Hope by Lori Copeland

down to the last needle and spool of thread. He paused on his perch to glance around the store, mentally cataloging each aisle of merchandise. Fresh goods and perishables were toward the front, where people could see for themselves that Jacobs had nothing but the freshest. Of course, part of his strategy was moving the stock around a bit each day, but that never detracted from quality.
    Canned goods were centered on the right; material, spools of thread, cards of ribbons and the finest laces neatly piled on tables—center aisle. Ready-made dresses to the left. Hand tools, men’s pants and shirts were at the back, near the stove, where men were prone to gather while their wives shopped.
    Stepping off the ladder, John nodded absently to himself. Yes, he ran a tight ship. He was proud of his accomplishments, and rightfully so. It was a solid start for his soon-to-be family. The family he hoped to build with Hope Kallahan.
    Hope. How often he thought about his mail-order bride. Concerns whether she’d like him or could ever care deeply for him were never far from his mind. Betrothal to a man she’d never seen, had only seen a poor likeness of, must be a matter of discomfiture. Nevertheless—and the fact was of no small satisfaction to him—she had answered his ad.
    The ad.
    Wonder filled him anew. Placing that want ad in the Heart-and-Hand column of the Kentucky Monthly —then having that journal miraculously make its way to Michigan and into Miss Kallahan’s possession. . . . He drew a deep, shuddering breath. Well, it was just a miracle, that’s what it was. Just one more of God’s abundant blessings, and there had been many of those in John Jacobs’s life.
    The moment he’d placed the ad, he’d been assailed with doubt. What madness had driven him to do so? He was reasonably happy with his life, though admittedly lonely since Mother had passed on two years ago. But life had settled into a comfortable routine. He went to work each morning. Then at night, with his trusty hound, Oliver, he climbed the stairway to his apartment above the store.
    He’d told no one about the ad. In fact, he’d been so abashed about having put his private life in the public eye that he’d tried to forget about his impetuosity. But then Hope’s letter arrived.
    John shook his head in wonder. He’d been so taken aback by the letter, by the delicate spidery script on the envelope, that he’d waited a whole day and a half to open it. Hope had introduced herself, telling him about her aunt Thalia and about her sisters embarking upon their own mail-order-bride adventures. John had felt encouraged. It took him another two days to compose a letter in return. With mail service between Michigan and Kentucky so slow, it took forever, or so it seemed, to receive her reply to his letter.
    If Hope were nearly as beautiful as the picture that had accompanied her third letter, then he was the most fortunate man on earth! That is, unless she took one look at him and got back on the stage.
    The picture he’d sent to her had been a poor image, but he wasn’t a handsome man. He was a loyal man, moral, read the Good Book and did his best to live by it. But by no stretch of the imagination was he a handsome swain.
    Oh, he knew full well the gamble he was taking, hoping that a woman of Miss Kallahan’s exceptional beauty would agree to travel all the way to Medford to form a union with him, John Jacobs.
    John stepped to the front window of the store, trying to see the town as Hope might perceive it. Medford had fared well during the war, with minimal damage from marauders. Like most towns of its size, Medford had a main street with two crossroads. The Basin River ran the length of the community. During heavy rains, it overflowed its banks and caused more than its share of headaches for the townspeople. Most, if not all, of the shop owners in town lived above their businesses. A spattering of town residents, generally the elderly or widowed, resided