spectacles, and a pretty shawl.
She sat cross-legged on the floor and examined each item. Hope loved old things. At the bottom of the crate was a box decorated with different kinds of wood, some of which had chipped off. She lifted it out and opened it. It looked like asmall writing set. The lid folded out to make a sloping surface, and inside was a dried-up inkpot and a steel pen. It felt strangely heavy. Something moved inside. Hope frowned and lifted it up to look underneath. Nothing. Then she looked at the sides. One side had a seam in the wood not apparent on the other, but nothing she did made a difference. She got up and put it on the table, fetching a knife to try and dislodge the seamed side. It wouldnât budge.
She yawned, suddenly tired. She eyed the bed for a few seconds before collapsing on to one of the dusty-smelling sofas, pulled the knitted throw over her and was asleep almost instantly.
When she woke it was past two oâclock and time to get on with her schoolwork. The box still sat on the table but the side was now open. Inside was a worn black leather-bound book. Hope opened it and saw thin, almost onionskin pages covered in flowing lines of handwritten script. At the tops of some of the pages were printed mottoes about the duties of married women. She turned to the title page.
THE YOUNG BRIDE-TO-BEâS COMPANION
Flipping to where the writing started, she read, Montana, 1867 . Down in the yard, a loud, outside bell signalled a phone was ringing somewhere, making her jump. She pocketed the book and headed back to the house, intending to continue when sheâd got some homework done.
*
Immersed in her school projects, Hopeâs afternoon passed quickly. Languages, sciences â all of her subjects had strict tasks and timetables meant to replace ordinary school classes. Her best friend Lauren thought Hopeâs schedule was crazy and told her so, frequently, as she sat on Hopeâs bed and looked at the colour-coded wallchart over the desk.
Now, Hope sighed. She was just finishing a chemistry equation when the sun came through the window and hit the diary on the edge of the desk, making the worn black leather cover shine. Putting down her pen, she opened it again, resting her chin on her hand.
Married life. I was not quite sixteen . . .
There was a knock on her door and it opened. Meredith came in.
âHow has your day been?â
âGood, thanks,â Hope said, meaning it. âYours?â
âExcellent. It really is everything I expected and more. The place is totally unspoilt. Iâm going to start writing up my notes. Dinner is in an hour, apparently.â
Hope nodded, stomach rumbling. She really did want something to eat, and went down to the kitchen just before the hour was up. There, Caleb was looking freshened up and had a beer wrapped in his hand. Meredith was sitting at a stool at the counter, holding a glass of white wine. Dinner was spread out on the dining table.
âIâm afraid this is it, as Momâs still with my aunt in Kalispell,â Cal said.
âThis looks perfect, thank you,â said Meredith.
âSome cook, my son here. Heâll make someone a great wife one day,â Caleb joked.
Cal rolled his eyes while Meredithâs mouth set like a steel trap.
âI made you some pasta to go along with it,â he said to Hope, âbecause vegetarians get short-changed.â
âAs I said in my email, Hopeâs a picky eater,â Meredith said.
Hope gripped her fork, white-knuckled, but said nothing. In front of them was a meatloaf, buttered jacket potatoes, a salad and a bowl of pasta with what looked like pesto. Hope took a jacket potato and some salad. And some pasta.
âYou usually like just pasta,â Meredith said, looking at her plate.
Hope put the spoon back in the bowl, slowly. âI can have seconds if I want to.â
âYou sure can,â Calâs father said. âGet the
She sat cross-legged on the floor and examined each item. Hope loved old things. At the bottom of the crate was a box decorated with different kinds of wood, some of which had chipped off. She lifted it out and opened it. It looked like asmall writing set. The lid folded out to make a sloping surface, and inside was a dried-up inkpot and a steel pen. It felt strangely heavy. Something moved inside. Hope frowned and lifted it up to look underneath. Nothing. Then she looked at the sides. One side had a seam in the wood not apparent on the other, but nothing she did made a difference. She got up and put it on the table, fetching a knife to try and dislodge the seamed side. It wouldnât budge.
She yawned, suddenly tired. She eyed the bed for a few seconds before collapsing on to one of the dusty-smelling sofas, pulled the knitted throw over her and was asleep almost instantly.
When she woke it was past two oâclock and time to get on with her schoolwork. The box still sat on the table but the side was now open. Inside was a worn black leather-bound book. Hope opened it and saw thin, almost onionskin pages covered in flowing lines of handwritten script. At the tops of some of the pages were printed mottoes about the duties of married women. She turned to the title page.
THE YOUNG BRIDE-TO-BEâS COMPANION
Flipping to where the writing started, she read, Montana, 1867 . Down in the yard, a loud, outside bell signalled a phone was ringing somewhere, making her jump. She pocketed the book and headed back to the house, intending to continue when sheâd got some homework done.
*
Immersed in her school projects, Hopeâs afternoon passed quickly. Languages, sciences â all of her subjects had strict tasks and timetables meant to replace ordinary school classes. Her best friend Lauren thought Hopeâs schedule was crazy and told her so, frequently, as she sat on Hopeâs bed and looked at the colour-coded wallchart over the desk.
Now, Hope sighed. She was just finishing a chemistry equation when the sun came through the window and hit the diary on the edge of the desk, making the worn black leather cover shine. Putting down her pen, she opened it again, resting her chin on her hand.
Married life. I was not quite sixteen . . .
There was a knock on her door and it opened. Meredith came in.
âHow has your day been?â
âGood, thanks,â Hope said, meaning it. âYours?â
âExcellent. It really is everything I expected and more. The place is totally unspoilt. Iâm going to start writing up my notes. Dinner is in an hour, apparently.â
Hope nodded, stomach rumbling. She really did want something to eat, and went down to the kitchen just before the hour was up. There, Caleb was looking freshened up and had a beer wrapped in his hand. Meredith was sitting at a stool at the counter, holding a glass of white wine. Dinner was spread out on the dining table.
âIâm afraid this is it, as Momâs still with my aunt in Kalispell,â Cal said.
âThis looks perfect, thank you,â said Meredith.
âSome cook, my son here. Heâll make someone a great wife one day,â Caleb joked.
Cal rolled his eyes while Meredithâs mouth set like a steel trap.
âI made you some pasta to go along with it,â he said to Hope, âbecause vegetarians get short-changed.â
âAs I said in my email, Hopeâs a picky eater,â Meredith said.
Hope gripped her fork, white-knuckled, but said nothing. In front of them was a meatloaf, buttered jacket potatoes, a salad and a bowl of pasta with what looked like pesto. Hope took a jacket potato and some salad. And some pasta.
âYou usually like just pasta,â Meredith said, looking at her plate.
Hope put the spoon back in the bowl, slowly. âI can have seconds if I want to.â
âYou sure can,â Calâs father said. âGet the
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