Kate James - The Truth About Hope

Hope sighed heavily. Replacing the picture frame, she reached for Sebastian and hugged him. Nestling back against the soft pillows, she closed her eyes.

* * *

HOPE BOLTED UP in bed and looked around, disoriented. Recognition came with a sense of alarm. She was in the room she’d been assigned in her father’s house. She heard a soft knock on the door and realized that must have been what had awakened her. Her eyes felt gritty and her throat raw. She was still clutching Sebastian and placed him gently against the pillows, then swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The room was dark, except for the bedside lamp and the alarm clock’s glowing red numbers, indicating it was ten minutes after seven.

She must have dozed off and slept right through the night, even neglecting to take off the dress she’d worn the evening before. All the sleepless nights must have been catching up with her.

The knock sounded again.

“Just a minute,” she called out in a scratchy voice. Scooting off the bed, she rushed into the bathroom, brushed her hair and tried to smooth the wrinkles from her dress. When that didn’t work, she grabbed her housecoat hanging on the back of the door and pulled it on, tying the belt snugly around her waist.

Hurrying through the dim living area of the suite, she bumped her shin against the corner of the coffee table and yelped. With a slight limp, she made her way to the door, opened it a crack.

“Good morning, Hope,” Priscilla said cheerfully, balancing a large tray in her hands. “I brought you breakfast.”

“Um...thanks.”

Priscilla smiled. “You’re going to have to open the door for me to bring it in.”

“Oh, sorry.” Hope stepped back.

Priscilla took the tray to the small table by a window in the sitting area. She pushed back the heavy drapes and bright sunshine flooded in.

Hope followed her. “So, I’m not having breakfast with my father?”

Priscilla glanced over her shoulder. “If you want to have breakfast with your father, you’ll have to get up a lot earlier. He usually eats at five thirty and is generally out of the house by six.”

“Oh.” There was a tremor in Hope’s voice. It was clear she hadn’t made a great impression on her father the night before, and now she’d missed breakfast. “If I was expected downstairs at that time, no one told me.” She knew she sounded petulant.

“Don’t worry about it, miss. He wasn’t expecting you. Sit down and eat.”

Hope slid onto the chair and tugged the lapel of her housecoat up to cover the collar of her dress. “You didn’t need to go to all this trouble. I can come down and get my own breakfast, once I know where everything is.”

“It’s no trouble. It’s my job. But when you’re ready, I’ll show you around the house, so you can find your own way.” Priscilla lifted the cover off the plate in front of Hope. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Hope stared at the omelet, sausages, toast, orange juice and the cup of hot chocolate Priscilla was pouring from a thermos. It all looked and smelled wonderful, but she didn’t have much of an appetite. “No, thank you.”

“Fine, then.” Priscilla did her little head-bob and moved to the door. “When you change, leave that pretty dress on your bed. I’ll have it cleaned and pressed for you.”

Hope’s hand flew to her neck. Touching the collar of her dress peeking out above the housecoat, she felt the heat rise to her face.

“You don’t have to worry about things with me, miss,” Priscilla said softly.

“Thank you—and please call me Hope.”

“Okay, Hope.” Priscilla opened the door. “I’ll be back in an hour, if that suits you.”

Hope nodded, and Priscilla shut the door behind her.

* * *

AN HOUR LATER, Hope was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. She’d pulled her hair back into a high ponytail and slipped on her sneakers. She smiled when Priscilla arrived and followed her out of the room. Soon, her head was spinning, and she still hadn’t seen the entire house.

“Why don’t we take a break?” Priscilla suggested. “You can sit outside, and I’ll get you some iced tea.”

It sounded heavenly to Hope. Priscilla led her to a flagstone patio and a small sheltered garden, edged by blooming shrubs. “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll be right back.”

Compared to the grandness of everything she’d seen in the house, Hope liked the closed-in feel of the space. She stroked a velvety petal and inhaled the sweet and spicy scents of white gardenia and jasmine. She had her nose buried in the center of a bright red blossom, eyes closed, when the bush vibrated and she heard a scraping noise at its base. She stumbled back, causing both motion and sound to be repeated.

Crouching down, she cautiously pushed aside a large branch to have a look...and started to laugh. Unmindful of the damp grass, she fell to her knees. Still laughing, she reached under the base of the bush and hauled out a squirming, wiggling, mud-covered puppy. “What are you doing here?” she inquired of the little dog.

The puppy mewed and continued to wriggle. Hope leaned in to nuzzle him and pulled back quickly. “Wow! What they say about sweet puppy breath doesn’t apply to you, does it? You stink! I bet that’s more than just mud covering you.”

In response, he slathered Hope’s face with his tongue, landing one grimy paw on her white shirt and another on her cheek. “Thanks, pal,” Hope exclaimed. She swiped her upper arm across her face, smearing the mud.

“I have our refreshments,” Priscilla announced as she emerged from the house carrying a tray laden with a pitcher, glasses and a plate of sliced lemons. She almost dropped the tray when she noticed Hope kneeling on the grass. Depositing it on the patio table with a clatter, she rushed over. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Let me take him.” She made a grab for the puppy, but Hope drew him back, streaking more dirt on her shirt and along her arms.

“Look at you! You’re covered in muck,” Priscilla said. “Morris was supposed to have taken that little dog to the pound a week ago.”

Hope’s eyes rounded, and she tightened her hold on the puppy. “To the pound ?”

“Well, we didn’t want to. Morris and I thought it would be nice to have a dog around, but your father...”

“He didn’t want a dog,” Hope concluded.

Priscilla nodded.

“Where did he come from?”

The puppy in question enthusiastically licked the side of Hope’s neck.

“We have no idea. He just appeared a couple of weeks ago.”

Sinking back on her heels, Hope placed the puppy on the ground, where he executed a somersault in pursuit of his tail, before clambering onto her lap again. Hope nudged him, and he rolled over on his back, where he remained with an expectant look on his face. When Hope obliged with a tummy rub, his gleeful squeals stole her heart. “So, he doesn’t belong to anyone?” she asked.

“Not that we could determine.” Priscilla squatted down, too, and patted the puppy on the top of his upside-down head.

Hope looked at her thoughtfully. “My father asked me last night if there was anything he could do to make me feel more comfortable here.” She continued to rub the little dog’s belly, while he nipped at her fingers with his needle-sharp teeth. “I’ve always wanted a dog, but I couldn’t have one in Canyon Creek because Mom was allergic. What if I told my father I wanted to keep the pup?”

Priscilla smiled. “There’s always a chance. Why don’t we take the little guy into the mudroom and get him cleaned up first? Make him more presentable.”

It took several cycles of lathering and rinsing until the bathwater finally ran clear. The pup was still mostly black, but the brown had washed away with the sudsy water to reveal a bright white belly and white boots on three of his paws.