AN:I'm sorry it took like three months to get this out. :( But I hope you enjoy this chapter. Some parts were harder to create. It moves kinda slow at first but eventually it picks up pace I guess. Remember to review! And since I'm no history teacher, please give me pointers if some details are wrong...(that includes grammar as well) Thanks!!

One year and eight months later...January, 1919

CH. 3 HOPE

- - -

"All right Grace, I'll meet you at the Sunday school after the 11:00 service and we'll all have lunch together. Don't worry! I won't forget. Bye."

I hung up and plopped onto the nearest armchair with a sigh. Sunday was my favorite day of the week. After teaching Sunday school, I usually had lunch with Kelly, but she had gone to New York for Christmas so I was eating with Grace and her friends this week. Not that there was anything wrong with Grace, she just wasn't my type. Kelly and I have been good friends from the first time I met her at church.

The crackling fire in the hearth was the only sound in the house. I watched as a log was overtaken by hungry flames of fire, and then, with an air of surrender, it broke into two charred halves and fell out of my sight. I turned my face so that the other side was exposed to the blaze and dragged on a feather throw. I knew there were school papers begging to be graded somewhere in my canvas bag but I was loath to leave the cozy warmth of the fire. Presently, I succumbed to the realm of dreams. Sweet as well as bitter, both existed with the forgetfulness of sleep.

I was in my classroom. Alone. It was the end of another demanding school day. An almost-summer day. All my pupils had already set off for home. Waiting for them, was a hot dinner, as well as the unconditional love of their parents. I packed away the day's papers hurriedly, eager to retire into the peaceful retreat of my own home...

My car crawled into the circular driveway of my home. When I stepped out of the automobile, I observed something unusual in the air. The scent of my flowers was not the same. Changed. I threw a glance to the lawn carelessly and froze. But before I had time to register the full meaning of the change, I was pulled roughly into a familiar burly chest. I tried to scream but a suffocating hand clapped about my face stiffled the sound. The smell of cheap beer was stagnant in the sticky air. A hated voice growled into my ear: "Did you miss me? I sure missed you..."

A hand crawled under my skirt and traveled upwards greedily. I shivered in revulsion and struggled fruitlessly against my enemy. I was hoisted onto his shoulder and carried indoors. Oh no, OH NO! STOP CHARLES! PLEASE STOP-

I fell out of the armchair in a nervous fit. The feather throw was damp with my sweat. I looked around- left, right. The fire had long been reduced to glowing embers. There was no sound save for my own uneasy breaths. I clutched my blanket to me nervously and tried to rise. My knees buckled under my slight weight but eventually I stood straight and uncertain in the unyielding winter night. I went to the window, checked the lawn and- laughed hysterically. Of course! It was winter! Neither roses nor jasmine bloomed in the winter. But still, I could see the taller stalks of the roses standing above the snow. Muscles relaxed in relief.

Ascending the staircase, I avoided the bigger room with the king bed (which I havent stepped a foot inside for almost two years) and instead, entered my room, the humble guestroom. These nightmares always left me confused and worn-out but I didn't let them get in the way of my job. A hefty stack of fifth grade exams were quickly judged- pass or fail. Fs and Ds went in one smaller pile, Cs, Bs, and As went in the other. Soon, I was done for the day. But sleep did not come to me as easily as before.

I've been having these nightmares more frequently. The war is ending in favor of the Americans and Charles would be back soon...I haven't recieved any letter about his death in battle. No! I musn't stoop to his level. However, a wisp of that hope stayed in my heart and glowed even brighter. The last year and a half had been much too pleasant: I've had the house to myself, taught Sunday school at the church, a job at the Columbus Elementary, and the most important thing- freedom. I will NEVER part with that again.

- - -

Dear Esme,

October 16, 1919

The war has ended. Thank god! Another day of dead bodies, trench bunks, corpse rats and the rotten German weather is unthinkable. I'll be returning on November 21st at 5:00 P.M. Drive up and meet me there at the Columbus Airport. We're having dinner with David and Grace Walker. Do you remember them? So dress accordingly to celebrate the American victory. Don't forget-November 21st.

Your Husband,

Charles Evenson

- - -

I finished reading the letter. Hyperventilating, I collapsed onto the porch swing. Unfortunately, a porch swing isn't a very good thing to collapse onto and I promptly fell off the seat. Nursing a bruise on my knee, I reread the letter a couple times and finally understood- Charles would be back in a month. Charles would be back to hurt me...and he was back for good this time.

There was nothing I could do but to go grant his wishes. On November 21st, I put on a tasteful green dress, pushed a sparkling clip into my caramel hair, and drove to the airport to welcome home my husband. I waited with a small crowd of other families with men who had been in the war. Grace Walker quickly found me and pulled me to a bench, prattling on and on about how lovely I looked in my dress and the happiness I must be feeling on the return of my beloved husband!

I was the only person there who wasn't bouncing in joy but was instead, sullen and pale with dread. Grace held a one-sided conversation happily-oblivious to the moody silence on my part.

"...And I just can't believe I'm finally going to see David again after so many endless months! The dinner will just be great. It'll be like the old days: you and Charles, me and David. They were always the best of friends-"

Suddenly, she jumped off the bench and hurried to the sideline of the runway, shading her eyes with one hand. Others joined her with murmurs of excitement. Then I heard the faint rumble of the engines in the distance. Gradually, the sound increased to a deafening roar and the plane landed, tires screeching in complaint. I stood up shakily and stood next to Grace when passengers began to file out. There were happy shouts and embraces and kisses as families were reunited. I stared at them all in wonder- why did love come to others so easily?

Even my own parents...they hardly showed compassion for me when I confessed to them the horror Charles Evenson really was. Instead, I was told to hush; that's what the good, respectable woman does. Of course, I complied, hoping that my obedience would earn the favour of my own husband. It didn't. Now I wonder if he will be different. Did the wretched havoc of war anger his mind? Maybe seeing the desolation would cause him to regret his rough actions before. It seemed too much to hope a monster like him could be tamed...

And there he was- standing tall and straight not four yards from where I stood. Next to him was David Walker, childhood friend of Charles Evenson, unaware of the private face Charles kept at home. Grace squealed and ran into David's arms with the vitality of a teenage girl. They embraced and kissed earnestly. Feeling as though I was intruding upon their tender love, I turned away and eyed Charles cautiously. He was smiling warmly, the hard corners of his mouth turned up unexpectedly. There was a pink scar along his cheek and his hair was longer but other than that, he looked like the same Charles Evenson who had proposed to me two and a half years ago. He held his arms out.

"Don't I get a hug too?"

I stepped into his arms meekly. Charles held my face in one hand and tilted his head to kiss me easier. He was gentle now, but when there were no witnesses...

"How about some dinner? Charles..." David called laughing.

We broke apart and I flushed uncomfortably. Charles had an arm around my waist. It weighed me down.

"Right Bill. Why don't we go to The Grill ? (AN:I'm sorry I can't think of a name of a fancy restaurant that would exist in the 1920s..If you have a good name, feel free and tell me) " said Charles.

"Sure. It's a pretty long drive though and it'll be crowded. It's Friday night."

Charles and I were quiet during the drive. I sneaked a peek at him once and his expression was unfathomable. It looked like he was struggling to keep something down. But at the same time, there was a hint of gratefulness in his actions. I could only assume he was struggling with the pain of the war, and that he was grateful for being back on good, American soil.

The Grill was crowded, as always. The wait was just over an hour for the four of us.

" Why don't we have a little bit of fun tonight?" said David cheerfully, gesturing toward the alcohol section.

" A little bit won't hurt I guess. I haven't had any of this in years!" Charles chuckled.

I stiffened and concentrated on the menu, ignoring their friendly banter.

" Esme? What about you?" Grace inquired.

I looked up unwillingly and chose the cheapest pasta dish on the menu.

Charles scoffed and ordered a filet mignon for me.

" I won't have my wife eating macaroni and cheese at The Grill. This is a special occasion Esme!" Charles smiled at me but there was no laughter in his cold eyes. I had embarrased him.

The night passed in a haze of cheerful talk and superb food. Charles and David both had their share of wine and by the time dessert came to our table, they spoke in slurred, incoherent voices. Grace and I didn't have too much alcohol and we were pretty much sober other than the warm fuzzy feeling in my toes and fingertips.

" Grace'll have terdrive me. Eh love?" slurred David. He leaned in to kiss Grace and missed her entirely. She laughed as she took hold of his face in both hands and kissed him lightly on the nose and lips. He smiled dreamily.

" It's..." Charles checked his watch, " Twelve- er one? I dunno but it's late." He stood up unsteadily. I looped his right arm around my shoulders and helped him to our car. He headed to the driver's side but I got there before he did. Charles looked at me, amused.

" I'll drive tonight. You've had too much to drink." He still looked doubtful.

" Look," I nodded towards David and Grace who were also getting into their car, "Grace is driving for David too. You'd drive us into a tree. Please just let me drive this one time," I pleaded.

Charles sighed and trudged to the other side.

" 'Night Charles. Good luck Esme," David was leaning out of a rolled down window. Grace smiled and waved from the driver's side.

"Bye, we'll see you on Sunday," I called.

20 minutes later we were pulling into the circular driveway of our home.

I was lucky. Charles was snoring two minutes into the drive home. I helped him to the stairs and then I had to wake him up...I couldn't single-handedly drag him up the stairs. It took me several rough shakes to his shoulder to get him to open an eye. Fortunately, he dropped onto the bed as soon as he cleared the stairs. I quietly closed the door and tiptoed to the guestroom. If he asked me why tomorrow, I'll just say I didn't want to wake him up. Besides, I was too tired to care...

- - -

...What was that sound? It was so bright...

These two simple thoughts had barely touched my mind when I felt a sharp blow to my cheek. Then, my head was pulled up by the hair painfully. My hands reached up automatically to free myself and felt nothing but air. I bounced back onto the bed and when my tired eyes could finally focus, there was Charles, leaning against my desk casually. I froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. The tension in the air was suffocating.

"You know, I was expecting a somewhat warmer welcome back home?" drawled Charles coldly.

I gulped.

"You could start by making me some breakfast- I"m really hungry-it's almost noon. Don't you remember your duty? I work hard for our home, the food, taxes- the least you can do is to cook..."

"I'm s-sorry Charles," I mumbled. I pushed myself off the bed and stood up, muscles tense, joints stiff. Warily, I stepped around him and left the room safely. Once out of Charles' field of vision, I ran down the stairs and tried to set up some breakfast efficiently. Charles' toast had to be perfectly browned, the bacon had to have the right crisp, eggs were always sunny-side up. And when he sat down to eat, everything on his plate was HOT. I worked feverishly, knowing that he would be down any minute.

HOW could I have forgotten this morning ritual? It had been the same for every day I'd lived with him. In the mornings, I would wake up early, pick out his clothes, heat the bath water, put his shoes out, and by the time he came down, I would have a hot breakfast ready for him-fresh out of the pan. In the evenings, it was somewhat like this as well. When he came home from work, dinner was just ready, his pajamas were laid out, the covers of the bed were warm, and after our meal, I would give him a massage to help ease the stress from an average work day.

The food was ready and Charles wasn't down yet. French toast, eggs sunny-side up, bacon, black coffee, sugar, cream, warm knife and fork, spoon on the little coffee dish, heated plate, warm napkin, pure maple syrup-where was he? I set the table and tried to keep the food from cooling too much by setting the plates next to the stove. Charles finally came down when I filled the sink with warm soap water.

I set his breakfast down in front of his seat and turned away, knowing that the storm would come with his first bite.

"Esme. Come here."

I cringed but shuffled slowly towards him. He was frowning at the inoffensive plate. He hadn't even taken a bite. I was two feet away from him when he abruptly snapped out an arm and hooked it around my waist, pinning me to his side.

"What's this? Pig feed? It's worse than what we had to eat in the trenches. How am I supposed to eat cold food? Is there something wrong with your brain? You KNOW I don't like anything less than hot." His lips were at my ear, spitting out these hateful words.

Gasping, I looked down and blinked away angry tears. Charles had no right. Who told you to take so long coming down? What's wrong with YOU?

A slap brought me back to reality and with mortification, I realized I had been shouting out my thoughts at Charles.

His face was beyond fury. He was MAD. My husband seemed incapable of speech as he slammed me down onto the table and took off his belt. I stared at him in horror. I have never ever smart-mouthed at him so badly.

He held me down with one hand. The belt was in his other as he raised it high threateningly. I winced and held an arm out to protect my face -the belt flashed- and unexpectedly, it came down onto my unprotected legs. I wanted to scream, the pain was bursting out of me, but I kept it in. Screaming would provoke the monster even more. So instead, near-silent tears coursed down my face as the belt flashed again...and again. Several blows left parallel, angry cuts with an expanse of raw skin between. The pain triggered my natural defense- I tuned out- and then I was wrapped in a safe cocoon where Charles was only the villian in the movie theatres.

- - -

Oh god.

It's happened.

Joy. Fear. Hope.

That's what I'll call her...Hope. For some crazy reason I was sure my baby would be a girl.

My stomach churned and I leaned over the toilet again. Ugh. Morning sickness.

And now my mind clicked into action. I was pregnant. There was now a new life growing within me. But it was also Charles' daughter. Was it possible for him to control himself around his own? A baby wouldn't survive a week with that beast. No, a child must not be taken into this house.

Would I have to smother the life in order to protect it? I looked down at my flat stomach. That was ridiculous. Surely there was another way.

It was three weeks to the Evensons' New Years party. It was already the talk of the town. Everyone important in Columbus had been invited. Between the merry drinks and the laughter and the music and the dancing, surely no one would miss me-the prim, sensible wife of handsome, successful Charles Evenson? If I planned it right, no one would know until it was too late. The impossibility of the idea made me dizzy. Running away from one of the most powerful men in Columbus was insanity.

Yet...I couldn't condemn the life of my child. I loved her already and she's only existed for two weeks. All of a sudden, my path was clear. We would leave on new years eve of 1920...