Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring
Read Marriage Seasons 04 - Winter Turns to Spring Online
Authors: Catherine Palmer,Gary Chapman
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Winter Turns to Spring
Copyright © 2008 by Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman. All rights reserved.
Cover illustration copyright © 2008 by Doug Martin. All rights reserved.
Authors’ photograph by John Capelli/Capelli Photography. All rights reserved.
Designed by Jennifer Ghionzoli
Edited by Kathryn S. Olson
Scripture quotations are taken from
The Holy Bible
, King James Version.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Palmer, Catherine, date.
Winter turns to spring / Catherine Palmer and Gary Chapman.
p. cm.—(Four seasons ; #4)
ISBN-13: 978-1-4143-1168-5 (pbk.)
ISBN-10: 1-4143-1168-0 (pbk.)
1. Marriage—Fiction. 2. Ozarks, Lake of the (Mo.)—Fiction. I. Chapman, Gary D., date. II. Title.
PS3566.A495W56 2008
813'.54—dc22 2008010148
Printed in the United States of America
14 13 12 11 10 09 08
7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS
FOR TIM, WITH LOVE
C. P.
New love is the brightest,
and long love is the greatest;
but revived love is
the tenderest thing known upon earth.
THOMAS HARDY
There’s nothing like a good story! I’m excited to be working with Catherine Palmer on a fiction series based on the concepts in my book
The Four Seasons of Marriage
. You hold in your hands the fourth and final book in this series.
My experience, both in my own marriage and in counseling couples for more than thirty years, suggests that marriages are always moving from one season to another. Sometimes we find ourselves in winter—discouraged, detached, and dissatisfied; other times we experience springtime, with its openness, hope, and anticipation. On still other occasions we bask in the warmth of summer—comfortable, relaxed, enjoying life. And then comes fall with its uncertainty, negligence, and apprehension. The cycle repeats itself many times throughout the life of a marriage, just as the seasons repeat themselves in nature. These concepts are described in
The Four Seasons of Marriage
, along with seven proven strategies to help couples move away from the unsettledness of fall or the alienation and coldness of winter toward the hopefulness of spring or the warmth and closeness of summer.
Combining what I’ve learned in my counseling practice with Catherine’s excellent writing skills has led to this series of four novels. In the lives of the characters you’ll meet in these pages, you will see the choices I have observed people making over and over again through the years, the value of caring friends and neighbors, and the hope of marriages moving to a new and more pleasant season.
In
Winter Turns to Spring
and the other stories in the Four Seasons fiction series, you will meet newlyweds, blended families, couples who are deep in the throes of empty-nest adjustment, and senior couples. Our hope is that you will see yourself or someone you know in these characters. If you are hurting, this book can give you hope—and some ideas for making things better. Be sure to check out the discussion questions at the end of the book for further ideas.
And whatever season you’re in, I know you’ll enjoy the people and the stories in Deepwater Cove.
Gary D. Chapman, PhD
So many people affect the writing and publication of a novel. I wish to publicly express my deep appreciation for Dr. Gary Chapman. His God-given wisdom and his amazing books have enriched both my writing and my personal life beyond measure. I’m so grateful to have been given this opportunity to partner with a true gentleman, a man who reveals his commitment to God in all he does.
For sharing both laughter and tears, my longtime friends are treasures I cherish. Janice, Mary, Sharon, Roxie, Kristie, BB, and Lucia, I love you. My prayer support team holds me up before God, and I can’t thank you enough, Mary, Andrew, Nina, and Marilyn.
I also thank my Tyndale family for all you have meant to me during these past ten years. Ron Beers and Karen Watson, bless you for making this series a reality. Kathy Olson, I can’t imagine having the courage to write a single word without you. Your careful editing and precious friendship are truly gifts from the Lord. Thanks from the bottom of my heart to Andrea and Babette in marketing, along with the public relations department, the amazing sales team, and the wonderful design department.
Though I often leave them for last, first on my list of supporters, encouragers, and loved ones are my family. Tim, Geoffrey, and Andrei, I love you so much.
Catherine Palmer
B
rad Hanes walked across the parking lot toward Larry’s Lake Lounge with one goal in mind—and she would be sitting at the far end of the bar. Yvonne Ratcliff, the tavern’s entertainer, had a rich, earthy voice that welled out, filled the crowded, smoky room, and strummed every sinew of Brad’s body.
Aware that his wife wasn’t fond of Yvonne—or the other regulars at Larry’s—he had debated letting his coworkers from the construction site go on without him. In December, the water’s surface at Lake of the Ozarks reflected the ice-gray sky. The wind whipping across the town of Tranquility bit right through his denim jacket. It wouldn’t be a good night to stay out late, Brad knew. Still, nothing sounded better than a few brews, some laughs with his friends, and a couple of hours shooting pool while listening to music.
“You sure Ashley won’t mind us hanging out at Larry’s for a while?” Mack Lang, another member of the construction crew, ambled alongside Brad. “My number-two ex wanted me home for dinner at six every night on the dot. She about suffocated me with all her rules and regulations.”
“Nah.” Brad shook his head. “Ashley’s probably not even at the house. She started that sideline business selling necklaces, remember?”
“Them homemade beads?”
“Yeah, and with Christmas just around the corner, she’s working day and night to fill orders.”
“Still clocking in at the country club, too?”
“Sure. Ashley’s not giving up that job.” As he and his friend neared the tavern, Brad reflected on his wife—her black-and-white waitress outfit clean and pressed, her long red hair wound up in a bun, and her pale neck stacked with beaded necklaces she’d made.
Ashley would know her husband planned to go to Larry’s this evening, though she’d asked him a hundred times to steer clear of the place. She complained that Brad drank too much, came home smelling like a dirty ashtray, and always went off to work the next day with a headache. Some of what she said was true, though he argued that he didn’t see anything wrong with having a few beers with his friends.
“She probably wouldn’t even notice if I did come home,” Brad said, a surge of frustration filling his chest. “I’m a plain guy, you know. I don’t ask much of a wife—a clean house, the laundry done, and three squares. With the necklace production going full steam, Ashley can hardly stay focused enough to tie her own shoes. She never fixes my supper anymore. I have to scrounge up a can of soup or a box of macaroni. Pretty pitiful after a long day building condos in the middle of a Missouri winter.”
“Welcome to the club,” Mack said. “I hated marriage, but I hate being a bachelor, too. I guess you’ll have to find your fun wherever you can. Speaking of which … sounds like Yvonne is on stage.”
Brad tried not to react to the comment, undoubtedly a reference to the growing attraction between himself and the singer. He hadn’t realized it was so obvious.
Yvonne—or
Why-vonne
, as she pronounced it—had a beautiful voice, and she was easy on the eyes, too. She had a kid, she’d told Brad, but childbearing hadn’t hurt her figure any. With her long brown hair, black-rimmed green eyes, and skintight jeans, she could do things with her voice that kept every male eye in the place riveted.
But Yvonne’s focus was always on Brad. Every song she belted out was aimed straight at him, and when she took her usual place at the end of the bar, he couldn’t do anything but amble over and buy her a drink or two.
Reaching for the door, Brad heard Yvonne launch into a familiar song about the joys of being a redneck woman. But as he pulled on the handle, another sound sent shivers up his back. The high-pitched wail began as a sharp “
Yow!
” and then ebbed into a pathetic
“wow, wow, wow.”
Brad turned toward the noise, and it started again.
“Yow! Wow, wow, wow.”
After a moment, the sequence ended with a softly muttered
“ow.”
“What in the—?”Brad took off his ball cap and scratched his forehead as he studied the rapidly filling parking lot.
“Sounds like a baby crying,” Mack said as the two men took tentative steps in the direction of the wails.
“No way. Who would leave a kid out in this cold? Things like that happen in big cities, not here.”
“
Yi! Why, why, why, why?”
the voice howled.
“Nee-ow-rah. Boo-rah-rah.”
“Hey!” Brad called out. “Who’s there?”
Though it was only a little after five in the afternoon, the light was so dim he could hardly see. He dropped his cap onto his head again and adjusted the brim.
“Lookit.” Mack elbowed him. “Over there.”
At the corner of the brick wall that edged Larry’s Lake Lounge sat a cardboard box. And it was moving.
Colder than the evening breeze, a chill zipped down Brad’s spine. He and Mack neared the box. Brad noted blue and red lettering that indicated it once had held beer cans. As he peered inside, a pair of large brown eyes looked up at him.
“
Wow!
” The tiny mouth displayed two rows of sharp white teeth as it cut the air with a piercing
“Woe, woe, woe!”
“Holy moley,” Mack said. “It’s some kind of critter.”
