8. ~ Surrendered ~

CHAPTER 8

The sky crackled with jagged bolts of lightning, painting arcs across the darkened expanse, while thunder reverberated through the forest, shaking the trees with its powerful resonance.

Mr. Snider spotted us from the porch and hustled to our aid. "Allow me, sir." Dressed in full rain gear, he took the horses.

"Make sure they are fully dried," Alex said.

"Yes, of course, sir." Mr. Snider led the soaked and frightened animals to the stable.

Alex grabbed my hand, and we half walked, half trotted through the pelting rain toward the beckoning light of the kitchen. In my haste, I tripped on an uneven paver and lost my footing, my hand slipping from his as I fell into the mud beside the path.

"Florence! For heaven's sake. Are you all right?" He pulled me into him, then lowered his face to mine, where he said close to my ear, "Please tell me you aren't hurt." His lips brushed my cheek as he spoke, and I trembled, not because I was wet and cold but because I had never felt so warm inside.

"I'm fine."

"Let's get inside before we drown."

Zaira waited in the kitchen, prepared. She handed us a couple of towels.

I moved to the sink to wash off the mud. From the corner of my eye, I saw Alex kneel to unlace his shoes near the hearth. I opened the tap, rinsed my hands and face, and squeezed the water from my hair. Before another fit of shivering gripped me, I quickly dried off.

"Trade me." Zaira exchanged my towel for a dry one and hurried out of the kitchen.

I wrapped it around my shoulders and looked over at Alex.

He unbuttoned his cardigan and pulled it off, along with his shirt. His back and shoulders were broad and strong, his waist and hips slim. When he turned to pick up the towel and dry himself, I saw the scar on his chest, near his heart—the exact spot where the bullet had entered his body in my dream.

I was dumbfounded. I'd seen the wound. I'd tried to stop the bleeding. It felt so real. Where had the dream come from? How could it have mirrored reality so closely? I was losing my mind.

Zaira hurried back in with two blankets—one for Alex and one for me.

"Thank you." Alex wrapped it around himself, then huddled by the fire. "Zaira, could you lend Florence some clothing before she catches a cold?"

"I was going to suggest as much. I'll run to my quarters as soon as Mr. Snider returns with the umbrella."

"Thank you, Zaira." I sat near Alex and searched for his gaze, but he watched the dancing flames in front of us.

"Oh, I almost forgot. Sister Dolores called. I told her you were busy but would call her as soon as possible." Zaira handed us some broccoli soup. The steam rising from the bowl made me feel warmer already.

"I should've been back home by now. She might need me. I should go."

"Go? You aren't going anywhere," Alex exclaimed. "Driving in this weather would be suicidal. You'll have to stay here tonight."

As if to reinforce his words, a clap of thunder shook the house.

"I have never seen a storm like this!" Mr. Snider growled, emerging through the French doors. "It's going to destroy everything in its path."

"How are the horses?" Alex inquired.

"A bit scared, but they'll be fine. I'll check on them later." Despite his assurance, Mr. Snider looked quite unnerved. The responsibility of caring for the grounds, the horses, and maintaining wood for the fireplaces seemed overwhelming.

"Where are Mrs. White and Vines?" Alex asked Zaira.

"I'm afraid they might be stranded in town."

"The workers?" he asked again.

"They left at the first raindrop," she answered.

I gulped down the rest of my soup and attempted to rise, but Zaira quickly took the bowl from me.

"Stay by the fire. I'll fetch you some clothes." She dropped the bowls in the sink and threw on her raincoat.

"The umbrella is just outside the door," Mr. Snider said. "I'll come with you."

"Thank you both," Alex said to them and turned to me. "Call Sister Dolores. She'll agree that you should stay."

"I'll call from my office." I tightened the blanket around me and left the kitchen, unable to dismiss the image of the scar on his chest from my mind. How could I have seen it in my dream before seeing it in real life?

Confirming Alex's words, Granny concurred, and other than being a little shaken by the thunder, she was all right. "This building is a fortress. I'm safe here," she said. "Besides, with Sister Callahan and the others' help, we can manage any eventuality just fine." Her only concern was for my safety, and soon after we hung up, the telephone and power lines went dead. Keeping in mind that Granny had the European sisters' company gave me a sense of reassurance. They would be safe in the fortress. Armed with Zaira's dry clothes and a candle, I retired to the guest room. With no fireplace to warm the area, the stone floor felt like ice against my bare feet as I struggled to strip off the damp layers, desperate to get into Zaira's nightgown. As I slipped into it, the cozy flannel fabric conveyed instant warmth.

After extinguishing the candle, I slipped into the soft sheets, pulling the covers up to my neck. I closed my eyes and listened to the gusts of wind and torrents of rain hurtling against the windowpane. Safe from the storm, I pulled my thoughts to the inside world, and a sense of guilt pricked at me. I had forgotten something I ought to have done.

"Hang your clothes by the fireplace." Zaira's earlier advice jolted me from the bed. A second jolt came at the realization that I had also neglected to bring some matches with me. With a groan, I retrieved my wet clothing and felt my way through the corridors.

The fire burnt low, casting a soft glow over the now-deserted kitchen. I spread my skirt and blouse on the hearth and extended my hands toward the heat. Another lightning bolt struck nearby, shaking the walls. In that moment, I felt a hand on my shoulder and shrieked.

"It's just me," Alex whispered.

"Oh my." My hand flew to my heart. "You frightened me."

"I'm sorry." He briefly touched my hand. "You're freezing."

"This house is as cold as a tomb."

"Have you been in a tomb?" He smiled but sounded serious.

What an odd question. "No, of course not. It's a figure of speech."

"Come sit by the fireplace in my office. I just added firewood, and it's going strong." Before I could answer, he placed his hand on my back and guided me out.

In the office, the fire burned brightly, eliminating the need for a candle. We settled on the sofa, leaving space between us. I noticed a blanket and pillow on the floor near his feet. Did he sleep here often?

"Are you afraid?" he asked, his gaze lost in the dancing flames.

"The ferocity of the storm makes me a little uneasy, but I'm not scared."

"I'm not talking about the weather."

"What, then?"

"Me. Are you afraid to be with me?"

"No, of course not." Even when I wasn't sure where my feelings for him would lead, I trusted him to be honorable. Nevertheless, I knew where the fire poker was.

"Well then, I must say that you are beautiful—so beautiful it hurts to look at you."

The words thrilled me, but I didn't dare believe he'd said them. A log caught, sparks leaping into the air and a wave of heat washing over us. But I hardly felt it in the face of the feelings raging inside me.

Alex stretched his arms out, pulling me into his embrace. The strength with which he held me assured me he wouldn't let go. The same contentment I experienced during some of my dreams now filled me—I felt safe, as if, after a long journey, I was finally home. Afraid to say something to break the enchantment, I rested my head against his chest and fell asleep.

When daylight streamed through the window, I wondered if I'd dreamed it all—the meadow, the horses, the storm, his closeness. No. I could feel the warmth of his body melding with mine.

Sometime during the night, we'd shifted to a lying position on the sofa. The blanket from the floor now covered us. My head still rested on his chest, his heart beating softly underneath my ear. His arms tightened around me, letting me know he was awake.

"Good morning," he whispered.

"Good morning."

"Rhetorically speaking," he said. "If the not-so-pleasant gossip about me were true, would you still be here?"

"Oh…you know about that."

"From the moment the invitations to social events rained on me, and I turned them down one by one—so, would you still be here?"

"I suppose it depends on what truth we are speaking about."

"That's a safe answer."

"So . . . what parts might be true?"

"Like I told you in the meadow, there are things that haunt me—things I can't understand," he said evasively. "All I know is that my past is eating me alive and there is nothing I can do to change it or fix it."

A pause. I didn't know what to think or say, for it was evident he wouldn't go into the details.

"I'm a bitter man with much baggage. I'm not sure this is the right place for you. You should be out there enjoying life with people like you—people who are enthusiastic about life, who don't shy away from new opportunities." The guarded statement revealed that a possible relationship between us troubled him.

"I'm where I want to be." I could hardly believe my candidness, but it was true. I looked up at him, wondering if at last, this was the moment we had avoided, the moment of surrender.

Alex rolled off the sofa. "Zaira will be here with breakfast any moment now."

Zaira. The staff. I feared my closeness to Alex would cause a definite rift with Mrs. White, but hopefully, not with the others. Nonetheless, I shrunk at the thought of Zaira seeing me with Alex in my—hers—nightgown. "I'll eat in the kitchen. I better change first." Feeling foolish at his evasion, I quickly left before my coworkers saw me.