Stormy Surrender (New Hope #1) Read online

  Shortly before ten, Martha crawled from the bed. Blaine’s side was empty, which was no surprise, and made, which was. She contemplated whether or not he had even slept in the bed, but soon discovered that she didn’t really care. She ran her hands up and down her arms a few times to encourage blood circulation and warm her. She blew on her hands and stomped her feet. It was only forty degrees outside, but as a native, that shouldn’t have bothered her one bit.

  Gathering a few necessities, slippers and a bathrobe to throw over her flannel jammies, Martha headed downstairs to the keeping room. As expertly as she managed every other aspect of her life, she started a fire in the hearth which was soon roaring and crackling. By then, she had gathered her wits about her, grabbed a hot tea and her lap top and was preparing to check and see what she had missed in the world over the past week.

  Somehow, she couldn’t get warm enough. Her nail beds were nearly blue. Her fingers felt clumsy, and her teeth were nearly chattering. She knew what her mother would have said, had she still been alive. In her head she heard, ‘give me a break. You should be used to this weather.’ But somehow, Martha knew it was more than the weather making her cold. She couldn’t seem to muster a smile; she couldn’t manage a giggle, even at herself, which she did so often. She had lost interest in her books and hobbies. Even checking her emails and responding to heartfelt messages from her few close friends didn’t cheer her.

  “Maybe you just need a change of scenery for a while.” One such friend had suggested in an email. “Take a trip with Blaine. Or, if he won’t leave his practice for a few days, get a girlfriend to go with you. Pick someplace nice and warm. Finally get a stamp in that passport.”

  Her first thought had been to pooh-pooh the idea. It was the holiday season. As a doctor’s wife, she had plenty of obligations to keep her busy. And then there were the charities she was usually so actively involved in. She worked with the Salvation Army to fill stockings for needy children. She visited the sick children in the hospital and read them stories, brought them gifts to elevate their spirits during the holidays. Oh, and the Ronald MacDonald House would be expecting her to come by and offer some free child care services again for the parents who needed to visit their other sick children. She sighed. She didn’t have time to wallow.

  As the weeks dragged on, however, it became clear that no amount of volunteer work was going to keep her mind occupied enough to forget what she had lost. She ached for the child she would never have. She ached for the loss she should have been sharing with her absentee husband. She ached because she didn’t know if she would ever be able to have a child of her own. Martha collapsed in a sobbing heap on the braided rug in front of the fireplace in the living room. It was there Blaine found her hours later when he happened to come home to get a change of clothes.

  “Are you all right?” He asked, not even stooping to touch her. Instead he was staring at her dispassionately from nearly three feet away.

  Nodding her head, Martha didn’t even turn to spare him a glance. She was curled in a fetal position facing the fire, contemplating her future. Her eyes were glassy from crying. Her body continued to shudder occasionally from the convulsive sobs that had escaped her earlier. And from a certain angle, the tear stains on her face were obvious in the firelight.

  “You need to pull it together,” Blaine said without even a hint of compassion.

  It was then that she turned toward him for the first time. His once docile wife was now angry and behaving like a wounded animal. “And just how do you suggest I do that, dear?” She nearly snarled. “I mean, thanks to all your love and support and constant presence, I’m healing perfectly.” She slowly moved to stand, and noted with some satisfaction that it made him back up a step or two.

  “I was merely going to suggest that you find something to occupy yourself with. A new hobby, perhaps, might keep you from wallowing.” He stared down his nose at her.

  His displeasure was obvious. The distance between them was greater than the literal four feet that separated them.

  Letting her shoulders drop, Martha said quietly, “I think I need a change of scenery.”

  Latching onto that like a dog would a bone, Blaine said, “So, what do you propose?”

  She sighed. “At first I thought it might be nice to take a little trip.” She watched as his eyes glazed over at the mention of leaving his practice unattended. “Now, however, I’m thinking we might want to do something more permanent.” She watched as one of his eyebrows quirked. At least that meant he was giving her a chance to speak, to share her idea.

  Clearing her throat, she sat on the stone hearth and gazed up at him. She was like a submissive little bitch, and she knew he would like that. “What if we moved south?” She spoke slowly, watching him bristle some at the suggestion. “People are big into beauty in some of the larger southern cities.” She picked up momentum gradually. “Charlotte, for example, is a great place for a successful plastic surgeon to build his practice.”

  He cocked his head to the side as though considering it. “You hate cities,” he spat.

  Nodding, she acknowledged the truth of his statement. “But,” she reminded him, “We wouldn’t have to live in the city, just like we don’t live in Burlington here.” She paused. “I’m sure I could find a great small town with a reasonable commute for us.” She waited, and felt spark a glimmer of the hope she hadn’t felt in a long time. She knew that the secret to building a roaring fire was not to smother it too soon. She knew that she couldn’t pile on too much heavy stuff, she had to give him a moment to blow on the tiny flame, slowly feed it and give it the time to grow gradually.

  “When would you want to move?” He asked slowly. His mind was reeling with the possibilities and ramifications of her statements.

  Martha swallowed the lump forming in her throat. “I’d like to be moved by the new year.” She waited, hands clenched in her lap. She didn’t want to seem too eager or too desperate. The fire behind her was heating the back of her navy blue Henley nicely. The rivets in her jeans were hot to the touch, but still she continued to shiver.

  “Find a place,” Blaine responded solemnly. “Find a place and we’ll make it happen.” And with that, he turned on his heels and headed back out the front door to his SUV.

  With that one simple statement, she could feel the flame grow a little larger, licking into the dark empty corners of her body, corners that should have been filled in the coming months with new life. She sighed and wrapped her arms around her torso, hugging tightly. She could use a real hug. How long since Blaine had shown her any affection? Head cocked to the side. The conception. Hmm.

  Gathering what strength she had left, Martha sat down in the overstuffed chocolate leather couch in the keeping room and propped her feet on the coffee table. The cord to the laptop wound its way down her calf and she took comfort in the familiar pressure on her legs. She stared at the Google search page and wondered what to type in. This was no time for one of her lengthy lists. She had to strike while the iron was hot, so to speak. She needed something concrete before Blaine had an opportunity to change his mind.

  What do I need? She wondered to herself. Warmth. Well, a move south should help with that. A change. Again, the move would give her that. I need to know that I won’t always feel like this. I need to know that I can have the life I’ve always dreamed of having. I need to get back to myself. Suddenly, it came to her. Then feeling a little silly, she began to type. She looked down at the simple word she had written in that search box. Hope. With a bit of trepidation tamping down the embers in her soul, she pushed the button that sent her request into the World Wide Web.

  Not only did her search yield a ridiculous number of matching responses, one on the first page stood out to her. The quaint little town of New Hope, South Carolina was celebrating its bicentennial. There were pictures of the parade, the town square, the government building, and lots of the area’s older homes in the historic section. There was an advertisement for the bed and breakfa
st and the local café. Martha read on. It looked so…warm and welcoming. She MapQuested it. It was within a reasonable commute of south Charlotte, North Carolina. This was absolutely a possibility.

  “You’ve been procrastinating for weeks,” Suzette complained again. “Do I have to take matters into my own hands?”

  Pushing her off his lap, Blaine did the cursory clean up with some Kleenex and carefully zipped his fly. How the woman could talk and complain so much during sex was beyond his realm of understanding. “The situation is under control,” he said, without even trying to hide the edge of disgust from his voice. If she didn’t know such amazing little tricks with that pouty mouth of hers, he might have set her aside long ago. As it was, he was growing hard just thinking about it.

  Pausing mid-lipstick application, Suzette slowly turned and batted her long dark lashes at him. “Whatever do you mean?” Her voice was laced with excitement and hints of seduction. She lazily walked over to him, beaming.

  “Apparently,” he began slowly, enjoying the torture of drawing out the details, “my wife has decided we should move south.”

  Nostrils flaring, she stood ramrod straight. “You’re moving,” she snarled. Her fists clenched at her side.

  Blaine eyed them warily, convinced that they would fly with very little provocation. “No, Martha is moving.” He raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to catch on.

  Instantly, she threw herself into his arms. “Oh, Blaine,” she breathed into his ear. “We’re going to be so happy. Just you wait and see.” And with that, she extricated herself from his neck and flounced back out to her office.

  For the first time in nearly a month, Blaine ate dinner at home. Martha had specially requested it, and so he felt as though it was the least he could do given the circumstances. With her usual efficiency and ease, she had created a wonderful southern meal, reminiscent of what he might find in…he consulted the manila folder of information beside his plate…ah, New Hope, South Carolina. There was a mound of some indistinct cooked green leafy vegetable that had pork and onion laced through it, fried chicken, a biscuit, some creamy macaroni and cheese, and a glass of an iced amber liquid. He had almost giddily grabbed it as he entered the dining room. It had been a rough day and he was secretly hoping for something, anything on the rocks. He nearly spit the super sweet chilled liquid out. “What is this?” He managed to splutter.

  “Sweet tea,” Martha responded while trying desperately to hide a laugh. As serious as Blaine was, he never took kindly to being the butt of a joke whether real or imagined.

  After they had settled into the meal, he glanced through the folder she had so carefully prepared. “What do you think?” she asked, nearly giddy for the first time since the miscarriage. Suddenly, his approval was very important to her.

  “If this is where you want to go, start making arrangements.” He pushed much of the food on his plate around with his fork in an effort to make it look at least nibbled on. If this was truly how they ate down south then he would find more work as a cardiologist than as a plastic surgeon. He grimaced then left the table, leaving the folder, the food, and Martha behind.

  She barely noticed his departure. Her mind was reeling with the possibilities. She had arrangements to make. Soon it occurred to her, she didn’t know how many people to make the arrangements for. She walked to the doorway, and ran into Blaine heading her way. “I forgot to ask,” she began breathlessly.

  “Just make arrangements for you,” he said crisply, knowing full well what she needed. “I am too busy to leave right now. I’ll follow you later.”

  Martha smiled, almost. She had a plan. It was a good plan. She would move south and find hope and be happy. Blaine would follow soon. And maybe after some time apart they could reconnect and work on that baby she’d always wanted. In the meantime, she would be content to make a new home for them.

  She skipped back to the keeping room. She had some online reservations to make. She knew precisely where she was going to stay. For once, she was going to treat herself and take their best room. She would wake up early, an old habit that died during her depression, and greet the sunrise. And she would start building the life she wanted. She exhaled slowly. It was as though she had been holding her breath. Now, her lungs were aching from it, and she could breathe normally once more.

  If asked, Martha wouldn’t be able to explain what made her leave Vermont at midnight on what was now December 30th. All she knew was that she wanted to wake up in a new town on New Year’s Eve, ready to start this new life she envisioned. The weather wasn’t particularly accommodating, what with the mixed bag of snow and rain that they were currently experiencing. It simply further cemented her belief that she was making the right decision in choosing to leave the frigid north.

  The snow stopped once she hit the Virginia border mid-afternoon. She had stopped only a few times, careful to combine her needs. The Pilot gas stations meant she could go to the bathroom, fill her tank with gas, and get food without having to interrupt her travel repeatedly. Martha smiled at her cleverness. And the one thing she noticed in her travels was that people were just friendlier the further south she went. She couldn’t help but feel better about her decision.

  The best part of her long drive, however, was that it was giving her the opportunity to get to know her new vehicle. She and Blaine had agreed to not exchange presents this year since they were moving, but he had still managed to surprise her with a new vehicle for the move. He claimed the Aztek was getting too old and he was concerned about her safety. Whatever the reason, she now drove a Saturn Vue Hybrid. He had selected a vibrant orange color that just didn’t fit her at all. And it had a practical tan leather interior which did. She had quickly discovered that her favorite feature was not the stereo or the six disk changer, but the heated seats that were working overtime to keep her warm.

  For the most part, Martha was enjoying the drive. Watching the climate shift the further south she went was greatly elevating her spirit. And if she concentrated really hard, she could almost feel that glimmer of hope begin to take hold. Slowly, almost hesitatingly she began to do something she hadn’t in such a very long time. Martha began to hum. Before she knew it, she was singing. “And I know it’s gonna be…a lovely day!” Soon, she was giggling to herself.

  Just before six that evening, after making excellent time due to her minimal stopping policy, she rolled into the town of New Hope. Her breath nearly caught in her throat as she realized it was so much more beautiful than the pictures truly showed. The white gazebo in the town square was decorated in white lights, as were all the trees up and down Main Street. Wreaths hung from every light pole decorated in ivory ribbon and white lights. Couples were walking hand-in-hand. People would pass each other with a greeting of ‘hey’ that was at least three syllables long. Many would even stop and chat. It was better than a Norman Rockwell painting. Martha’s throat swelled from the effort of trying to choke back tears. She longed to be a part of this life, this town. Taking a deep breath, she pulled down the vanity mirror and swiped at her eyes.

  Drawing in another fortifying breath, she reached over to grab the directions she had printed off the Internet. Glancing at the street signs, she realized she was only a few short blocks from her destination.

  “Hope House, here I come,” she said quietly. Then forcing a smile on her face, she turned the corner to Magnolia Drive.

  Once she arrived at her destination, one short turn away, she gasped at the entrance. It was everything she had ever dreamed about. A large circular drive led to a spectacular butter cream yellow three story home. The main level welcomed with its wrap around porch and wicker furniture that suggested a place to relax and rejuvenate. The yard was immaculately landscaped with two large magnolia trees on either side of the home, thick vines that probably belonged to wisteria dangled from the porch. Overall, it couldn’t have been a more perfect place for her stay and start her search for a new life.

  After parking in one of the spots to the side of
the house, she fiddled a moment, deciding which of her bags she truly needed to bring with her. Finally, she slung the black Calvin Klein duffle over her shoulder, yanked her toiletry bag from the corner it was wedged into, and made her way back to the porch.

  A woman with shoulder length blond hair greeted her at the door. She was wiping her hands on a towel that was slung over her shoulder. “Come on in,” she said in a warm welcoming voice.

  “I’m Martha,” she began quietly, suddenly very tired and very overwhelmed from her journey. She held out a hand.

  “You’re not from around here are you?” The woman smiled kindly. “I’m Keely,” she announced, “owner and operator of Hope House.” She beamed proudly and quickly drew Martha into a hug.

  Martha was taken aback at first, but realized that as much as she was shocked by this manner of greeting from a complete stranger, she was desperate for some kind of human contact. It had been so long since she had experienced any physical contact at all. For the second time that day, she could feel her eyes welling with tears and she pulled away.

  Keely tipped her head to the side and studied her a moment. “How about we show you to your room, then I bring you up a nice meal?” She paused for a reaction, “Or you can join the rest of the guests in the dining room if you would prefer.” She had already picked up the bags that Martha had set in the entry and was heading up the stairs as she spoke. “I just thought you might like a nice warm bath to go along with the fire we readied in your fireplace.”

  Following behind her, Martha finally managed to respond. “I think you’re right.” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me this evening. Being all emotional is so unlike me.” She tried to work on her smile for a moment, but failed miserably. “I’m not fit for public consumption at the moment. A meal and bath in the room would be…lovely.”