Guardian's Hope (8 page)

“I’m sorry. It’s mine. How did you know? I’m
sorry.” She looked at Nico. “I didn’t mean to offend. I’m sorry. I
thought you knew what I was. If you’ll call a taxi, I’ll gather my
things and wait outside.”

“No,” he said. His jaw tightened and his
hands curled into fist. “You’ll wait until I can go with you.”

“No one is going anywhere.” Grace spoke with
the voice of fury. “Canaan ad Simeon, this is not the time or place
to have this discussion. This is not a court of law. This is our
home and this is not the way we treat our guests.”

“And because this is our home, Grace, this
must be done.”

“Not this way. She’s a bundle of emotions and
every one of them is bad. You’re frightening her.”

“Grace, I am Liege Lord of this House and in
this matter I will rule.”

“Fine! You go right ahead and rule this
roost. Hope and I will be at Manon’s.” She grabbed the taller
woman’s hand and dragged her from the room. Nico followed them into
the kitchen where Grace turned on him. “You’re not invited either.
You can go right back in there with the rest of the Neanderthals.”
She turned away and then turned back. “And another thing. If you
and Canaan decide to beat the hell out of each other, it better not
be in my dining room. If one dish is broken, one crystal missing
from that chandelier, one chair nicked or scratched, you will both
be very, very sorry.” They reached the door to the gym before she
turned again. “One more thing,” she said, but her voice was softer
now, “don’t hurt him too badly.”

Canaan roared Grace’s name as Grace dragged
Hope through the door. Hope looked back and saw Nico with that half
smile on his face and she could have sworn she saw him wink.

They were out in the alley before Grace
slowed to a walk. “Stupid, stupid men,” she muttered. “They could
have asked me. I’d had time to read you after all, but no, they
have to go all drama and machismo. Idiots.”

Hope pulled Grace to a halt. “I don’t want to
cause trouble between you and your husband, I mean Canaan. He
sounded very angry and I don’t want to see you punished on my
account.”

“Punished?” Grace started to laugh but
sobered immediately when she saw the look on Hope’s face. “You mean
punished, like for real?” And when Hope nodded, “Oh sweetie, I
don’t know what you’re used to, but let me tell you; around here
the only punishment is going to be Canaan sleeping in a cold bed
for an hour or two.” Her smile returned. “The best part of arguing
with him is the making up. He’ll go all alpha and make me scream
for mercy.” She giggled and winked. “And I’ll love every minute of
it.”

This made no sense to Hope. The women she
knew didn’t enjoy being punished and were very careful not to earn
their husband’s ire. And what was an alpha? She knew it was the
first letter in the Greek alphabet, but Grace’s usage didn’t
fit.

They passed through a gate into a beautiful
garden and onto the back porch of a restored Victorian beauty.
Scrolled gingerbread danced around the edges of the porch and four
colors detailed the trim of the light green house. Grace banged on
the door, tried the doorknob and finding it locked, knocked again.
She waited a minute and was raising her hand when they heard a
voice from within.

“Hold on, hold on,” said the voice. An older
man opened the door and scowled at Grace. He wore a pair of grey
sweat pants and nothing else. “The door was locked.”

“I know, Uncle Otto, and I’m really sorry to
disturb you, but Hope and I need to see Manon.”

“The door was locked,” he repeated, “You know
what that means. How would you like it if I came barging in when
you were in the middle of…” He seemed to notice Hope for the first
time. “…business,” he finished lamely and grinned.

“I know I told Manon that it could wait,”
Grace spoke right over his protest, “but it can’t.” She kissed his
cheek as she passed him into the kitchen. “This is Hope. Hope,
Uncle Otto.”

“Pleased to meet you, young lady. I hear
you’re another of Dov and Col’s strays.”

“Well Nico found her first but it was the
boys who wanted to bring her home.” Grace was busy starting the
coffee and glanced over her shoulder at Hope. She laughed. “Don’t
look so stricken. I was the first stray they brought home and it’s
worked out very well.” She took mugs from the cupboard and fetched
something from the refrigerator which she poured into another mug
and put into the microwave to warm. When the microwave dinged, she
handed the mug to Uncle Otto.

“Take this and go get dressed. Your coffee
will be ready by the time you get back. You’re needed at the House.
Canaan and Nico are about to come to blows and someone needs to be
the voice of reason.”

“I’m on my way,” he said and headed for the
door. “If Nico and Canaan are going to kick the crap out of each
other, I don’t want to miss a minute of it. Manon will be down in a
minute.”

“I am right here, Cheri. What is so important
that you must interrupt my…” she looked at Hope, “…sleep. The door
was locked, was it not?”

Hope could only stare. The woman was
beautiful. She was almost as tall as Hope and she held herself like
a queen. She wore a long, loose fitting dress of shimmering silver
and blue that did nothing to hide the full figure underneath. Her
snow white hair was long and sleep tousled in a very sensuous way
and her nails were painted a fiery red. She had never seen such a
creature and was intimidated by her presence.

“Manon, this is Hope and the athame belongs
to her. Hope, this is Manon and she will answer all your
questions.”

“Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“No you’re not, my sweet, but you will be.”
Manon laughed and waggled her finger at Hope. “Lie to others if you
must, but never to me or to Grace.

“Unless I ask you if I look fat. Then you can
lie through your teeth,” Grace laughed.

Hope felt like she’d escaped the Mad Hatter’s
tea party only to find herself in the presence of the Red
Queen.

Manon motioned to a chair and smiled
reassuringly. “Sit. Please. You are hurt, frightened and confused.
Know that you are among friends and welcome in my home. Grace, is
that coffee ready? I shall need all my wits about me with this
one.”

Grace put cream and sugar on the table and
passed out the mugs. Manon raised the mug, closed her eyes and
breathed deeply of the aroma before she took a sip. She smiled at
Grace.

“Your coffee is so much better than Otto’s.”
She turned the smile on Hope and shrugged. “I cannot make it at
all. No matter how careful I am, how I measure and pour, it still
tastes like piss.” She laughed as Hope’s eyes widened at her use of
the crude word. “The truth is not always pretty, Miss Priss, and
that is rule number one. Rule number two is that whatever is said
among us stays among us. You are free to ask us what you will about
anything you like and you will always receive an answer. And we
will expect the same from you. We come from very different
backgrounds, we three, and yet we are sisters under the skin. It is
good to have friends, with whom you can be free, is it not?”

Hope wasn’t sure that Manon expected an
answer, but she replied truthfully. “I suppose it is, but I’ve
never had a friend.”

“Pauvre petite, surely as a child you had
someone with whom you could share your secrets.”

Only my mother. “My father thought it would
be wrong to show a preference among his congregation. He thought we
should devote ourselves to study and the pursuits of the spirit
rather than the frivolities of the flesh.” She had tried, how she
had tried to please him, but the loneliness was sometimes
unbearable.

“Well, you are alone no longer,” said Manon
as if she’d read her mind. “Tell us about this athame. It is very
old and had been used only for good until…”

“It came to me,” Hope finished miserably.

“Ah, so it is you who are responsible. You
stabbed Col in the back with your athame? With such force that he
came within a hair’s breadth of turning?”

“No! I never stabbed anyone. Please believe
me. I never stabbed Col!” The thought of harming another human
being made her sick. And yet, she’d gone to her bedroom with a
knife when she thought Dov was threatened. More proof of her sin.
“But it’s still my fault,” she confessed.

The tears she’d held for the last two days
welled up and tried to spill over. Hope swallowed hard and gritted
her teeth. Crying in self-pity would bring no forgiveness. Elbows
on the table, she buried her face in her hands to dam the onslaught
of her grief and prayed for strength. Grace rushed to her side and
knelt beside her, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances
while Manon reached across the table to stroke her hair.

Their sympathy was her undoing. The dam burst
and a river flooded forth. It had been so long since she’d been
touched with sympathy; so long since she’d been able to cry without
being scolded for her weakness. A box of tissues appeared next to
her hand and she used them one after another until they were gone.
A roll of paper towels replaced them. The sobs were replaced with a
pitiful weeping.

“Aw, sweetie, enough with the tears. They
only feel good for a little while and then they make you worse.
Manon, we should have given her tea.” Grace laid her head on the
table so she was close to Hope’s face. “When I first came to the
House, I started crying like you are and Col and Dov didn’t know
what to do. They made me tea and gave me a towel to wipe my eyes.
The Neanderthals had never heard of tissues apparently. The tea had
to be ten years old and it tasted worse than Manon’s coffee and the
towel was one they used in the gym and it hadn’t been washed in
months. It was stiff and it smelled like must and man sweat. I
almost gagged, but it made me stop crying.”

Hope sniffed back the last of her tears. She
didn’t move, but Grace knew she was listening.

“They looked so pitiful, like two little
kids, you know, like they didn’t know what to do and then, when
they realized I’d stopped, they looked so surprised and proud of
themselves. I could call them if you like. Their method is crude,
but it works.”

Hope lifted her head from the table. “They
were so brave and fierce when they rescued me, yet later, when I
scolded them for their foul language, they were like two little
boys. Yes, ma’am, they said, just like school boys. I almost
laughed, but I know from experience that you must be firm with
wayward boys.”

“And she’s back.” Grace warmed up the coffee
and peeked under the lid of the cake dish. “She knew we were coming
so she baked a cake,” she sang as she brought the dish to the
table. Plates, forks and napkins followed.

Manon laughed and rubbed Hope’s back
affectionately. “I cannot make a decent cup of coffee, but my
cakes…” She kissed the tips of her fingers. “Chocolate,” she said,
using the pronunciation of her native France. “C’est bon.”

“Now, while we stuff our faces with Manon’s
delicious chocolate cake, you can tell us about the athame, how it
came to you and how it ended up in Col’s back. No tears, no
recriminations. Simply tell the story.” Grace picked up her
fork.

Chapter 8

“My mother died when I was nine,” Hope began,
hesitantly but without tears. “My father rid the house of
everything that would remind us of her; her pictures, her clothes,
her few pieces of jewelry. She committed suicide, you see, and I
think my father was so hurt by her betrayal, both of him and the
teachings of his church, that he wanted no mementos. My sister and
I had nothing in remembrance of her.” She remembered being punished
for repeating something her mother once said. It was a small thing,
nothing of importance. Her father had beaten her until she
screamed. She never mentioned her mother again.

“One day last year, our best layer, Midge,
somehow worked her way through a hole in the ceiling of the hen
house. I had to tear out boards to get to her and when I did, a
metal cookie tin fell out along with the boards. It was rusty and
coated with grime as if it had been up there for years.”

“Inside the tin were items I found strange at
the time; a set of star shaped candle holders, a little crystal
bowl, a beautiful piece of rose quartz, and what I thought was a
letter opener. I couldn’t figure out why anyone would hide such
pretty things. A letter at the bottom explained it all.”

Her finger nervously drew a design on the
tabletop. She drew in her breath and steeled herself against a
similar reaction as the men’s across the way. These women had asked
and at last she would speak the truth out loud.

“My mother was born a witch and these things,
passed down from her mother and her mother before that,” she said
all in a rush, ”Were things she couldn’t bear to part with when she
married my father.”

Hope glanced at the two women who were
watching her closely. When they showed no reaction, only nodded for
her to continue, she let out the breath she’d been holding and
looked out across the distance. She smiled fondly at some
remembrance only she could see. “I should have known, looking back,
but all mothers have magical powers where their children are
concerned. Don’t you think? They know what you did when they
weren’t in the room. They can see around corners and know when you
lie. I thought making flowers dance was something every mother
could do and after she died…” she shrugged. “I tried not to think
about it.”

The fork full of cake stopped halfway to
Grace’s mouth. “And your father didn’t know about this? I can’t
imagine trying to hide it from Canaan.”

“Hush, ma petite, and let her finish.” Manon
smiled to offer encouragement.

“Oh no. It would’ve earned us both a beating.
Not even my sister knew about the dancing flowers. I thought it was
something special my mother only shared with me. Now, of course, I
understand that my sister was still too young to keep a secret.
Anyway, the letter asked that I keep them in remembrance of her
love. She must have hid them there before she killed herself.”
Hopes eyes clouded with pain.