As Kat kneeled before the dusty leather trunk, she toyed with the fringe of her scarf.
She knew she’d come back to Hope Hideaway for this very reason, but she still couldn’t bring herself to open it.
The creaking of the attic steps drew her attention to the narrow doorway. Fern emerged carrying two mugs of hot chocolate. “I thought it would be chilly up here.”
Kat smiled, recognizing the excuse to lend moral support. She gratefully accepted the offering, taking a languid sip as Fern eased herself onto a worn armchair in need of new upholstery.
After setting the mug on the scuffed hardwood, Kat flipped open the brass latch. She held her breath as she slowly eased open the lid, scattering specks of dust.
When her gaze fell on the first item resting on top, a small gasp escaped. “Is that…?” Her question trailed off as she caressed the smooth cotton, her fingertips traveling to the name embroidered along the edge in pink thread.
Katherine.
“Your mother made that in an embroidery class at the community center,” Fern told her with a wistful smile. “I remember hearing her mutter under her breath each time she stuck herself with the needle. But she was determined to finish it for you.”
Misty-eyed, Kat grazed the uneven stitching. “I never actually liked my name,” she admitted, recalling how she’d asked to go by Kat at a young age.
“Do you know what it means?”
Kat shook her head, still studying each line of thread painstakingly put in place by her mother’s hand.
“It means pure.”
“Pure?” Kat echoed, not feeling a connection to that description at all. “What an odd thing to name a baby. But then, knowing Helena, she probably named me after some celebrity.”
Fern sipped her hot chocolate before responding, her voice soft and steady. “Your mother scoured baby naming websites nearly every night for a month. When I asked her why she was having so much trouble deciding, you know what she said?”
Sensing that the question was rhetorical, Kat leaned back on her heels, waiting for Fern to continue.
“She said she wanted to do everything in her power to make sure your life didn’t turn out like hers.” Fern sniffled, drying her eyes with the collar of her sweater. “She remained clean and sober for the entire pregnancy. And I thought—I prayed—it would last. When she relapsed, my faith wavered. I couldn’t understand what went wrong. In the end, only the Lord knows a person’s heart. But He gave me an incredible gift amid the heartache.”
Kat fought back tears, wondering what possible silver lining Fern could have found.
“He gave me you, mija.” A solitary tear tumbled down her weathered cheek, and the sob Kat had been holding back broke through her wall of restraint.
Rushing to Fern’s side, she threw her arms around the woman’s neck, not caring about the awkward position or the precarious cup of hot chocolate resting in her lap.
For so long, she’d focused on what she didn’t have. And yet, this whole time, she’d had Fern, who’d given her a mother’s love, no matter what it said on her birth certificate.
Life could be messy and heartbreaking, but it was also wonderful.
When Kat pulled away, Fern set down her mug and rose from the chair. “Come with me. There’s something I want to show you.”
Kat followed her to the other side of the attic, surprised when Fern paused in front of another hope chest. “Helena had two?”
“This one is yours.”
Kat blinked in confusion. Since she was technically a Hope Hideaway employee, not a resident, she never had her own hope chest.
“I started adding things here and there shortly after your mother passed away. I always intended to give it to you when you were ready to leave home.”
Kat stared, too overwhelmed to speak.
“Open it.” Fern gave her a loving nudge.
Kneeling in front of the steamer trunk, Kat admired the rich, chocolatey leather and shiny brass lock. But as beautiful as she found the exterior, she wasn’t prepared for what she discovered inside.
Recipe cards filled with Fern’s favorites, including her top secret Pequeños Milagros, a conch shell so she could hear the ocean no matter where she went, and…
“My own molinillo!” Kat cried, plucking it from among the other items.
“In case you want to carry on the tradition.”
As Kat reminisced about the first time she’d made Fern’s hot chocolate for Jack, a smile sprang to her lips.
“Or maybe you already have….”
Kat blushed. “This would have made it easier.” As she ran her palm along the smooth wood, the reality of Fern’s gesture settled over her.
Fern was giving her permission to leave Hope Hideaway.
A lump rose in her throat, and she couldn’t bring herself to say the words out loud.
Sensing her troubled thoughts, Fern knelt beside her. “This isn’t goodbye, mija. No matter what happens or where you go, you’ll always be my daughter.”
“But I can’t leave. Not now. Not when the shelter—”
“We’ll be okay.” Fern gently wiped a tear from Kat’s cheek. “There’s still hope. But right now, it’s time for you to stop hiding, and go and live your life.”
Before Kat could answer, a faint cough startled them both.
Ann—the newest Hope Hideaway resident—lingered in the doorway. “I’m sorry, Fern. But there’s a man here to see you. He says it’s important.”
Kat followed Fern into the living room, her heart thrumming. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if the mysterious visitor was Jack.
But she didn’t recognize the stout, middle-aged man standing in front of the fireplace, briefcase in hand. He turned when they entered, giving them both a friendly smile. “This is a lovely place you have here.”
“Thank you,” Fern responded with her usual warm, welcoming demeanor. “How can I help you…?” Her voice carried a questioning lilt.
“Paul. Paul Volt. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion, but I have an important matter to discuss with you.” He flipped open his briefcase. “I’m here on behalf of an anonymous donor who’s set up a trust fund for Hope Hideaway. A fixed amount will be transferred to your account every month for as long as the shelter remains open. I’ve done extensive research to ensure the amount surpasses your monthly operational costs, and I hope you find it more than satisfactory.”
Kat’s gaze flew to Fern, who looked as shocked as she felt.
“If there’s a place where we can sign papers,” Paul continued, “I can begin the first transfer of funds.”
As if floating on a cloud, Fern led them into the kitchen.
While Paul laid out the paperwork on the expansive island, Fern arranged cookies on a plate, still in a daze.
Concerned Rich Gardener might be trying to circumvent her refusal of his check, Kat asked, “Mr. Volt—”
“Call me Paul,” he said cheerily, helping himself to a cookie as Fern started a fresh batch of hot chocolate.
“Paul,” she corrected, “is there any fine print that gives the donor input over the way Fern runs the shelter?”
“Absolutely not. My client specifically stipulated that the funds were to be used at Miss Flores’s discretion.”
Kat breathed a little easier, but her mind raced to surmise who the donor might be. Her thoughts kept drifting to Jack, but where would he get that kind of money?
“Is there a reason the donor wishes to remain anonymous?” she asked. “We’d love to thank them.”
Paul hesitated mid-bite. Swallowing, he answered, “No nefarious reason. My client is simply a private man, particularly when it comes to finances and things of this nature.”
“That’s very admirable,” Fern said, speaking for the first time since they entered the kitchen. “Please tell your client that we’re extremely grateful.” Beaming brightly, she handed him a mug of steaming hot chocolate.
“It will be my pleasure.” Paul inhaled the sweet and spicy scent curling from the rim. “This smells incredible.”
“It’s a family recipe, passed down from generation to generation.” Fern turned her smile on Kat, who grinned back, her heart full.
At the beginning of December, she’d left Starcross Cove hoping to find a way to save the shelter.
And now that she had the answer to her prayers, she realized she’d found so much more than she ever imagined.