their growing families, and younger sister Ruth still lived in the main house with their parents. On the family farm people were constantly in and out, sharing meals, chores, and conversation.

  As soon as he stepped off the train in Martindale, Jake would bombard him with questions about the family, but like any older brother, Ben would first taunt Jake about missing out on their mother’s Swedish pancakes and the maple syrup tapped from trees on the farm. He’d wait until later to pull out the two jars tucked in his bag.

  If Ben and Jake had stayed on their family’s land, it would have been difficult to support everyone relying on the farm’s success without purchasing additional acreage. No one imagined the youngest in the family would inherit their great-uncle’s farm outside of Riverton. But the uncle had never married, and he’d taken a liking to Jake early on. After Ben saw the overwhelming amount of work needing to be done, he offered to help Jake rebuild his dilapidated farm until Ben could figure out what he wanted to do with his own life.

  What should he do? Devote years to milking cows and raising crops with Jake? It was a good, honest living, but Ben didn’t feel passionate about that life—not like Jake. Ben had been reckless with the artistic abilities God had given him, and now he was paying the cost. He accepted that. Guilt challenged any joy he felt while painting, so until he found peace for what he’d done, he’d stick to his vow and keep his work a secret.

  The train was ready for boarding, and Ben followed the gentleman ahead of him. Although a small breeze blew in through slightly opened windows, the warm car smelled of sweat and stale smoke, something he’d have to put up with during the two-hour trip to Martindale.

  He scanned the car for an empty seat. There. Next to a gentleman dressed in a business suit. Across from him sat another man with his head leaning against the window and his hat covering part of his face. Ben took a step, then a middle-aged-looking woman coming toward him squeezed down the aisle and dropped her generously proportioned body next to the sleeping passenger. Ben would stay put and give the lady a moment to settle in.

  “I see Charles and I have a new traveling companion,” she said, then grinned at the man in the business suit, displaying a large gap between her two front teeth. Her hair mixed with brown, gray, and white strands reminded Ben of the coat on his brother’s aging collie. “You get on at the last stop? What’s your name? Where you headed?” Same kind of personality as old Shep too.

  The man introduced himself as Jonathan Landers and explained he was getting off at Martindale, then opened his newspaper.

  “Ahhhh...next stop then.” She settled back, laid her hands over her handbag, and nodded to the gentleman sleeping next to her. “My husband, Charles Davidson.” She patted his leg. “Say hi to this nice man, Charles.”

  He growled, shoved her hand away, and went back to sleep.

  “I’m Mrs. Davidson. We’re on our honeymoon. Both widowed, we found love again.”

  Honeymoon? Didn’t newlyweds show a little more interest in each other? Ben always imagined that if he ever got married—and that was a big if—it would be to someone he couldn’t live without. Charles didn’t seem to have the slightest interest in his beloved.

  “I was having a nice visit with a woman in another car before we stopped to let on more passengers, but she dozed off, just like my Charles. How nice that I have you to talk to. That other woman didn’t have much to say, and I think it’s such a bore just to sit here and stare out the window, don’t you?” Her eyebrows lifted as a grin spread across her face.

  Better to move on. Ben searched for another open spot. Only one left—across from a mother with a baby and little girl. He didn’t mind children, and anything was better than being interrogated by a lonely woman on her honeymoon. Poor Mr. Landers.

  ***

  “May I sit here?”

  Hope’s focus moved up from her sketch pad, and her breath caught. The man with the nice voice not only had a kind and handsome face, but his cerulean-colored eyes mirrored a deep blue sky, and his thick, light brown hair was the same soft shade as Charlotte’s kitten. “Yes, you’re welcome to.” She glanced behind her. “The train has been moving for several miles. There was a problem with your seat?”

  He slid in next to her, and looking sheepish, gave a nod. “You could say that. So, thank you.” He lifted both hands in a defensive gesture. “I promise I won’t bother you.”

  “See that you don’t,” Hope said, her tone light and teasing. The corners of his lips turned up slightly. Oh my, that smile, and those gorgeous eyes that hinted a sense of humor behind them.

  “Ben.”

  “Pardon?” She needed to stop staring.

 
“Benjamin Greene. But friends just call me Ben.” He held out his hand.

  She took it. “Hope Andrews.”

  He reached across the space between the bench seats and held out his hand toward the little girl. “And your name?”

  “Marcie.” She giggled, then took his hand and pumped it.

  Her mother nodded. “Helen Jones, and this is Luke.”

  “Nice to make your acquaintance.” He opened a book and began to read, thereby ending conversation.

  Did Hope say something wrong? Mr. Greene acted so cordial one minute, and the next, he ignored her—them. Of course, he did mention not wanting to bother them. But rudeness and consideration weren’t synonymous.

  Hope glanced sideways at him. Good-looking and literate. The Call of the Wild, a story about a sled dog and his adventures, had been published earlier that year. She’d seen copies displayed in a New York bookstore window. Mr. Greene wasn’t wearing a suit, so probably not a businessman. Hope tried not to judge people by their clothes, but his could certainly be improved upon. With his lean but strong build, he’d appear commanding in a tailored suit.

  Since her bench partner seemed absorbed in his novel, and Marcie was chattering to her mother without seeming to take a breath, Hope could get back to sketching. She opened the pad and continued drawing a bodice she felt would complement the skirt’s lines.

  Mr. Greene gave a low, almost inaudible, groan.

  Something terrible must be happening in the story. “Did the dog get into trouble?” she whispered, without moving her eyes from her own paper.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean for you to hear that,” he whispered back.

  Hope looked up and became transfixed by the depth in his eyes. Could it be possible to feel something for a man without knowing anything about him? She swallowed and forced her gaze away from his. “Well, I did. So, now you must tell me what caused you such distress.”