Resurrection of Hope

Dedication and/or Acknowledgement

Idedicate this book to my husband Rick Kraft who, like Henry, is a good man with a great heart. I love him very much and would be lost without him.

Chapter One

Palm Sunday, 1919

Tonight would be the last time Vivian Klein cleaned Mr. Adder's office. After she finished for the day, she'd take the Colt handgun she'd seen in the top drawer of his desk and finish off her miserable life.

Tomorrow morning, the owner of the Greenville Hotel would find her dead body sprawled beside the desk on his fancy wool rug. A certain satisfaction set in as a grin crossed her face. He'd have to find somebody else to clean away the blood.

First, she needed to finish her chores. After washing dishes and changing sheets, she started scrubbing the narrow linoleum floor in the second-floor hallway. She tackled the scrub brush with a relish she hadn't felt before. These constant tasks taking over every moment of her existence for the last six months would soon end.

It wasn't like this had been the worst day of her life. A year ago, she had received a telegram informing her James, the love of her life, had died in the Great War. She paused for a moment, leaning on her heels, the memories flooding her emotions.

Soon, my love. I'll join you soon.

Setting aside the heartache, she wiped away a tear and got back to work.

Footsteps shuffled down the hall and stopped abruptly as the fetid scent of cigar smoke mixed with the sweet smell of lilac aftershave assaulted her senses. A prickle crept over her like ants crawling all over her skin. She dropped the scrub brush and stood to face Mr. Albert Adder. She kept her disdain at bay as she looked down at him.

The owner of the Greenville Hotel, dressed in a dapper three-piece suit and bowtie, stretched his neck and shoulders reminding her of a rooster trying to crow, but it didn't add one inch to his short stature. He glowered up at her over his bifocals and pointed nose, his dark eyes betraying the deviousness within. I hope you've reconsidered my offer, he said, his characteristic smirk in place. I only want to improve your situation.

The knot that never left Vivian's stomach tightened. If you really want to help me, you could start by paying me a decent salary.

Adder ran his hand over his balding scalp. I give you room and board. Nobody else came to your aide when you were left destitute. You should be grateful.

She dug her fingernails into her palms to keep from smacking his face. If he hadn't introduced her father to alcohol and gambling in the hotel's back room, she wouldn't have lost the farm. The room still operated even though prohibition had already been enacted in Ohio. I'll never marry you.

I know I'm a bit older than you...

A snort escaped Vivian's lips.

Lots of men marry younger women. Be reasonable, girl. If you agree to be my wife, you won't have to work so hard. You'll have everything you ever wanted. He touched her arm.

It took everything inside not to cringe. She tilted her chin up with the last vestige of self-respect she had. I won't change my mind.

Mr. Adder's lips pressed together. Fine then. If you want to be a scrub woman for the rest of your life instead of the wife of the richest man in town, so be it. He stomped down the stairs and out of sight.

She tried to pick up the scrub brush but couldn't get her trembling hand to cooperate. Please Lord, if there's another way.

It was a useless prayer. God hadn't come to the rescue when James was killed. Or when she cared for her sisters and parents as they died of influenza. Where was He when the sheriff showed up at her door and told her she had twenty-four hours to leave the only home she'd ever known?

God had deserted her. It was time to end it.

HENRY BAUER'S STOMACH felt like a flock of birds had taken flight as he made his way into Resurrection of Hope Church in Stillwater Village, Ohio. He couldn't wait to see a glimpse of Vivian Klein, the woman he hoped to spend the rest of his life with.

Like the town he'd grown up in, the church hadn't changed since he'd been off fighting in the Great War. A brick building with a bell tower held rows of wooden pews with hymnals at each seat. The cross stood tall behind the wooden pulpit in the front, and the anxiety bench, where he gave his life to God after his mother died, rested near the pulpit.

Deacon Roth started the service with the opening prayer as Henry slipped into the back pew. He kept looking over his shoulder to see if any latecomers arrived, but the door never opened. After singing a couple of hymns, he barely squeaked out the chorus. The words caught in his throat. Vivian wasn't coming.

He squelched the urge to leave while everyone was still standing so he could try to find her. He didn't even know where to look. The day he got back, the first thing he did was to march to her house with a bouquet of daisies he'd picked on the edge of his farm. He had knocked firmly on the door. When it opened, a man he’d never seen stood there. Another family lived there now. They bought the property at the sheriff’s auction, and they had no idea where to find Vivian.

Reverend Krieger came to the pulpit and spoke with his usual deep resonating voice, giving the same Palm Sunday message he had every year since Henry was a boy. None of the military chaplains conducting church services in the trenches brought the Bible to life like Reverend Krieger.

Henry had looked forward to hearing him preach, but he couldn't manage to pay attention. He focused on the chip in the stain glass window then the gouge in the wooden pew in front of him. The walls needed a fresh coat of paint. Maybe blue, the same color as the dress Vivian wore when he last saw her at the train station. She looked pretty in blue.

Vivian was out there somewhere maybe needing him.

As soon as the service ended, he rushed over to the reverend before the line to greet him formed.

Henry, my boy, it's so good to see you back safe. I was so sorry to hear about James. I know you and he were close, almost like brothers.

Henry tried not to interrupt, but his anxiety got the better of him. Reverend Krieger, where's Vivian Klein staying?

The girl James was going to marry?

Henry nodded.

The reverend wiped his hand across his bushy mustache. After she received notice of James' demise, she stopped attending church. I tried to visit, but she refused to see me. Her father asked me not to come back. You know her folks never did cotton to anything about God. I think they had a hand in keeping her away.

The muscle in Henry's jaw twitched. So, do you know where she is now?

No, I haven’t the foggiest idea. Her folks and sister died a couple of months ago during the influenza epidemic. It was a sad time. Stillwater Village lost near twenty souls.

Yes, I know. Hardness formed in the pit of his stomach as the flock of birds lodging there turned into bricks. She was out there somewhere, alone. When I went out to the farm, she'd moved away. The people living there hadn't ever heard of her.

Must have been the Morgans. They moved into town a few months ago.

Henry tugged at his bowtie.

Things were so dreadful then with the quarantine and all the deaths, it took me a couple of weeks before I could get out her way to offer my assistance. The reverend cleared his throat.

By then, Sheriff Berg sold the farm at auction and sent her away. Something about a mortgage and taxes not being paid. I wish I could have done more.

Henry thanked Reverend Krieger and scanned the faces of the congregation. There had to be someone here who knew what happened. Jeff and Rose Weber stood by the doorway. They lived a couple of miles outside of town on the farm next to his and were so busy with farming and raising their eight children, Henry doubted they had time to keep track of the whereabouts of their neighbors.

Some others had surrounded Abe Zimmer as he enthralled them with tales of bravery from the Great War. Already popular because of his good looks and exploits on the community baseball team, Abe was now an acclaimed hero after winning a couple of medals.

He wouldn't have any information on Vivian either, and Henry felt awkward interrupting his war tales even if most of them were as full of hot air as a German Zeppelin was hydrogen.

Mrs. Oster stood near the coal furnace talking to a group of women. She was the doctor's plump wife who always wore her hair secured in a gray bun and rarely closed her mouth. Because of her husband's job, she pretty much knew everything happening in Stillwater Village. Doctor Oster did some doctoring at the county seat in Greenville. Maybe they'd seen Vivian there.

Henry shuffled in toward them. He wasn't much for chitchatting with people he didn't really know, especially a group of gossiping older women, but if anyone knew where Vivian had gone, it would be Mrs. Oster.

When he reached the cluster, they jabbered away without even a glance toward him. Men like his friend James and the town hero Abe Zimmer commanded attention by their very presence, but Henry