Unwrapping Hope Read online

  Then again, she’d need to search for a hack. In the rain. In the cold rain.

  When Spence Newland walked down the hallway with the crate, Phoebe trailed behind. She would let him drive her. But she would keep up her guard.

  SPENCE PLACED THE CRATE on the floor under the carriage seat while Phoebe waited in a dry location under the store’s awning.

  Why had he volunteered for this trip when he had a desktop covered with work, a thief to find, and a stubborn investor he’d decided not to give up on?

  Thankfully, the box contained only knitted winter clothing accessories and not store merchandise. He’d already accused Phoebe of extortion, which he regretted. A few minutes ago, he’d worried about needing to accuse her of theft.

  He could accurately accuse her of distrusting him. It only made him more determined to find out why.

  Spence accompanied Phoebe to the carriage and helped her inside. Seated next to her, he prodded the gelding into a brisk walk along the sloppy rain-soaked street.

  They headed south and crossed the bridge spanning the river. Rain struck the canopy and dripped down the sides, spattering onto his left sleeve. It darkened portions of the gelding’s copper coat and left the road a rutted and puddled mess.

  They had traveled a mile from town without saying a word. To fill the discomforting quiet, he asked, “Did you make all those scarves and mittens?”

  “Only a few. The rest come from the other members of Widow’s Might.”

  There was that name again. “I’m not familiar with the organization. What do you do?”

  “We’re not an organization, just a group of friends who meet socially once a week. Occasionally, we take on charitable projects.”

  “Everyone is widowed?”

  She straightened a skirt that didn’t need straightening, and they advanced a good thirty yards on their journey while Spence waited for an answer. “Yes.”

  Pithy and to the point. He’d anticipated a bit more explanation but let it go. They fell back into silence.

  Minutes later, Spence turned off a country lane and onto the drive that led to the Bethel Children’s Home. Fallow fields lined each side. Here the boys were taught to plant and harvest. Outbuildings housed machinery that they learned to use and repair. The girls learned to can, cook, and care for a home. At the same time, they all attended school. The home provided everything the children needed to become competent adults. Everything but a family.

  He halted the horse and stared through a light drizzle at the large two-story building. The whitewash on the plain wood-frame exterior had faded to a dull gray, adding a greater somberness to the structure’s purpose.

  “My family has supported this orphanage for years, but this is the first time I’ve visited. I should have made it a point to come here before now. I imagined the place as a clean, pleasant home for children who are happy and healthy. I wasn’t expecting it to look this...dismal.”

  “The small staff does their best with the needs of the children who live here. It’s relatively clean, but I’m afraid it isn’t any less gloomy inside.”

  A rusty-haired boy of about twelve years opened the door. His clothing hung on him like Maura’s coat had hung on her. The sight was like a punch to Spence’s ribs. “Do you know him?”

  “No. I’ve only been here a couple of times.”

  Someone must have said something, because the boy looked behind him and moved away from the door.

  They were greeted by the administrator, Mr. Jernigan, a balding, lean-framed man, haggard looking, yet with a twinkle in his blue eyes. In the background, children talked and laughed, though not in a raucous manner. The floor above them creaked with several pairs of footsteps.

  Spence handed Mr. Jernigan the crate.

  “Thank you, Mr. Newland. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He turned to Phoebe. “Please thank your friends, Mrs. Crain. God has provided you ladies with charitable hearts. The children will be delighted.”

  Even with a less-than-stellar financial state these days, Spence had the ability to outgive Phoebe Crain and the Widow’s Might ladies every day of the week. But these children needed something the Newland’s money couldn’t buy them and the widows couldn’t provide—mothers and fathers to raise and love them.

  With nothing to do while Jernigan discussed the contents of the crate with Phoebe, Spence explored his surroundings.

  Phoebe was right. The house was neat but dark. They could use more lamps, newer and brighter wallpaper, and window curtains of a lighter shade and material. He shivered in the chilly dampness. They could use more heat.

  The boy he had seen at the door peered around the corner of a wall. Spence stepped closer. “My name is Mr. Newland. What’s yours?”

  Nothing.

  “Jamie don’t talk to strangers.” A towheaded girl about nine years old reached for the boy’s hand. “He talks to me though.”

  It was good to learn the boy was capable of speech. “I hope you won’t consider me a stranger next time, Jamie.” Next time? He made it sound as if he planned to return soon. He scanned the room again. Maybe he would.

  “We’re finished with our business, Mr. Newland.”

  He looked around the drawing room one more time. “I am, too, Mrs. Crain.”

  He had been too forward in using her given name earlier. Try as he might, he couldn’t drum up any remorse. He liked the name Phoebe. Unless she grew testy, he planned to keep using it.

  WHILE THEY WERE INSIDE the orphanage, the rain had turned to snow, which added another layer of treachery to the road’s surface.

  Spence huddled deeper in his coat, glad for the top over the carriage. He kept the gelding at a gentle pace. Flakes landed on the animal’s back like invading soldiers. They promptly disappeared, defeated by the weapon of a warmer body.

  They reached the main road, and Phoebe asked, “Why did you inspect the contents of the crate?”

  He thought he’d been subtle in his search. “Promise you won’t get upset?”

  “Yes.”

  She was a lovely liar. “I was looking for missing inventory.”

  Phoebe stared at him—glared, really. “You thought I was a thief sneaking something out of the store?”

  “Ah, ah.” He waggled a finger at her. “You promised.”

  She freed a dainty huff. “Is it a lot of merchandise?”

  “It has added up.”

  “This has happened more than once?”

  “Three times that we know of.” He frowned. “Apparently I’m no Sherlock Holmes, because I’m stymied as to how it’s being done. No one has provided any useful information.”

  “You suspect an employee.”

  His eyebrows arched. “How did you know?”

  “Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve read a couple of the detective’s cases.” Her lips twitched, as if cracking a full smile meant betraying whatever vow she’d taken to remain aloof toward him. “Now that I know, I’ll keep watch during my hours at the store.”

  Spence’s grip tightened on the reins. “That’s a nice offer, Phoebe, but I’d prefer you not get involved. We don’t know what kind of person we’re dealing with.”

  “Have you contacted the police?”

  He should. He’d failed in his own investigation. “Not yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s complicated and could have an adverse effect on our future plans.”

  The snow changed to a light rain again.

  “Are you closing the store?”

  “What made you jump to that conclusion?”

  “I may know little about what it takes to run a company, but I do know it’s been a hard few years for businesses.”

  “We’re not closing.” Spence sighed. He probably shouldn’t speak of it, but he couldn’t afford a rumor of the store’s demise spreading. “Can you keep a confidence?”

  “Of course.” Her tone said she considered his question unnecessary.

  “We’re planning to expand by opening five-and-te
n-cent stores.”

  “You set aside the area in Newland’s to test the feasibility of your plan?”

  He grinned. “You know more about business than you’ve admitted. You’re right. Things have been difficult these past years. There was a time when we could expand with the help of a bank loan. Unfortunately, bankers are still stingy with their money, so we need an investor—a silent partner. We thought we’d chosen the perfect man, but he declined.”

  “He was the one to receive the cigar box?”

  “Yes.” Talented and intuitive. Why couldn’t that intuition tell her to trust him as he was trusting her by revealing the information about Lark?

  “I’m sorry. I tried to return it the night you came for it. You’d already ridden off.”

  He jerked on the reins, caught by surprise. Once he’d settled the prancing gelding, he said, “It doesn’t matter. His wife had left town before I learned of the mix-up. I shipped it to him and received a polite letter of appreciation.”

  “But you won’t give up on him?”

  “No. If he hears news of our thefts, I’m afraid all hope will be lost.”

  “Is it possible he isn’t the right man to invest in your idea?”

  Spence shrugged. “Clifton Lark has a reputation for integrity, which is important to us.”

  “In that case, you should take you own advice.”

  “What advice?”

  She winced. “I overheard your conversation with Maura last Saturday.”

  He chuckled. “Why didn’t you make yourself known? I could have used your support.”

  “You were doing fine, and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  “Your daughter asks hard questions.”

  His comment won a tiny smile from her. “She’s relentless with them. I wish I had thought to tell her about God in the form of a father to the fatherless.”

  “What advice did I give her that I should heed?”

  “You told her God would help me find her a father if it was His will. You also said I’d need to listen to Him. Doesn’t that apply to you and your investor? If it’s God’s will that you partner with someone, do you believe He’ll help you find the right person? Or were those only pretty words to ease a little girl’s disappointment?”

  Spence couldn’t remember the last time he had relied on God for direction. What he’d said to Maura had come naturally. He believed it...and often failed to heed his own counsel.

  “I also remember telling Maura she had a wonderful mother.”

  Phoebe turned away, seemingly uncomfortable with the praise, but he refused to take it back.

  Something flashed in his peripheral vision.

  “Spence, look out!”

  Chapter Ten

  Phoebe seized the side rail as the back wheels of the carriage slid into a shallow, muddy ditch. Even with a death grip, she bounced across the seat until her hip met Spence’s.

  He worked to guide the horse from the mud and onto the road. The animal tugged and pranced while the buggy rocked at a dangerous tilt. At long last, the horse stood still. Its sides heaved, but its last steps had stabilized the carriage.

  Spence relaxed the reins, though the fingers entwined with the leather trembled. Understandable. She also quaked inside.

  He turned to her. “Are you all right?”

  “I-I’m...” She used the rail to pull to the other side of the seat. “Yes, I’m fine.”

  “I’m sorry, Phoebe. Had I paid more attention to driving, I might not have lost control when that deer jumped out in front of us.”

  “I’m sure my shout didn’t help.” She adjusted the hat that had knocked sideways when she’d slid into him. “I am thankful the carriage didn’t tip.”

  Phoebe pressed a hand to her chest as a giggle erupted, expanded, then burst into laughter.

  “What’s funny?”

  He eyed her as if she were losing her mind, which brought more bizarre laughter. Tears blurred her vision, but she couldn’t stop. “Which of us do you think received the greatest fright? Was it us, the deer, or the poor horse?”

  He cracked that inevitable smile. He really did have a nice smile. “I’d guess it was mutual terror.”

  “Me too.” Phoebe fought to catch her breath and wiped the tears away. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I enjoyed it. The laughter, I mean.”

  Lightheaded over the deep rumble in his voice, she looked away, breaking the connection sparked by his steady gaze.

  He climbed down from the carriage. “I’ll see what I can do to get us back on the road.”

  His quiet words and gentle hand soothed the spooked horse and coaxed him forward. The buggy jerked but went nowhere. His well-polished shoes squished through mud as he trudged around the vehicle and examined the wheels. The carriage shook. A moment later, he unhitched the animal.

  “What are you doing, Mr. Newland?”

  “I preferred Spence.” He led the horse to her side of the buggy. “I don’t know much about these things, but it looks like something broke when we hit the ditch. Do you ride?”

  She stilled. “You mean...him?”

  His lips twitched. “It’s either him or I tote you piggyback.”

  He wasn’t serious about either choice. Was he?

  She eyed the animal, and her heart rate sped. “Let’s wait for someone to come along and help.”

  “We’ve passed one or two wagons this afternoon. We could wait for hours. It will be dark soon, and the temperature will drop. We have no choice, Phoebe.”

  She studied the horse. All she could think about was Douglas’s fate. “I’ve never been atop a horse in my life.”

  “I’ll walk beside you. I won’t let you fall.”

  “You’ll walk and leave me alone up there?” The image of a bolting horse alarmed her. What if he couldn’t hang on to the animal?

  “I’ll never let you fall, Phoebe. Never.” Spence held out his hand, while his stare locked on to hers. “Trust me.”

  The intensity in his eyes begged for more than faith in his ability to keep her on a horse. So much more.

  Run. Run. Run.

  Like the deer, she longed to escape the danger in her path.

  Phoebe lifted her arm but hadn’t the courage to reach out. Did she dare place her trust in another wealthy young man with the power to bring about a fall?

  Her fingers stretched, then curled. Stretched and curled. What would happen if she turned her back on his appeal?

  For the rest of her life, she would remain a slave to the memory of a selfish, merciless boy who had no right to instill an ounce of guilt and cynicism in her.

  He speaks to people in different ways. Sometimes it’s in a dream or nature or a verse in the Bible. Sometimes we have to listen hard, because He speaks through a still, small voice.

  Spence’s words to Maura echoed in her ears.

  Tell me what to do.

  She listened for that voice and released a shaky breath.

  A cold gust whipped a loose strand of hair over her face. She brushed it from her eyes, but it persisted.

  She drew in a breath and placed her hand on Spence’s palm, letting his fingers enclose hers in a man’s grip.

  SPENCE EYED THE CLOCK, wadded another piece of paper, and tossed it across the workbench. Two hours in his workshop with little progress.

  He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and knew better than to miss a meal. He’d tempted his health enough through that miserable trip to and from the children’s home.

  Miserable? Memorable was more like it.

  Phoebe had held quite an inner argument with herself as he’d waited for her to decide whether she could rely on him. Trust won out. Now it was up to him to never violate that trust.

  The wind howled outside. It whistled under the door and through tiny cracks at the side windows. At least the old shed had a nice potbelly stove to warm both his cold hands and coffee.

  While pulling a blank sheet of paper from tho
se he kept on hand, Spence relived hearing the ache in Maura’s voice, seeing the hope when she asked if he could be her papa. How could he quit when he wished to make her dollhouse special, something she would be proud to keep for years? His gift would never take the place of a father, but her mother believed it would brighten her holiday, so he would do his part.

  He paused with the tip of the pencil touching the paper. Christmas was fast approaching. How would he finish when he hadn’t made up his mind how to start?

  At the close of the door behind him, Spence glanced over his shoulder, then dropped the pencil. He snatched the sheet of paper off the workbench, turned, and hid the drawing behind his back, away from his little sister’s prying eyes.

  “I thought I’d find you here,” she said.

  “I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “What a greeting. Is there something wrong with wanting to see my big brother?”

  “Not at all.” He gave Laurie a one-armed hug. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Let’s not get too sentimental.” She pulled away from him and eyed the workbench. “Are you making something new? Something for Christmas?” She waggled her eyebrows. “Something for me?”

  He stepped in her way. “If it was for you, scamp, I wouldn’t tell you.”

  She craned her neck and tried to see around him. Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “What do you have behind your back?”

  Spence’s hand tightened, crinkling the paper. At the same time, he shook his head. “Just an idea.”

  “What kind of idea?”

  His sixteen-year-old sister had grown into a first-rate snoop. “You should curb that curiosity before it gets you into trouble.”

  “I’ve always been curious and lived to tell about it.” She stopped in front of him and bounced up and down on her toes, her smile sly and dangerous. “A secret?”

  Before he could brace himself, her hand shot around him and gained a grip on his drawing. “You’ll tear it.”

  “Then let go so I can see.” She tugged but not hard enough to rip the paper. Her glance slid toward the workbench, and she released the drawing.

  Spence had forgotten the other iterations he’d cast aside and was too slow in stopping her from snatching a rejected design. He should have tossed them into the stove.