Hope

By Josephine Walker

After two and a half years of deep depression, anger at God, and guilt over the death of her husband and twin girls, all bestselling romance writer Jessica Lynn Morgan wants is to buy a house, get back to writing, and live out her life alone in peace. And the little town of Hope, Wyoming, seems to offer the peace she needs. Or does it? Unfortunately, her dream house is rumored to be haunted. Not one to believe in ghosts, she fights for any logical explanation for the things happening that seem to warn her off. Once she moves in, the threat against her life becomes real. Clearly, someone or something wants her out. Now. And her stubbornness could cost Jessica her life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ambassador International
• Release date: Nov 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781620203873

Book preview

Hope

© 2015 by Josephine Walker

All rights reserved

ISBN: 978-1-62020-284-5

eISBN: 978-1-62020-387-3

THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®, NIV® Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

Cover Design and Page Layout by Hannah Nichols

eBook Conversion by Anna Riebe Raats

AMBASSADOR INTERNATIONAL

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Greenville, SC 29609, USA

www.ambassador-international.com

AMBASSADOR BOOKS

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Belfast, BT6 8DD, Northern Ireland, UK

www.ambassadormedia.co.uk

The colophon is a trademark of Ambassador

To my husband Glenn, who I expect is still cheering me on from above.

Thanks for believing in me.

The road of learning how to write was traveled using this, my first writing effort. It would not be what it is without the wonderful help of many members of ACFW, the online Christian Fiction Writers group. There is not space here to name each one who helped me learn how to write, but you know who you are. I do, however, have to give a huge -Thank You - to Bethany Reconnu Kazcmarek, of A Little Red Ink, editor of Hope as well as Willing to Die: the John Muntean story. My book Hope would not be what it is without her pushing and challenging me to the max to make it believable.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Title Page

Copyright Information

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Contact Information

CHAPTER 1

HOPE, WYOMING

Population: 2,013

The card I received four weeks earlier lay next to me on the seat. Its bright colors with teddy-bear images burned into my mind’s eye. A birthday card—intended for twin, blue-eyed, blonde-haired seven-year-olds—was sent two years after their deaths. If it had not come, there was no way I would be doing this.

The pull-out at the welcome sign was as good a place as any to let my fidgety dog out to do her thing. Besides that I needed a break, too, as I was drained from one thousand miles of emotional flip-flops. After sixteen hours of driving, an aching back, and a sore behind, it felt good to stand and read about the history of my new home—originally a gold-mining town founded on the belief the railroad would come. It never happened.

I walked over to Hope’s official welcome sign. The town’s name forced itself into my mind and reminded me of a scripture Grandma used to quote: Hope deferred makes the heart sick.

Yeah, right.

Caught off guard, I pushed down the bitter taste that filled my throat. I reached out and traced the word with my finger. It had not been part of my life or on my radar for a long time—until that moment.

I slapped the sign and thought, I’d be happy to just have some peace.

In spite of the 6,000-foot elevation at five o’clock on a late May afternoon, the sun was hot. Heat from its rays warmed my back muscles. I stretched, bent over, touched my toes, and stretched again.

I’ve only four more miles to go.

I made a 360-degree turn to take in the magnificent beauty of the Beartooth Mountains with their towering peaks, carpeted meadows, and brilliant multi-colored flowers.

Maggie. Here. Supper’s waiting.

My Brittany spaniel ran from the bushes as an older Chevy pickup with missing hood paint slowed down and pulled in behind my car. When the driver exited his truck the hair on the back of my neck bristled. He lifted his baseball cap, ran his hand over his bald head, replaced the hat, and pulled up his dirty jeans. Maggie pushed hard against my leg and let out a deep guttural growl.

He staggered toward me and asked, Hey, little lady, need any help?

A half grin spread across his face, but turned into a leer as he eyes did a slow stroll over my body. The closer he approached, the deeper Maggie growled—she bared her teeth. Her actions shocked me.

I glared at him and snapped, No, I don’t.

A chill raced up my back at my dog’s reaction. I grabbed her collar as she moved between us, ready to attack. The creep got her message and stopped short.

Okay, lady, I just wanted to know if you needed something.

Profanities flew from his mouth as he turned around and almost lost his balance. It was not until he climbed into his truck and pulled away when Maggie relaxed.

Jerk! I yelled into the swirl of dust as he roared past me.

Nice welcome, Wyoming . . . Really nice.

I squatted and hugged my dog’s neck.

Good girl, good girl.

A wave of foreboding washed over me as fear forced the question: Jessica Lynn Morgan, what are you doing moving away from everything you know? That’s crazy!

Still hugging Maggie, I turned toward the sound of another vehicle’s approach. A sheriff’s 4x4 SUV pulled up next to me.

As the passenger side window lowered, the officer inside asked, Is everything okay, ma’am?

I stood, holding Maggie’s collar. All I saw through the window were his cowboy hat and dark aviator glasses.

It is now, I replied, but you might want to check out the idiot driving the old Chevy pickup that just pulled out. He was drunk.

Thank you.

At that, he flipped on his lights and siren, and sped off. Just the thought of the look in the creep’s eyes made me shudder.

Serves him right.

My final ten-minute drive took me through old neighborhoods dotted with a mixture of Queen Anne, Tudor, and Victorian architecture. The charm of the old added character to the new. Yard after yard burst with new life. Freshly planted flowers shone in reds, blues, and yellows. Fragrance from lavender and purple lilac trees floated through my SUV windows.

I rounded the corner onto Taylor Avenue and almost drove into the curb. I never expected to see a house that could be a twin to the one my grandparent’s owned in Portland, Oregon.

And it’s for sale.

Memories swirled as they filled my mind: my lack of success milking a cow and my grandma making me feel like a big girl when she added a little bit of coffee to my cup of cream and sugar. Grandpa hated when I clumped around in high heels overhead on the hardwood floors while I played dress-up. A chuckle escaped while a familiar sense of peace and safety surfaced.

It looks empty, I wonder. . . .

I did not resist. This was too weird, but a glimmer of hope spread through me. I climbed out of my vehicle and hurried up the walk. When I was halfway up the porch steps, someone called out to me from behind.

Hey, lady, you don’t want to go in there . . . It has ghosts!

I was startled, missed a step, and almost fell.

What?

By the time I turned in the direction of where the voice had come from, a teenage boy on his bicycle laughed and sped around the corner. His warning stopped me. Fear crawled up my spine as his words interrupted my happy thoughts.

Creepy stranger, now this . . . I don’t need it.

Doubts about the move invaded my mind. I turned around and headed back to my car. This was not at all what I expected. I caught Maggie’s steady stare as I settled back into my seat and slammed the door.

‘Sides that, we’re hungry. Right, girl?

After driving another mile, I turned the last corner to Hamilton’s Bed & Breakfast, one of Hope’s most prestigious homes. It was a 16-room house built in the early 1890s. The wraparound porch with its hanging baskets full of newly planted purple lobelia, white petunias, and red geraniums was picturesque.

The house’s splendor and grace had not changed in three years. I parked my Mazda Tribute next to Doris Hamilton’s Ford Taurus. The front door flew open, and Doris ran down the porch’s wide steps. I had no idea she could move so fast at her age, but no way would I let her know what I thought.

The town had not changed and neither had she, except for her short, permed, silver hair. Her smile, still as big as her heart, welcomed me. I had purposely driven fast to arrive in time for dinner—her cooking challenged Portland’s best chefs.

Jessie, I was starting to worry you wouldn’t make it in time for supper!

No chance of that happening.

I smiled as I rolled up my window. I climbed out of the car and began to stretch, but found myself enveloped in a big, enthusiastic hug.

Doris released her embrace, stepped back, and held me at arm’s length.

Oh my, you’ve wasted away to nothing. If one of our wild winds came up, it’d blow you away. You need some fattening up.

Oh, no you don’t, I protested and I hugged her back. I’m just fine.

A slight pang hit my stomach.

Besides, it’s really no fun cooking for just me. You look wonderful though. I love what you did to your hair. Didn’t it used to be dark brown?

She patted her silver locks and admitted, "I got tired of the cost to keep it dark, so I decided to go au naturel."

I winked at her and commented, You look so chic.

Maggie jumped out of the opened car door and ran over to Doris. She reached down to scratch her under the neck.

Now, who do we have here?

This is Maggie.

The dog stood still in total contentment as her nub of a tail wagged furiously.

Better watch out. She’ll stand still for hours for a good neck scratching.

She seems like a sweet dog.

Yes, she is. At times, she’s a lifeline, I said as I grabbed a couple bags from the car.

The rest can wait.

A knowing smile creased Doris’ face as she agreed, I imagine so.

She gave Maggie one last scratch and a pat on her auburn and white marked head and stated, I hope you’re hungry.

Famished is more like it.

We turned and walked up the steps into the house. Its familiarity comforted me. The moment Doris opened the door I knew my taste buds were in for a treat. The strong aroma of fresh-baked bread and garlic delighted my sense of smell.

My stomach’s been feeling mighty neglected the last few hours.

I remembered you liked my pasta, so thought you might enjoy it tonight. Go ahead and set the bags over there by the stairs, honey. We’ll take them up later.

I set them down and paused a moment to reacquaint myself.

Feels like home.

How crazy was that? Dan, the girls, and I only stayed for one week, three years ago, but we had talked at length about moving to Hope. I followed Doris into the kitchen where everything sat ready. A small vase of fresh-cut lavender and white lilacs, many blossoms still in bud, sat in the center of the table.

Jessie, go ahead and sit over there next to the window.

Thanks.

I pulled out the chair and collapsed onto it. I was more than ready to sit back, relax with a glass of wine, and enjoy the meal.

Doris put pasta-filled plates on the table, and then sat down and bowed her head.

Lord, please bless this food, and thank You for Jessica’s safe arrival. Amen.

I dug into the food like a hungry lumberjack. Dinner was not a disappointment. The pasta and fresh salad were perfect.

This was definitely worth going hungry for.

How was your drive?

Long and uneventful, except for the creep at Hope’s welcome sign.

Concern showed in her eyes and Doris asked, Creep . . . What happened?

Nothing really; just a drunk.

Overstuffed, I pushed back from the table.

I’m so glad to be here and I’m stuffed. I don’t think I can move. It was delicious, I said as I stretched and yawned.

I know you’re bushed. Do you have any plans yet?

Just to buy a house, get back to writing, and living—alone.

I thought I might throw that in just case she had any ideas about matchmaking.

Alone? You don’t plan to remarry?

No, never again.

Why?

Losing Dan and the girls was almost unbearable. I’m not going to open myself up again to that possibility.

Tears filled her eyes.

I understand. Not too many people go through what you did, she said as she reached out and patted my hand. Well, then, how soon do you think you’ll start looking for a house?

I planned to begin next Monday, but drove past a place for sale on Taylor Avenue that interests me. I might check it out tomorrow.

You don’t have to be in a hurry for my sake.

I know, but I don’t want to tie up one of your rooms; however, if I can’t find a place right away, you do know I plan on paying you?

Doris’ eyebrows shot up as an indignant look crossed her face and objected, Oh no, you don’t. You’re not paying me one dime for staying here. I invited you to come.

Before I got out two words of protest, she cut me off, Don’t argue with me.

I suppressed a chuckle. I knew I would lose the argument.

Thank you. That’s kind of you. Can I help clean up?

And have you drop all my dishes ‘cause you’re so tired? I don’t think so.

I had forgotten how stubborn she could be. I stood and stretched one more time.

Since I can’t help, I’m going to find a comfy place in front of the fire.

That’s fine. I’ll join you in a few minutes.

Maggie followed me into the parlor. Although the dark brown plush couch in front of the fireplace beckoned me, I chose the fire’s heat. The tall trees around the property and cool mountain air had robbed the house of the sun’s warmth. I stood with my back to the fire and let the heat wrap me like a cozy comforter.

Thoroughly warmed, I settled on the couch and leaned back into the cushions and sipped my wine. I stared at the flames through the glass and began to remember. Pain threatened my peace.

No you don’t! Not tonight.

No way would I let the memory of that dark, rainy night rob me of this moment’s tranquility.

I still can’t believe I’m here.

Back to my agenda: buy a house and return to writing. Hopefully, the house part was already solved.

Haunted? Hardly.

A soft touch on my shoulder woke me.

Come on, Jessie, up to bed with you and Maggie.

Embarrassed Doris had found me asleep, I did not object. I would not have been surprised if she told me I had snored—Dan used to tease me about it. We grabbed my bags and went upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, she paused and asked, Do you want the same room?

Until she asked, I had not known the answer.

Yes.

I thought you might, she replied and hugged me good-night. See you in the morning.

I set my bags down and said, Doris.

What?

Thank you for sending the card for the girls. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have called you. It took all the courage I could muster to leave Dan’s parents.

I know, honey.

She stepped forward with her arms held out. I walked into her warm embrace. The drive, my battered mind, and the fatigue hit me. Tears erupted and I cried like a baby. Moments later I stepped back and grabbed a tissue from my pocket.

I’m a mess.

Yes, you are, but that’s okay. Now, get some sleep.

I walked into the room, set the bags down, and looked around. Nothing had changed, except this time I was alone. I did not move for a moment as I looked at the bed—echoes of laughter and lovemaking flashed across my mind’s eye.

The comfort of the four-poster called to me, or so it seemed. I do not know. There was no question exhaustion screamed from every pore of my body and craved relief. Only one thing filled my thoughts: Dan.

On the edge of sleep, a truck’s bright headlights glittered through the pouring rain and came head-on into my lane. I screamed and sat up in bed as pain grabbed me.

CHAPTER 2

RAYS OF SUNLIGHT FOUND THEIR way through slits in the curtains—right into my eyes.

Great.

I wanted to sleep; however, Maggie sensed me awake and let me know she needed to go outside. I dressed in jogging clothes and my new running shoes. Maggie and I snuck outside, as it was too early for Doris to be up, to check out the neighborhood, breathe in the fresh mountain air, and enjoy the beauty of the brilliant blue sky on this late spring morning.

All too often in Portland, gray rainy skies had accompanied my runs. The fragrance of the Alyssum that bordered each side of the path to the sidewalk fought with the Red Canadian Cherry tree’s perfume to fill the air. One deep breath and a sense of well-being swept over me.

This is good.

My run did not happen; instead, Maggie and I half-jogged through the neighborhood. She acted like it was her responsibility to get acquainted with every neighborhood dog, and check every tree and bush that had ever been marked. My plan: to get back to the house on Taylor Avenue. I had to see how close it matched my grandparent’s home in Portland.

How on earth did a classic craftsman find its way to Wyoming, anyway?

Happy memories of cooking with Grandma played through my mind. Dan never believed I had anyone to teach me how to cook. I smiled even as my heart ached for the twins and their daddy.

Hello there! A short, round-faced lady with a tight bun on her head hollered at me from her porch while our dogs got acquainted. Are you that lady writer moving here from Portland, Oregon?

I almost choked on my gum.

Oh great, Doris is a gossip . . . Just my luck.

I walked past the dogs as they sniffed each other to stand below the woman with a broom in her hand.

Yes, unless I have a twin, I answered and shot her a smile that did not go past my lips. How did you hear about me?

I’m friends with Doris Hamilton. She shared it at the ladies Bible study.

She made a couple of passes with her broom at invisible dirt. I did not want to offend, so climbed a couple steps and extended my hand.

My name is Jessica.

We shook hands.

Nice to meet you, Jessica. My name is Ida Mae—named after my aunt. I hope you’ll like our little town.

I’m sure I will. Have you lived here long?

With evident pride she answered, My family goes way back. Both my husband and I were born in Hope. What brings you here?

Her desire to get the scoop was obvious. Not quite ready to answer that question, I looked at my watch.

I’m sorry; I really need to get going. Nice to meet you, I said as I smiled and turned away.

She called after me, Stop by sometime for a cup of coffee or some tea!

Thank you.

Nice enough lady, but not that’s not gonna happen.

Besides I did not want everyone to know why I moved here. Not yet, anyway.

I could hear Grandma chastising me, Now, Jessie, be nice.

I rounded the corner onto Taylor Avenue. One block away, my anticipation increased—I still could not believe I found it.

It has ghosts echoed in my mind.

Shut up.

I slowed to a walk. There it sat—like I remembered, except for some boarded up windows. Not much else looked wrong with it. The roof even looked fairly new. Maggie found a cool spot on the grass and lay down while I stood and remembered.

A tap on my arm startled me.

Hi, my name is Timmy. What’s yours?

A cute little boy, with freckles sprinkled across his nose, sat on his bike. His big grin revealed his two missing front teeth.

Hi, Timmy, my name is Jessie. Do you live around here?

I squatted down to his eye level. He had the most beautiful light gray eyes I had ever seen. They were rimmed with long black eyelashes that matched his dark hair.

Yes, ma’am, around the corner that way, he answered as he pointed in the direction from which I had jogged.

You’re up early. Does your mommy know you’re out here?

His smile disappeared.

He replied, My mommy went away. It’s just me and my daddy. He said I could ride around the block, but I can’t cross the street. Are you going to buy that house? It’s scary.

I don’t know. I just moved here, but I’m looking for a place. Why did you say that?

It has ghosts, he explained as he sat forward on his bike. My dad says there’s no such thing as a ghost. Sometimes on Halloween big kids try to go in to see if they can see one.

I think your daddy’s right.

Do you have any kids?

A kick in the gut would’ve felt better.

No.

A male voice hollered and I turned toward its direction.

Is that your dad who just called? It sounds like he might be looking for you. You’d better get back.

Okay. Maybe I’ll see you again sometime, he said with a smile that flashed deep dimples. Bye.

He turned his bike around and rode off.

I called after him, I hope so, Timmy. It was nice meeting you!

Wow, what a cutie.

The conversation made me curious. The house probably did appear scary or mysterious to youngsters because of the broken windows, but I liked what I saw. I walked all the way around the house. The grass was mowed, but weeds needed to be pulled and bushes trimmed.

It’s not that bad.

A small voice yelled to me. I turned and saw Timmy wave out the window of a sheriff’s 4x4 SUV as it drove by slowly. I waved back.

Bye, Timmy.

All I saw of his dad was a cowboy hat, aviator glasses, and a nice smile as he touched the brim of his hat and nodded to me. Evidently an SUV, cowboy hat, and aviator glasses were standard issue.

I turned back toward the house. It would be nice living so close to Doris. The neighborhood homes were well-kept; their yards filled with lilac bushes and flowers the deer probably would not eat.

If my house—ha, I’m already calling it mine—was livable, I’d stay in it while repairs were completed.

Determination spread throughout my body at that thought.

I want it.

It sat about fifty feet from the road. Three steps up from the sidewalk, a wide brick-edged cobblestone path led to the five