Once Upon a Prince

FIFTEEN



The clock in the hall chimed midnight when Campbell entered her palace quarters, weary from the long but happy evening. If a woman had to turn fifty-seven, she must do it with her family and friends by her side, attending a Christmas symphony.

“Did you have a good evening, ma’am?” Megan, her lady’s maid, met her at the door.

“I had a splendid time. You’ve not enjoyed a happy birthday song until a full orchestra has played it for you.”

“I suppose not, ma’am.” Megan took Campbell’s coat, hat, and gloves. “Shall I draw you a bath?”

“No, thank you. I think I’ll stay up awhile. I’m not quite sleepy. You may go.”

The woman curtsied and backed out of the room.

A fire crackled in the fireplace. Christmas lights glowed from the tree and each windowsill.

Campbell eased around the living room, feeling this space she’d shared with Leo. When Nathaniel married, the apartment would become his. She would move to a smaller palace apartment.

She paused at the first window, missing Leo. Her friend and companion. The one she leaned on to lead and guide the boys. To lead Brighton. To lead her.

Drawing aside the sheers, Campbell watched the midnight snowfall drift through the palace lights. Silent, peaceful, magical. Changing the world without a sound.

Could she do the same for her son? Guide him toward his future with a peaceful silence? With dutiful presence and love? Or would she need to be loud like Leo? Forceful and strong?

Nathaniel had not been the same since he returned from St. Simons. She saw it. Henry, Stephen, and the King’s Office staff took notice as well. Even Jacque, his personal chef, inquired of the king’s poor appetite and weight loss.

He was lovesick. She didn’t need snow or prime ministers or chefs to figure that out. She’d been in love once, back when the very thought of a certain young man stole her breath.

But being crazy in love was not enough for her father. No, he felt Prince Leopold was a worthy husband, and he’d have his way, not even considering Campbell’s love for another man.

There were many nights she soaked her pillow with tears, demanding her heart to surrender and please her father. But in the end, her true love made the decision for both of them. He withdrew his affection, and a year later, Campbell became Leo’s bride.

It was Nathaniel’s first birthday celebration when she realized she’d fallen in love with her husband. She watched Leo walk Nathaniel around the palace lawn on his first pony, and her heart felt one with him. She thanked God every day for his mercy.

With a sigh she left the window and reached for the TV remote and found a channel that played Christmas music. She slid off her heels and stretched out on the couch.

She drifted. Like the snow. Down, down, down, peaceful …

“Mum? You still awake?”

“I am.” Campbell sat up, jerked from her slumber by her youngest son’s baritone. “Did you enjoy this evening?” She offered her cheek to Stephen’s kiss.

“‘Twas the symphony with my favorite gal. What’s not to enjoy?” He plopped into Leo’s leather easy chair and tugged at his tie. “You’re the prettiest queen in Brighton.”

Ruddy and regal in his tuxedo, there always seemed a bit of comedy about her youngest son with the way his hair stood tall and waved about of its own accord. But he looked and moved so much like her dignified, noble father.

“But I’m the only queen in Brighton,” she said. “However, you might say I’m the prettiest mum in all of Brighton.” Campbell picked up the remote to raise the volume of “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” It was one of her favorite Christmas hymns.

“You are the prettiest mum in all of Brighton. But I’m one of only two chaps whose mum is also the prettiest queen.”

“Then did you do as your queen asked? Did you give the ring to Nathaniel?”

“I did, but he’s not going for it.”

“He’s stubborn like his father. He refused me too. What did he say?” Fully awake now, she gave her attention to Stephen. “Oh, Nathaniel …”

“He doesn’t love her. But you know him, Mum. Mr. Perfection. It’s my guess he chooses not to deal with love until this whole coronation business is over. Perhaps even to the end of the entail.”

“End of the entail? It’ll be too late. Lady Genevieve could be the answer. Brighton cannot bear any more of the financial burden.”

“Or she could be more of the problem. Mum, she’d be queen of Brighton and grand duchess of Hessenberg.” He fashioned a dubious face. “Quite sticky.”

“But we will all be independent. I do believe I relish the notion.”

“Nathaniel being the king married to the duchess of Hessenberg might mean we are more entangled than ever.”

“Well, are we not in a fine mess.”

“Mum, it’s late and it’s your birthday. Are you sure you want to talk politics?”

“Then tell me what you know about the American lass?”

Stephen shrugged out of his jacket and folded it over the arm of the adjacent chair. “He may or may not be in love with her.”

“What a fine lot. What does that mean? He may or may not?”

“He loves her but knows he can’t marry her. That’s my conclusion. Never mind that she lives four thousand miles away.”

Campbell stood, too restless now to sit. “Do you suppose four thousand miles make him love her all the more?”

“Who knows?” He lifted the crystal lid of the candy bowl on the table next to him, choosing a few chocolates. “I have a thought, Mum. What if we bring her here?”

“Here? To what end?” Campbell regarded him, hands clasped at her waist. “I like having an ocean between her heart and Nathaniel’s.”

“To what end? To burst his bubble. Let him discover he’s not in love with her. He’s in love with an idea, Mum. A fantasy. Let’s bring her here and prove to him, show him, what it would really be like to an American folding into our customs and way of life. Not to mention Nathaniel’s way of life. In his kingly day-to-day. He’s not Nate Kenneth on holiday in Georgia, signing on to wash dishes or cart rubbish. He’s the king of Brighton, and he’ll see she’s not right for him or us. He told me he wasn’t sure he loved her, so let’s help him be sure.”

“What if he decides he loves her?”

“He won’t, Mum, trust me. He’s devoted to his duties first. He’s too uptight and by-the-book to make waves. He’ll come ’round to the proper way. Say what, let’s bring the girl to the coronation festivities.” Stephen gave Campbell a cocky grin and popped another chocolate in his mouth. His confidence was a mixture of his father’s and hers.

“You want to amuse yourself at your brother’s expense?”

“Never. But how else can we get him to see the truth? Once she arrives, Nathaniel will witness firsthand how awkward it is to have her here, how Brighton is more European than most of Europe. An American like Susanna will find our ways and customs awkward. Foreign. He’ll see her next to Lady Genevieve and realize it’s not love he feels for her, but how she reminded him of his freedoms. He won’t have enough motivation to challenge the marriage act. At the same time, having Susanna around will kick Ginny in the boot. I daresay she spends too much of her affection winning over everyone but Nathaniel. She might just have to put her charms to good use on the king rather than the King’s Office.”

“She’s being coy, Stephen. Waiting for him to show her a wee bit of affection. Spend some of his charm wooing her. She can’t be seen chasing the king around.” Campbell focused a moment on the music. A lovely quartet played “O Holy Night.” Her faith had grown over the years of Leo’s illness, but she felt so lacking when addressing the King of all kings.

“One snap of his fingers and she’d come running. But if she’s jealous of another woman, she might use her Olympian efforts to convince Nathaniel she is the one he loves and needs.”

“Does he love her?”

“He says he doesn’t. He claims she doesn’t love him either.” Stephen approached the wet bar, which contained only diet fizzies and water. He twisted the cap from a water and took a long drink.

“Then we must believe him.”

“Do you want grandchildren before you’re too old to change their nappies?” Stephen came around the bar.

“Now you’re being ruthless,” Campbell said, retiring to her chair next to Leo’s. “Besides, I believe I have two sons who could give me grandchildren. Even better, assure a Stratton heir to the throne.”

Stephen spewed the gulp of water he’d been gurgling down. “Mum, please, if you’ve transferred your expectations to me, then you are in dire straits. All the more reason to bring Susanna over and shake things up. Besides, I’ve no use for romance.”

Campbell gave Stephen the truth-eye she used when he was a boy to check his sincerity. “It would be a cruel trick if he fell in love with her all the more.”

“It’s a chance we’ll have to take, but keeping her four thousand miles away, letting him pine, is not working either. Have you seen him? He’s lost another stone.”

The queen regarded her son. He made a sound argument but … would it backfire? Produce the opposite of what they desired? “All right, you win. Tell Jonathan to add her to the list. Allow her to bring a guest. Shall you tell Nathaniel, or shall I?”

“Neither, Mum. If he knows, he’ll go all steely on us. He might tell Jon to remove her name from the list. We’ll never get a true answer. Nor will he. Surprise is key.”

Deception bothered her. But Stephen presented another good case. “If he asks me outright, I won’t lie.”

“Fine, Mum. Don’t lie.” Stephen reached for his jacket and wiggled his feet back into his shoes. “Where shall she stay? Parrsons House?”

“Absolutely not. She’ll stay in a hotel. Parrsons is for family.” The Stratton country home sat on the edge of Cathedral City, seventy kilometers north of the palace. “Besides, it’s the place of the coronation ball.”

Campbell had plans to stay there herself during the coronation week.

“Mum, we want him to resolve his feelings for her, not alert the tabs and paparazzi. The press will be mad over him coronation week. The world will be watching. The security risk will be too great if she’s in the city. How will he see her in such a public place? Put her at Parrsons.” Stephen exuded way too much energy for the late hour. Campbell tired merely listening to him.

“Then we must invite her to the ball. If she’s at Parrsons, we can hardly hold a large dance under her nose and not invite her.”

The Parrsons House ballroom was the largest of the royal ballrooms, added in 1890 by King Stephen VI in anticipation of his son’s future coronation.

Stephen VI preferred living in the country and assumed his children and grandchildren would feel the same. But at the dawn of the twentieth century, the slow pace of country life seemed droll and backward compared to the excitement of an industrial city where motorcars and picture shows engaged the youth.

“Brilliant, Mum. Exactly. The Colors Coronation Ball will be a perfect place to reveal her to Nathaniel.” Stephen came around the couch, giving her his best impish grin. “Let’s blow this up King Leo style, what say? Put her on all the blue-book lists.”

“Have her mingling among our friends, family, and royal guests?”

“If we want to prove she’s not queen material, then yes, showcase her against our cultural elite, Mother.”

Mother? He only called her Mother when he was dead serious. “All right, then, you must promise to pick up the debris.”

“Done.” He crossed his heart and kissed her good night. “I’ll speak with Jon tomorrow and make arrangements for Susanna’s travel and motor.”

“You think this plan will work?”

“One way or the other.”

Exactly what she feared. One way or the other. Nathaniel was not one to be trifled with. He cared deeply for truth and justice. It’s what made him a good king. But a horrible one to manipulate. This plan could go against them as easily as for them.

The clock struck one. Campbell turned off the music, the gas lighting the fireplace, and the Christmas lights, and headed to bed, weary with the process of devising a plan to expose her son’s heart.

“Mama, I’m going on break.” Susanna tugged off her apron and wadded it up for the laundry hamper. Mama hated when she wore more than one apron per shift, but Catfish had tripped and sloshed barbecue sauce all over this one.

Heading out to the deck, Susanna snatched the newspaper from her locker. Aunt Rue was getting restless. Some of the gilt was coming off her Southern, overly sweet bloom.

How’s that house hunting going, Susanna?

Aunt Rue had a bit of Aunt Shrew in her, leaving the classifieds on Susanna’s pillow at night. This morning she insisted she must have her whole house to herself as soon as possible so she could have it painted, recarpeted, and Susanna’s room fumigated by Christmas.

Okay, she didn’t say fumigated, but she might as well have by the way she wrinkled her nose.

The way Susanna saw it, she had three choices.

Go for a cheap rental. One that a barbecue back-of-house manager could afford.

Move home. Shudder.

Buy a tent and pitch it next to Aurora’s.

So far, she leaned toward the tent. Might be kind of freeing.

Choosing a table in the corner by the stage, Susanna popped open the paper but stared toward the beach instead of reading.

Sometimes when she had a free morning or evening, she would ride her bike to Christ Church, where she would park in the grass and stretch herself out over the blades to pray. She tried not to pick the same spot where she’d talked and prayed with Nate, but she did. Every time. Because God spoke to her there.

Apart from me, you can do nothing.

So there she was back to the “I got nothing” and “you can have all of me” prayer. What little remained of herself, her plans, her life. Maybe that was the point.

Out on the deck, she pulled her Sharpie from her hip pocket and scribbled “John 15” on the edge of the newspaper. She’d been reading the chapter before bed the last few nights. Much better reading than the For Rent classifieds. Sorry, Aunt Rue.

Beneath John 15 she wrote “abide, Jesus, fruit.” She saw the message in the red words. She just wasn’t clear on how to execute.

Begin with nothing? Check.

A December breeze skirted in from the ocean, cooling Susanna’s kitchen-warmed skin. She capped her pen and hunched over the For Rent ads.

“Find anything?” The screen door slammed, and Mama stepped onto the deck, wiping her hands on a clean white dish towel.

“Looks like the same ads as yesterday.” Susanna scanned the columns. “I might be living in my car.” Car dwelling was an option. But down a ways on the list. Before living with Gracie but after camping with Aurora.

“Gracious girl, you are stubborn.” Mama’s sigh came from her heart. “Just come on home and live with your daddy, Avery, and me.”

“Haven’t I been humiliated enough this year?” She gazed up at Mama. “I’m already back working at the Shack. Moving home would seal the deal.” She made a mock crowd cheer. “And the winner of Loser of the Year goes to—”

“Oh for crying out loud. You’re so dramatic.” Mama fluffed the dish towel, folding and unfolding it. “Lots of kids live at home with their parents.”

“I’m not like other kids. I don’t want to be a kid living at home. Shoot, you and Daddy married, divorced, and remarried by the time you were my age.”

“I reckon you got a point.” Mama sat on the bench next to Susanna. “I knew you were your own girl the moment you pushed your way into this world. Didn’t make a peep. Just looked up at me with those big eyes like it was about time I let you out to see what was going on.”

Susanna smiled. “How do you even remember that?” She tapped the paper with her pen. Lately, it seemed every conversation with Mama pierced her heart.

“I remember everything about you, baby girl.” Mama sniffed and looked the other way. “Probably hard for you to believe, seeing how you came up, but I got a mental picture book of you that I glance through every day. You were the prettiest, sweetest thing. Everybody, and I do mean everybody, stopped me when I took you to the market or church, what have you. ‘She’s so beautiful,’ they’d say. I had to start leaving you at home or my mama’s if I wanted to get errands done quick. You had big blue eyes that watched everything as if you knew exactly what was going on. Rosy cheeks, cute bow lips, and perfect skin. And a mop of the thickest blond hair. I was nineteen and had my own real life baby doll.” Mama dabbed her eyes with the dish towel. “Darn onions, still have my eyes leaking.”

Susanna gave her a rapid kiss on her cheek. Okay, so they loved each other but were too proud, or too chicken, to look each other in the eye and say it.

“You know it’s okay that you don’t have a plan, Susanna. Sometimes it’s good to let life just come and find you.”

“Mama, you just described my worst nightmare.” Susanna cut her a sideways glance and folded up the newspaper. “But at this point, I don’t have much choice. At least I’m here with friends and family.”

“What do you hear from ol’ Nate?”

“Nothing. As it should be. He’s got a life in Brighton.” She stared ahead through the trees. She’d not confessed it out loud, but she’d googled him a few days ago. Just to see how he was faring.

She learned he was to be crowned on January 3 King Nathaniel II of the House of Stratton, Regent of the Brighton Kingdom, Archduke of the Grand Duchy Hessenberg—until and if they worked out an heir to the entail—and head of state and a constitutional monarchy.

Among his duties and allegiances was to be the Defender of the Faith. She liked that title the best. Defender of the Faith. Something the world needed now. A light in the midst of darkness.

She also discovered images of Lady Genevieve, whose beauty and poise were compared to Catherine, Duchess of Cambridge. Pretty Ginny, the press called her and urged the king to marry her.

“Susanna, are you hearing me?” Mama tapped Susanna’s arm.

“Ummm … yes, ‘Something will turn up.’”

Mama laughed. “Yes, something will turn up. Maybe you should go visit Nate, see what’s going on over in Brighton. Aren’t they famous for their Christmas gardens and shops, all lit up with old-fashioned carolers walking the streets, singing and what all?”

“Mama, I’m not going to see Nate.” Never. Ever. She couldn’t risk her heart. Besides, did one just walk up to the palace and ring the bell? Is Nate home? “I have better things to do with my money. Like buy a tent.” Susanna hopped up from the table. “Time for dinner prep?”

“A tent. Susanna Jean, you are not living in a tent.” Mama pressed her back down to the bench seat. “Sit a spell. I’ll send out some dinner for you.”

“Th–thanks, Mama.”

The kitchen door clapped. Then a sound and a flash beyond the deck caught Susanna’s attention. Pine needles and fall leaves crunched under invisible footsteps. Rising up, Susanna studied the space between the pines.

Sometimes diners came up to the Rib Shack from the beach side, but she couldn’t see anyone. Heard no voices. Then she caught the tip of a bleach-blond head.

“Aurora?”

“You saw me.” She popped out from behind a thick pine.

“Your hair … gave you away.” Oh, to be as free as Aurora. “Are you playing hide-and-seek?”

“Watching. How are you?”

“Fair to middling.” She held up the folded newspaper. “Do you have any room in your tent for a guest? I might need to bunk with you.”

Aurora came from around the tree wearing a pair of khaki crops, a lime-green top, red Keds, and what appeared to be a pink cashmere sweater. “Small, small faith.” She jabbed the air with her finger. “You’re going to a palace.”

“A palace?” So, this was an incoherent hour for Aurora. Though Susanna never counted out the supernatural—those moments when Aurora tapped into the unseen. She might seem a bit whacky-doodle, but seeing an angel or demon from time to time might do that to a girl. “I can’t even afford a studio apartment.”

“Small, small faith.” Aurora hovered close to the deck, shivering when the wind blew.

“Come on up. Are you cold?”

The woman didn’t move. “He’s your prince.”

“Who’s my prince?” Susanna’s pulse pushed a bit faster. “What are you talking about?” How could she know about Nate? Did she hear things when she rode her bike around the island and hid out in the woods?

Did she peek over the low stone wall and between the palmettos when Susanna landscaped the cottage garden?

“Don’t forget the shoes.”

“Shoes?” Susanna came down the steps and joined Aurora on the path. A reddish twilight flickered across the last blue hue of the December day, turning the sky a rich shade of purple. “Your shoes? My shoes?”

Aurora’s hair needed a good comb, but it was clean and healthy, minus the nearly transparent shade of blond she chose.

“The shoes, Susanna. Remember to put on the shoes. I can’t say it enough. Put on the shoes.”

“What shoes?” Susanna flipped through her past conversations with the homeless ex-political savant. She couldn’t remember any talk of shoes other than the July morning outside Gage’s office.

“Shoes of peace. Shoes of joy. Shoes of …” Aurora spun around, flinging her arms wide, laughing, leaving a set of Keds treads in the sand.

“Aurora?” Mama returned to the porch. “Want some dinner?” She set Susanna’s plate and a tall tumbler of tea on the table.

Aurora’s expression softened and the intensity in her eyes faded. “That’d be fine, Glo. Can I have it to go? And some extra Gib rolls?” She wrinkled her nose at Susanna and stepped up to the deck. “I nuke them at the 7-11. Drives the cashiers crazy ‘cause all the customers want to know what’s cooking so they can buy some too.”

“Gib will love hearing that, girl. Come on in, get your own tea while I prep your take-out. You want chicken or pork?”

“Beef.” Aurora winked at Susanna as she passed by. “He’s in control.”

“Who? This prince you speak of or the Lord?”

“The Lord, of course. The prince is as muddled as you. Best remember you let go, told the Lord you was all for him. It’ll work out all right.”

A fiery fear shot down Susanna’s spine. “How did you know that, Aurora?”

The woman closed her eyes and breathed deep. “I love me the smell of Georgia barbecue. There was a place up on K Street in DC”—Susanna suddenly faced a poised, whip-smart DC lobbyist—“that just made my mouth water every time I drove past. But I was all worried about being a size two back then. Never realized giving it all up would keep me at a lovely size six without any effort. Oh, but that barbecue wasn’t nearly as good as your dad makes.”

Susanna squeezed her friend’s hand. It was cold and clammy, shivering. “Go on inside, get warm. Do you have enough blankets in your tent? I hear the temps are dropping tonight.”

Not enough for snow, hallelujah, but down to the 50s.

“With some extra to share. I’m snug as a bug in a rug.”

When Aurora went inside with her clichés, Susanna sat up to her dinner. She’d just taken a good bite of her chicken when Aurora came back out with her Rib Shack take-out and an extra brown bag of Daddy’s rolls.

“See ya, Suz.”

“‘Night, Aurora.”

Aurora cut across the lawn toward a stand of pines. Susanna doctored her baked potato, and when she looked up again, Aurora had disappeared.

Eerie, that woman. But intriguing. Susanna loved her. She took a swig of tea as Avery burst through the door with wild blue eyes and rushed at Susanna.

“Watch out, Aves. You almost made me spill my tea.” She reached for her napkin and wiped the brownish splash from her hand. “I thought you were going to the movies with Mina.”

She shook her head, gasping for breath, and shoved a thick linen envelope embossed in gold and red at Susanna.

“What is it?” Susanna reached for the envelope, but Avery hugged it to her chest while letting loose high, ear-busting squeals.

Susanna recoiled against the noise. “Avery, stop.”

“We have to go … We have to go.” She bobbed up and down, waving the envelope. “In all my short little life … I never, never, never.”

Susanna made a face. Let’s see. It wasn’t homecoming or prom. In a week school would let out for Christmas, so there were parties to attend, but why did she think Susanna had to go?

“Suz, we’re getting busy.” Mama appeared in the doorway. “Hate to pull you from your dinner, but Christmas shoppers came early. Avery Mae, I thought you were going to the movies.”

She released the same ear-busting squeal. “Mama, please, please, please let me go. Please … pul-lease … I’ll clean the house, your car, do your laundry and ironing?”

“You hate ironing.”

“—for the rest of your life.”

“What about to infinity and beyond?” Susanna asked, grinning, taking up her plate and heading inside, grateful this teen episode was for Mama.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Avery said. “To infinity and beyond. So, please, can I go?”

“Go where? Out with it. I got a restaurant to run. What’s this all about? By the way, how was Daddy? Was he resting?”

“Yes, he’s fine. Suz, wait, you can’t go in yet.” Avery intercepted her at the door, offering her the envelope with both hands. “Please … Susanna … please. If you love me at all … say yes.”

Mama took Susanna’s dishes and set them just inside the door. “Avery, did you open Susanna’s mail?”

“I couldn’t help it.” She jumped. Jiggled. Jerked. “Look at the envelope flap. Oh, how did I not recognize him?” She conked her forehead with the heel of her hand then pointed at Mama. “You had him scrubbing grease traps with a toothbrush and Cloroxing toilets.” Avery guffawed, slapping her knee.

“Hush, girl, are you talking about Nate?”

Susanna stared at the back flap, her lungs collapsing, shaken by a cocktail of nerves and anticipation. Pressed into the envelope’s linen threads was a royal cipher—N II R—in a rich ruby red.

Avery soiled it by tapping the envelope with her finger.

“Nathaniel II Regent.”

“Avery.” Susanna slapped away her finger. “Hush up now. Give me a minute. Please.” Aurora’s voice echoed in her head. You’re going to a palace.

“Are you telling me our Nate, my dishwasher Nate, is a prince?”

“One and the same. Mama, he’s the new king of Brighton. He left here like a shot because his father died.”

“Susanna, you never said a word.”

“I barely found out myself. I didn’t think I’d ever hear from him again.” Based on their last conversation on the beach.

“Open it, Suz.”

Susanna gingerly opened the envelope. Her hand trembled as she removed the thick card inside.

On Behalf of Her Majesty the Queen,

The Prime Minister and Parliament of Brighton,

The Lord Chamberlain

Cordially Invites You to Attend

The Coronation and Celebration of His Royal Highness

Crown Prince Nathaniel Henry Kenneth Mark Stratton

Of the House of Stratton, Kingdom of Brighton

December 26th–January 3rd

RSVP

Oh my … Her heart beat wild and loud in her ears.

“Mama, if you let me go you won’t have to buy me another present for Christmas or my birthday ever again.”

“Would you stop all that forever talk?” Mama read over Susanna’s shoulder, then exhaled hot and heavy against her skin. “Goodness, I don’t know what to say.”

“M–me neither.”

“Say yes, Suz. Yes, we can go.”

“Susanna?” Mama bent to see her face. “You’ve gone pale. I guess you didn’t expect this.”

“No.” Every limb of her body weakened as she shoved the invitation back into the envelope. This didn’t make sense. She’d not heard from him since he left in July. He’d put Jon in charge of approving the garden. She’d assumed he didn’t want to talk to her.

“So, we can go? See, look.” Avery fumbled through the contents of the envelope. “‘Guest.’ That’s me. And here’s one inviting you to stay at the Parrsons House as a guest of the queen.” She clasped her hands together. “Oh my gosh, Suz, who gets an invitation to a coronation? No one! We have to go.”

The edges and lights of the porch blended together in the cold breeze. But the idea of seeing him again warmed her all over.

What are you doing, Nate? How could she go? Why would she go? She couldn’t even be sure he’d invited her, though she found it hard to imagine the disapproving Jonathan adding her name to the guest list.

“Suz, come on, we have to—”

“No, we don’t, Avery.” Susanna tapped the heavy invitation against her palm, then squeezed between Mama and her sister to head for the kitchen door. “I’ve got to prep for dinner. Mama, did Catfish bring the meat from the walk-in?”

“You can’t be serious.” Avery blocked Susanna’s path to the door. “We don’t have to go, but we should go. We’d be crazy not to, Suz. Crazy. Give me one good reason.”

“I’ll give you three. I can’t afford it. I can’t afford it. I can’t afford it. I don’t even have a place to live, Avery. I owe Blaine Jessup sixteen hundred dollars for my office rent, and the invoice for my new website arrived yesterday. And to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to go. It’s two weeks away, and we just now got the invitation? How rude. Clearly we are a second thought, or worse, and most likely, it’s a joke.”

Could this be from Mrs. Butler? Getting back at her for upstaging her benefit. Or from the person who took the picture of Susanna on the deck with Nate?

“Who cares about rude? Or being a joke? We’re invited to the coronation of a European prince.”

“Not if it’s a joke, Avery.” Susanna rapped lightly on the girl’s forehead. “Hello, McFly.”

“We’re guests of Her Majesty, the queen. The quueeenn … How can you not want to go?” Avery spoke with her arms waving, her body jiggling and wiggling. “Mama, make her go.”

“Don’t rightly see how I can. Didn’t work when she was three, and it certainly won’t work now that she’s grown.” Mama’s eyes met Susanna’s. Follow your heart. “She doesn’t want to go. I reckon she knows what she’s doing. But it doesn’t look like a joke to me, Susanna.” Of course not. Because it wasn’t. “Now come on, Avery, have you had your supper?” Mama shoved her youngest toward the kitchen. “If you’re not going to the movies, I could use you around here.”

“Suz, please, please …” Avery clung to her as Mama tried to guide her inside. “Think about it, okay?”

The melody of the Rib Shack, the music of the Atlantic, the songs of the island rose around her and moved her heart. The sounds of home. Of comfort. If she did nothing else with her life, if this was all God had for her, the Rib Shack, the folks, Avery, then so be it. Let her do it with her whole heart. With holy contentment.

Then the weight of the envelope became evident to her senses. There was more for her. She felt it, like a largeness in her spirit that she couldn’t see or define or grasp with her hands, but it made her strive for something more.

Yet it began with having nothing at all. Total surrender.

She lightly traced Nathaniel’s seal with her fingers. The largeness was something she had to see with her spiritual eyes. The answer would come when she hid herself in God. Not her closet garden. Not in a life with Adam. Not in her career or hometown. Not in Nate.

In God.

A tidal sob crashed her heart, breaking her will and strength to stand. Dropping to the picnic bench, she let tears of repentance surrender the last piece of her stubborn heart to the One who bought her with his own life.

That one … she is mine.

She heard rustlings in the kitchen and dabbed her cheeks with the back of her hand. If Mama or Avery caught her crying, there’d be twenty-times-twenty questions.

The breeze shuffled by, calling her out to the beach. Down the path with the treasure of the invitation in her hand and heart, Susanna reached the beach and headed north. The pinkish gold of the sunset on her left, the deep blue of evening on her right.

She passed the spot where Adam confessed he’d found the right ring but not the right girl. She passed where Nate admitted the legal and royal restrictions on his right to love whom he wanted.

She passed the Rib Shack’s boundary lines and the edge of the angled deck lights.

Maybe the invitation wasn’t about going to Brighton for a king’s coronation, but about admitting she’d stuffed all her dreams into a relationship with a man instead of a relationship with Jesus.

He dreamed bigger dreams for her than she ever imagined. So why did she cling so tightly for so long?

A verse swirled in her thoughts, sinking deeper, her heart warmed by the Southern breeze.

How precious to me are your thoughts …

How vast is the sum of them! …

Outnumber the grains of sand.

Susanna stared at the stars and curled her toes in the sand. She had no clue of God’s thoughts toward her. But discovering one or two of them seemed like a worthy lifetime pursuit.

In the last edge of twilight, she gazed at the invitation. One thing she’d concluded about herself this summer was that she had to trust God, believing in the largeness, yet abandoning the outcome to him.

Yet, if she were honest, the invitation caused her to yearn for Nate and a very pleasing outcome. So how could she accept? It would make it all about her again.

Tipping her head back, she inhaled deep and made peace with the fact that God would have to boot her backside to Brighton with some kind of miracle. Why make it hard on herself? Make it hard on him. He was God after all.

As for Nate? King Nathaniel II? She made peace with him too. And the fact that when he rushed out of here last July, she’d seen him for the last time in her life.