Beyond Hope's Valley: A Big Sky Novel (10 page)

I
n Hollywood, everyone wanted to be a star. So why did Ben wish he could just catch the next flight back to Montana?

He rose early and drove his rental car down to Sunset Boulevard. He'd paid twenty dollars for all-day parking, even though he knew the studio had a spot for him. He could have had a limo pick him up if he wanted, but for some reason he didn't want to be "that star" yet. He wanted to feel normal, ordinary, broke.

Years ago, when he first came to Hollywood, all he could think about was his name in lights. He'd tried to picture his CDs being sold in the music stores—his songs playing on the radio.

A smile tilted up his lips, and Ben lifted his face slightly, letting the sun warm his face. The cold of the Montana winter was behind him. So was his desire for fame.

Continue to work in me, God. Your glory, not mine.

A gentle peace descended with the rays of the sun. God was with him here. Not only his head told him that, his heart too. That's the reason why Ben's footsteps carried on. He wouldn't go back to Montana, not until he completed the work God had for him here, whatever that was.

God had saved his soul—saved him from self-destruction. He shared that in the letters he wrote every week to teens who'd been caught with alcohol. He learned the hard way, and he hoped the letters he sent would somehow make a difference. It didn't mattered if the kid crumpled up the letter after reading it and tossed it in the trash, if something Ben said about God stuck, well, that would be worth it. Just one more seed to take root when the time was right.

The streets were nearly empty. Hollywood was more alive at night, he supposed. Christmas lights framing many store windows had yet to be plugged in. Trash littered the gutters and neon signs blinked from tall store windows. At least two stores every block sold cheap Hollywood souvenirs: shot glasses, miniature statues of Marilyn Monroe holding down her white skirt, and T-shirts in various colors made from thin material that looked as if it would unravel after one wash. Bars and restaurants sat empty. A few dedicated fashionistas strolled into shops that sold trendy clothes, shoes, and items that only people in Hollywood could get away with.

He shook his head as he strode by one window that displayed high-heeled shoes in a rainbow of colors. He couldn't imagine anyone back home wearing nine-inch, red leather stilettos with metal buckles at the ankle and fringe in the back.

A woman walked by in a skimpy outfit, her hair rumpled and her makeup smeared as if she'd just woken up. His heart went out to her. How different could she be if she were taken out of this place and surrounded by people who cared about her, not what she had to offer? People who would become her friends and welcome her into their community.

As he said a quick prayer for the woman, two teenagers strode by in coffee shop uniforms, chatting about seeing Kate Hudson ordering a chai tea the previous evening.

So different from Montana.

In Montana the stars that came out at night were the ones God created in the broad heaven—not the people who made too much money and partied too hard, all in the name of entertainment.

He walked the street, looking at the Hollywood Walk of Fame stars that led toward the Chinese Theater, amazed by how many names he didn't know.

Jean Hersholt, Julia Faye, Ann Margret, Vincent Price . . . who were those people?

Today most entertainers no doubt strode through these streets, picturing their names on the walk, yet fame was fleeting. The biggest names now would hardly be a blip on the radar screen in fifty years. What was he doing here?

God must have a purpose for this all . . . I just can't wait to find out what it is.

He didn't know how far he walked, but as it neared noon he strode toward the studio. The guard at the gate seemed wary as Ben strode up to the security point. The tall man's eyes widened in surprise when he noticed Ben's name was indeed on the admittance list.

After being led through the gate, Ben found the correct set of double glass doors to Studio A. Inside, the left wall was lined with bronze, silver, gold, and platinum records as far as his eye could see. Roy was already there in the front area, chatting with the receptionist. He didn't even glance down at his watch when Ben entered, or reprimand him for being ten minutes late. Roy was already treating him like a star.

Amazing what a difference having a hit on the radio could make.

"Ready to get started?" Roy nodded a good-bye to the receptionist and turned toward the hall.

"As ready as I'll ever be."

"Did you bring some new songs?"

Ben nodded. He'd been writing off and on over the last month, which was a good thing. He just wished he'd had a better topic. Then again, heartbreak always made for best-selling records. "Wrote some new stuff, revamped some of the old stuff too. But it all needs work."

"No worries. That's what we're here for. By the end of these three weeks you're going to be the star everyone knows you are." Roy placed a firm hand on Ben's shoulder.

Ben forced a smile. "Sounds good to me."

Roy released his hand and then motioned down the hall. Ben followed him.

"You're going to ride this wave all the way to the top, my boy," Roy called back over his shoulder, his voice lifting with the excitement and charisma of a minister in a radical church, rising and falling with each step. "All the way to the top. Just go easy on the booze and the girls." Roy pointed a finger into the air. "Both are the ticket to spending too much money and time. Both will claim your soul."

Why was Roy telling him this? He'd walked that path before—and had lost big time. No way he'd make those mistakes again.

God, You know
.

I'm a different person.
He closed his eyes.
This time
. . .

This time I'll use my influence to make a difference
.

Aaron slowed his horse as the buggy approached Aunt Ida's house.

"Here you are. Whoa, Jessie."

Marianna smiled at him. Aaron was handsome, there was no doubt. And what other Amishman had built such a place for his bride? None she knew. To add to that, what man would be so patient with meddling family members? Aaron had proven himself there too.

After looking at the house, Aaron had taken her to visit her aunt Betsy and all her cousins. It was meant to be a short visit, but her aunt had chattered all afternoon. It was only Aaron's pain in his leg, which he tried to hide, caused Marianna to stand up to Aunt Betsy and insist they had to go.

"Hurry back to see us," Betsy had said with a wave. "If you have time, stop by on Christmas too. The more the merrier yet."

Marianna found it hard to believe the holiday was in only three days, but the short days and cold, frosty air told her it was true.

He parked, and she leaned over and kissed his cheek. She climbed down from the buggy. "I thank you kindly, sir. Would you like to come in?"

Aaron turned his gaze to the row of windows behind Marianna. Marianna followed his eyes and she noticed Aunt Ida standing by the kitchen window. The lantern hanging over the sink had been dimmed to give her aunt a better view of outside.

"I think I'll pass. My mem has been prodding me with enough questions about Montana, 'What were the mountains like? How did the Amish there act?' If I hafta go another round, answering yer aunt's questions I'll get an aching head for sure."

A giggle slipped through Marianna's lips. "I understand." She took two steps back to allow the buggy to pass. "Although it's worse with Aunt Ida because she often forgets the answers and asks more than once."

Aaron chuckled, and then he loosened the reins and clicked his tongue, urging his horse forward. "Tomorrow then?"

"Yes, tomorrow. I'm looking forward to it."

Aunt Ida's words spilled from her as soon as Marianna walked inside. "That leg isn't bothering Aaron Zook, is it now? He did run home awful quick."

Marianna nodded. "
Ja
. Sadly it is. He's been on it more than he ought."

Aaron hadn't said he was hurting much, but she could see it. He tightened his jaw when he was in pain. His gaze had narrowed as the pain increased.

She smiled as she removed her coat and hung it on the hook, not because Aaron was hurting, but she realized their time together had made a difference. She knew Aaron. Knew how to read him. But more than that she knew he would be a good husband who rarely complained.

"Is it cold out?" Aunt Ida tucked her quilt around her lap, even though the woodstove poured out warmth.

"Not bad. Not compared to Montan—"

She caught herself. Mem had told her before leaving that the folks back in Indiana wouldn't want to hear about Montana in every other sentence.

"Not bad," she said again, "but before I get too warm and cozy I best get to choring."

"I can get Ezekiel next door if need be." Aunt Ida said in a way that told Marianna she didn't want to pay the young man if she didn't have to.

"
Nein
, no problem."

Ten minutes later, Marianna entered the barn and grabbed up a milich stool and bucket. With quivering hands she plopped herself beside the nearest cow. She took the warm teats in her hands and milked as quickly as she could, but her efforts told her she was long out of practice. Being in Indiana again—working around Aunt Ida's barn—was like being in a familiar dream, but one that no longer seemed to fit.

Looking into the bucket at the warm, frothy milk reminded her of Sarah whipping up cream for the peanut butter pie. As her hands did the familiar work, her mind took her back to the kitchen at the West Kootenai Kraft and Grocery. Were Millie and Jebadiah chatting in the restaurant or had the snow kept Millie home? Was Edgar feeling better? Was Mrs. Shelter still helping to care for Jenny's little girl Kenzie?

The sound of scampering caught her attention, and she turned to see two kittens chasing each other through the hay bales. Racing by, the second kitten gave up the chase and approached the bucket, gazing up at Marianna.

"So you think you need a drink,
ja
?" She turned the teat toward the kitten and gave a firm tug. A stream of milk shot out, spraying the kitten's face. It meowed and darted, then paused to lick the warm goodness.

"I sort of feel the same way," Marianna whispered to the small creature. "I thought Montana to be an assault, only to find it a gift." She bit her lip and then swallowed down emotion.

When chores were finished, Marianna washed up, letting her hands warm up in the basin of water Aunt Ida heated on the woodstove.

With a wagging of her head, Aunt Ida walked to the kitchen with her hands perched on her narrow hips. "Nearly forgot," Aunt Ida called. "Got a letter from yer mem today."

The image of her mom's brave wave as Annie had driven them away filled her mind. Marianna lowered her head, blinking fast.

"I am sure Mem's jest asking about the trip." Marianna tried to keep her tone light. "Either that or reminding me to change my stockings every day." Marianna forced a laugh. "Once a mother, always a mother."

Marianna waited until after dinner to escape into her bedroom with the letter. She opened it with eager fingers.