The Truth About Hope

Seconds later, Hope felt Priscilla’s arms around her. The woman smelled of lavender and cinnamon. She rubbed Hope’s back reassuringly. “Shh. Shh,” she soothed. “You’ve been through a lot. Take a rest or a bath. Leave the unpacking. I’ll take care of that for you later. Just relax for now.”

Hope accepted her comfort for a minute before stepping back and brushing at the moisture on her cheeks. “So I get to meet my father at dinner?”

Priscilla reached forward, then seemed to reconsider and dropped her hand. “Yes. It’s at eight, as it is every night Mr. Wilson dines at home. I’m supposed to finish work at five, but I often don’t leave until well after. I’ve made arrangements to stay late this evening. I’ll come and get you shortly before eight to escort you to the dining room.”

Priscilla’s gaze skimmed over Hope’s T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. “You might want to wear something else. A dress, maybe. Your father believes in dressing for dinner.” Priscilla’s face softened. She motioned toward the cell phone. “Please call if there’s anything I can do.”

* * *

HOPE WAS WEARING her best dress, a pretty floral print her mother had bought for her seventeenth birthday. Simply seeing the dress made her long for her mother, but she’d managed to contain her grief by the time Priscilla came to fetch her shortly before eight. Walking into the spacious, formal dining room, Hope noted that everything appeared old and staid, in stark contrast to the modern feel of what she’d seen of the rest of the house. There was a well-worn carpet on the floor, an imposing wooden table with matching chairs upholstered in rich brocade, and deep-rose velvet drapes edging the tall windows.

Soft music, something classical, was playing in the background.

Seated at the head of the long table was her father. He had a narrow, chiseled face and short-cropped gray hair. He wore a charcoal suit, white shirt and a yellow-and-blue paisley tie. There was a stack of papers in front of him and he held a multifaceted crystal tumbler filled with a rich gold liquid. A man, formally attired in a black suit and tie and wearing white gloves, was standing behind her father. For some reason Hope wanted to giggle. Instead, she said a silent thanks to Priscilla for her advice about what to wear. In her jeans, she would’ve been seriously underdressed and would’ve felt at an even greater disadvantage. Self-consciously she smoothed her hands down her skirt.

Her father’s eyes shot up, a pale gray, no warmer than they’d been in the photographs she’d seen of him.

“Well, don’t just stand there.” Her father’s voice boomed across the great expanse of the room. “Come, come.” He gestured toward the place setting to his right without rising. “Have a seat.”

Priscilla pushed Hope gently from behind. “Go ahead. It’ll be fine,” she murmured in her ear. “He won’t respect you if he thinks you’re afraid of him,” she added in a whisper.

Hope felt her knees wobble and was relieved that they weren’t actually knocking together so that her father would notice. When she reached the chair, the black-suited man pulled it out for her. She mumbled a thank-you and began to sit—only to spring up again as she felt the chair hit the backs of her legs, presumably because the man had pushed it in for her.

She squirmed a little and had just settled in her chair, when Black Suit draped a napkin across her lap.

Her father set his papers aside, finished his drink, and the butler, or whatever he was, removed the empty tumbler and replaced it with a crystal goblet into which he poured a small amount of deep-red wine. Her father tasted the wine, and at his nod, Black Suit topped up the glass. He then held the bottle questioningly toward Hope.

She stared at him, unsure what was expected of her.

“Well? Would you like some wine with your dinner?” her father demanded.

“I’m only seventeen,” she squeaked.

“I know precisely how old you are. I was there when you were born, but that doesn’t answer the question. Billings can’t be standing there all night with the bottle in his hand.”

“Um...no, thank you.”

“Well, then.” Her father took a long, appreciative drink of his own wine, while Billings removed her wine goblet and poured water from a silver pitcher into another glass. Next Billings placed bowls containing a rich, fragrant, ginger-colored soup in front of her and her father. A delicious aroma wafted up. Not having had anything to eat since she’d left Canyon Creek that morning, other than a couple of the cookies Priscilla had brought her, she could hear her stomach grumble in response. Mortified, she glanced at her father and clasped her hands across her belly.

Her father’s eyes met hers. Without comment, he picked up the bread basket and offered it to her. She hesitantly selected a roll.

He kept his gaze on her, long and intense. Hope had the urge to squirm again.

“You look just like Rebecca,” he finally proclaimed. “Your mother was an extraordinarily beautiful woman. You resemble her.” He nodded, as if in approval, and reached a hand toward Hope. She nearly jumped when he took a lock of her hair and slid it through his fingers. “You’ve got her hair, too. It was, as they say, her crowning glory.”

Hope thought his expression was wistful, but that was probably wishful thinking on her part. Her sense of grief and loss intensified, and she averted her eyes and spooned some soup into her mouth.

“Tell me about yourself,” he commanded before she had a chance to swallow. “And let’s see if you’re like her in other ways, too.” The last comment was flung at her like an insult. “Then we’ll talk about how our living arrangement is going to work.”

CHAPTER FOUR

SOMEHOW, HOPE MADE it through dinner. She couldn’t remember what she’d eaten or much of the conversation. Stamped on her mind was a pair of hard, assessing eyes.

When she returned to her room, she found that Priscilla had unpacked her belongings.

Wandering around the beautifully furnished, spacious suite—lifting a ceramic bowl, trailing her fingers across the gleaming surface of a credenza—she felt completely adrift.

In the bedroom she noted that the bed had been turned down, the pillows fluffed, and her childhood teddy, Sebastian, well-worn from being well loved, sat in the center of the bed. That small gesture, from a woman who must’ve understood how lonely she was, made her want to cry.

She saw the photographs—of her and her mother, Aunt Clarissa, her and Luke together, and her other friends from Canyon Creek—arranged on the dresser. Uncannily, her favorite picture of her mom had been placed on the nightstand. Next to it was a glass of milk and a small plate of cookies. Her mother used to do that when Hope hadn’t been feeling well or just needed her spirits lifted.

She reached for the silver-framed photo on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed. She ran a fingertip across the image of her mother. Her father had it right; she did look like her, especially now that she was older. Pride crowded out some of the pain. But she was even prouder of being like her mother, something her father apparently derided. Her mother had been beautiful, but more important, she’d been lovely inside, a kind and gentle person. Hope missed her more than ever.

She wished her mother had told her about Jock. She knew very little about her father, and she couldn’t understand his reaction. He had wanted her to live with him. Then why did he seem so cold and uncaring, so...hostile? It made no sense.

Her father thought she was like her mother, and that seemed to elicit his scorn. He had her future mapped out, too. The schools she’d attend, the courses she’d take, even the people she should be friends with. All of that he’d discussed—no, discussed was the wrong word. He’d informed her over dinner.

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.

“How big do you think he’ll get when he’s full grown?” Hope asked as she toweled him off.

Priscilla pursed her lips. “I’m no expert on dogs, but the shape of his face makes me think he’s got some Irish wolfhound in him, but the rest of him looks like Labrador. If he’s mostly Lab, he won’t grow too large. Probably about sixty pounds when he’s full grown.”

“That’s not so big. My father wouldn’t object to me keeping him, if I promise to take care of him and keep him out of his way, would he?”

Before Priscilla could answer, the outside door swung open and Morris strode in, the screen door slamming behind him. He took one look at the two women, the little dog between them, and started to back out.

“Not so fast, Morris!” Priscilla called.

He stopped in his tracks, but kept his hand on the door handle.

The puppy—having aptly demonstrated his displeasure with the entire bathing process—must have seen his opportunity to escape. He squirmed out of Hope’s grasp and charged straight for the doorway, crashing headfirst into the screen. Fortunately, he bounced off it, landing ingloriously on his backside.

Hope rushed forward to make sure he was unharmed, but Morris was quicker. He held the puppy up and stared directly into his eyes. “Way to go, Einstein. I thought we’d learned about screen doors.”

Hope grinned as Morris passed him to her. She studied the pup. “Why don’t we call him Einstein?”

“I know him a little better than you do,” Morris said, “and I can assure you, he’s no genius.”

“That’s the point! He’s exactly the opposite, which is why the name is perfect for him. Hey, Einstein,” Hope said, testing it. When the puppy’s ears perked up in apparent recognition, she dropped a kiss on his now-sweet-smelling, fuzzy snout.

“Einstein it is,” Priscilla concurred. She shifted her gaze to Morris. “Where were we?”

Morris started to back out of the room again.

Priscilla laid a hand on his arm. “Whoa, my friend. Weren’t you supposed to have taken this little guy to the pound?”

“Well...yes,” he replied, looking everywhere except into her eyes.

“And yet here he is,” she said, stating the obvious. Annoyance flashed in her normally calm blue eyes. “He could’ve starved. Or worse, he could’ve wandered out into the road and been hit by a car.”

“No, not really.”

“And why would that be?”

Morris rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, because I was feeding him, and I set up a space in the garage for him. I’m not sure how he managed to get out, since it’s fenced.”

“You always did have a soft heart under that tough exterior, Morris, to go with your soft head!”

Hope grinned widely, watching the interplay between her father’s two employees as she squatted down to finish towel-drying Einstein.

The pup had other ideas. With a series of rapid-fire yips, he barreled as fast as his oversize paws could carry him toward the screen door again. This time he landed spread-eagled on his belly.

Laughing, Hope gathered him back in her arms.

When she approached her father that evening about Einstein, he relented. She could have him, with the understanding that she’d keep “the pesky dog” out of his way.

That wasn’t a problem, as Hope tried to avoid her father as much as possible. From that day onward, she and Einstein were inseparable.

* * *

THREE WEEKS AFTER Hope’s arrival at Glencastle, the first call came. Hope was in her room, going through the frustrating exercise of teaching Einstein basic commands, when Priscilla appeared in her doorway. “You have a call, Hope.”

“I do?”

“He says he knows you from Canyon Creek. His name is Luke.”

“Luke?” Hope glanced at the telephone on her desk. “How did he get this number?”

“I have no idea, but he’s on hold.”

Hope scrambled up and backed away. Einstein, obviously thinking it was a game, gamboled after her and latched on to the bottom of her yoga pants, starting a determined game of tug-of-war. Hope pulled her pant leg loose, picked up the puppy and cuddled him. “I...I can’t.”

Priscilla raised an eyebrow. “He says he needs to talk to you. What would you like me to tell him?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. Please just have him hang up.”

Priscilla moved to the phone and lifted the receiver. “No,” she said into the phone. “I’m sorry but she’s—” She sent Hope a final questioning look, but Hope just shook her head emphatically and took a couple more steps back. “She’s not available...No...Is there a message?...I see. Yes. Goodbye.”

Hope placed Einstein on the floor. “What did he say? No. No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.” She turned on her heel and rushed into her bedroom, Einstein scampering after her.

Luke’s email arrived later that day. The subject line read: “Urgent.” Hope’s finger hovered over the mouse as she vacillated. Should she open it or not? Fleetingly she wondered if it could be about something more than her having left Canyon Creek, but she dismissed the thought. Eventually, she deleted the email unread and set up her mailbox to send any future emails from Luke directly to spam. It would be better—easier—for both of them if it was a clean break. That way Luke could get on with his life.

The first letter arrived a week later. Priscilla brought her the plain white envelope. Hope didn’t need to see the return address to know it was from Luke. The handwriting was all too familiar. She threw it unopened in her wastebasket.

All future calls went unanswered and all future letters were relegated to the garbage.

CHAPTER FIVE

WITH NOT MUCH to do until school started, Hope was outdoors as much as possible. She couldn’t deny the beauty of San Jose, especially in the area where her father’s house was located. Being outside had the added benefit of making it less likely that she’d bump into her father. Glencastle had stunning grounds, yet he never seemed to venture out. The times they spent together tended to be what she considered command performances. If it wasn’t mealtime—usually dinner—it was either because she’d displeased him in some way and was summoned or because there was some aspect of her future he hadn’t fully resolved and he wished to “discuss” with her.

As summer passed, Hope gravitated more and more to Priscilla and Morris for companionship. The three of them kept their friendship to themselves, and Hope avoided her father’s other employees as much as she could. She sensed that they were different from Priscilla and Morris, and she didn’t want to risk having them report on her.

She assisted Priscilla with her household chores and helped Morris wash and tinker with the cars. Soon after she had arrived, her father had bought her a sporty little Audi, which joined the collection of cars in the enormous garage.

She’d learned that Priscilla was a single mom to an adorable six-year-old named Molly, who was developmentally challenged. Priscilla’s husband had died serving in the armed forces overseas. Priscilla said she was fortunate to have both her mother and her mother-in-law, who shared the responsibility of looking after Molly when she was at work and Molly wasn’t in school.

Hope had met Molly on a couple of occasions when Priscilla had brought her to Glencastle; she was a happy child and sweet natured. It wasn’t a hardship to look after Molly whenever Priscilla needed her to.

With every passing week, Einstein grew. And grew. But he didn’t seem to be losing his clumsiness.

Finally, as summer neared its end, the phone calls from Luke dwindled, as did his letters.

Hope threw her energy into preparing for the start of the school year, with a combination of nerves and excitement. Not just because it would get her out of the house, but she enjoyed learning. After only a brief conversation during that first dinner, it had been decided that she’d attend Los Gatos High School for twelfth grade and then San Jose State University the year after.

Early on in her relationship with her father, Hope had understood the importance of picking her battles. Since she had no objection to attending San Jose State, and since one high school in San Jose was the same as any other to her, it was easy to comply with her father’s wishes in this regard.

For her last year of high school, her father allowed her some latitude in the courses she chose—and what she studied was more important to her than the actual school she attended—but they had a full-blown argument over what her major would be in university the following year.