Once Upon a Prince

EIGHT



Nathaniel knew of Christ Church from his boyhood days on the island. He parked on the side of the road and sprinted across the lanes, dashing under the ivy-covered trellis onto the church grounds.

Two steps down the redbrick path, he slammed into a surprising, tangible Presence. Something divine. Awe swirled in his chest as he surveyed the green grounds and the white clapboard church.

Off the brick path, he cut through the light dripping through the live oaks and stood in the Presence as Spanish moss twisted above his head.

Tears gathered in his eyes as he fell prostrate on the luxurious lawn. As the leaves clattered overhead, Nathaniel sensed God reminding him that all of the earth was God’s dwelling, including the finite heart of Prince Nathaniel.

The only other place on earth that made him feel so close to holiness was five-hundred-year-old St. Stephen’s Chapel, which was just north of Brighton’s capital, Cathedral City.

Nathaniel breathed life to his tears as he inhaled the earth beneath his face.

What, Lord? What do you want?

Waiting for another minute or two, Nathaniel felt the awe pass and pushed off the ground, dusting grass and dirt from his trousers. He had few moments before the Tuesday evening call to prayer.

Cutting a path to the petite vestibule, Nathaniel entered the long, rectangular sanctuary and took a middle-row pew.

The presence of the Lord intensified. This experience had nothing to do with him or his position on the earth as a prince, but everything to do with the goodness of God.

When the priest moved up the aisle and called out the first reading, Nathaniel pulled his handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes, and opened the Book of Prayer.

The king rejoices in your strength, LORD

How great is his joy in the victories you give!

You have granted him his heart’s desire

and have not withheld the request of his lips.

Psalm 21:1–2

King David’s words shot like an arrow to Nathaniel’s heart. He bent forward, resting his head on top of the pew in front of him, cradling the book in his hands.

“Lord, I need your wisdom,” he whispered. “I’m not even sure of my heart’s desire or the request of my lips.” How did David do it? Rule God’s nation? He didn’t even have the blessing of a parliament. “I’d rather you heal Dad than put me in as king, if I must speak the truth. I’m not ready. Did you call me or did my forefathers?”

From the pulpit, the priest called the silent sanctuary into prayer. Nathaniel tried to focus on the next prayer, wanting to return to his connection with the Presence, but politics embroiled his thoughts.

Could he marry Genevieve for king and country? Make her heir to the Hessenberg House of Augustine-Saxon? Let her inherit Hessenberg? Even if he wanted to marry her, would the courts rule she satisfied the condition of being a true heir of the House of Augustine-Saxon? Nathaniel’s peace began to evaporate. He needed to forget the entail and meditate on his Lord.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled his doubts and breathed in a sweet fragrance. A very familiar fragrance.

Nathaniel peeked around. More congregants had joined the prayer vigil, including Susanna Truitt. She sat all the way to the right on the pew in front of him.

He slid over a few inches and whispered, “Fancy meeting you here.”

She kept her head bowed. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

“I think you’re stalking me.”

He caught the edge of her smile. “Shhh.” She pressed her finger to her lips.

Grinning, Nathaniel sat back and resumed his prayers, thanking God for leading him to the sanctuary tonight. When the priest concluded the service, Nathaniel slipped out of the pew and joined Susanna in the narrow aisle.

“Lovely evening.”

“A bit warm, but yeah, it’s nice.” She smiled at him. Ah, she was equally pleased to see him.

They fell in line with the rest of the congregants bidding good night to the pastor at the vestibule door. When they stepped outside, the setting sun had painted a Monet-worthy scene. A visual prayer and for now, all was right in Nathaniel’s world.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he said, trailing after Susanna.

“I’m on my way to work.” She paused, pointing to the Rib Shack logo on her shirt. “Mama has had all hands on deck the past couple days to fill in for Daddy. I’m filling in for her so she can be at home. And, as you know, I’m unemployed.”

“How is your father faring?”

“He’s great.” She started again down the brick path. “He’ll probably outlive us all.”

“Susanna, the cottage garden is in need of your services. Did a man named Jonathan contact you about the landscaping?”

“No.” She moved aside for an elderly couple to pass. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Scott.”

“Evening, Susanna,” the woman replied. “It’s been a while.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Sorry about you and Adam Peters.”

“Thank you.” Susanna peeked up at Nathaniel. “Live on a small island, everybody knows your business.”

“Trust me, I know.” Try being a prince of an island kingdom. So, Jon hadn’t called her yet?

“Susanna, will you re-architect my father’s garden?”

“How do you know you can afford me?”

“I don’t.” He loved that she answered with a question rather than a reply. “We can negotiate. Nine o’clock tomorrow morning? Come by the cottage. I’ll give you a tour, then we’ll dicker over the price.” Nathaniel knew he’d pay whatever she asked. “Fair?”

“More than.” She offered her hand, which he gladly took. “Ever get the feeling, Nate, that something is just around the corner, but you don’t know what?”

Oh, if only it were possible. He hungered for such a feeling. But he had known every light and shadow around the corners of his life since he was a child. Though every once in a while … he encountered a surprise. Like the one standing before him.

“Tomorrow, then?” His hand felt empty and cold when she pulled hers away.

“Tomorrow. But right now, the Rib Shack awaits. It’s like my own personal game of Monopoly. Return to Go. Return to the Rib Shack, Susanna, and start again.”

Nathaniel laughed, walking with her toward her car. “Sometimes going back to the beginning is the only way.”

“In my case, the only way. So, Nate, just what do you do in Brighton?” She walked under the Christ Church entry trellis and turned up the side of the road.

“I’m in government of sorts.” Nathaniel’s car was across the road and in the opposite direction, but he kept pace with Susanna.

“Politics?” She pulled her keys from her purse.

“Not if I can help it.” He laughed. “I’m more of an advisor, if you will.”

“A lobbyist?”

“No, no. Just a friend, a guiding light.” Say it, Nathaniel. Crown prince. King-in-waiting. But he couldn’t. It would change everything.

She stopped at the driver’s side door of a green Cabrio. “Nine o’clock tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, 21 Ocean Boulevard.” Nathaniel lurched forward, opening her door for her. “Suz, if your mum needs extra hands, may I offer mine?” He held them up, twisting them from back-to-front. “I pulled kitchen duty in the navy. Did a fair job of it.”

She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat and regarded him for a moment “Sure, why not. Come on if you dare.” She waved for him to follow. “Mama will love me forever for bringing extra help. Be warned—she only pays minimum wage to substitutes, plus a share of the tips.”

“Money is no object.” This was going to be fun. “Anything is better than sitting around with Jon and Liam.”

“Hold that thought until you’ve worked a shift.”

Nathaniel jogged to his SUV, and when Susanna passed, tooting her horn, he gunned into the lane behind her.

Once they pulled into the parking lot in the shadow of the island’s grand lighthouse, Nathaniel rang Jon, glad to leave a message rather than debate how the crown prince of Brighton didn’t need to bus tables or scrub floors.

Nathaniel’s days on the island were limited, and he’d be jacked if he wasn’t going to spend as many of them as he could near, around, in the presence of Susanna Truitt.

Wednesday morning, Susanna drove up Ocean Boulevard, hand out the window surfing the breeze.

What a great morning. Not in theory, but reality. Dawn’s first light woke up with a sense of expectancy. So she shouted, “Joy!” in faith and powered up her iTunes, jamming to Bethel Live while getting ready.

How had she forgotten there were so many textured colors to the island morning? She had to get out more, pay attention to the beauty around her.

This is what freedom from fear did—opened up a girl’s heart.

Memories from last night put a smile on her lips.

Mama had been packing to go be with Daddy when Susanna walked in with Nate. She’d lit up like a firefly, sized him up, and patted his shoulder. “You’ll do right nicely.”

Without one complaint, Nate had mopped floors, cleaned out the lowboy and the walk-in, carted in a truckload of supplies, and organized the storage room. For five full hours, Susanna had him running to and fro. He never flinched or let up. Not even when she sent him to clean the bathrooms after closing. He’d just picked up the mop bucket and headed off, whistling.

He was a lovely balm to her stinging heart. Just thinking of him made her laugh.

Susanna slowed down once she hit Ocean Boulevard. The houses sat back off the road, tucked in between oaks, pines, and palmettos. Addresses were hard to see, but she found Nate’s house by the numbers tacked on the side of his mailbox.

At the end of a narrow, wooded drive, Susanna broke into a clearing where a slate-gray beach cottage soaked in the morning sun. The blue edge of the quiet Atlantic rimmed green grounds.

Parking under a stand of trees, she stepped out of her car into the resonance of the morning tide, slinging her satchel over her shoulder.

For a moment, she felt like she owned the world. Her first job on her own. She should’ve started working for herself long ago.

About to start for the house, Susanna paused when she heard a twig snap behind her, followed by the crunch of dried, dead brush.

“Hello?” Susanna stepped around her car, angling toward the wooded roadside easement. “Nate?”

Aurora peeked out from behind a tree, clinging to her pink bicycle.

“Hey,” Susanna said. “What are you doing here?” She smiled when she saw the woman’s pristine red Keds.

“Riding my bike.”

“In the woods?”

“Woods, road, beach.” Aurora shrugged. “I see you made it.”

“Made it where?” Surely Aurora didn’t know about her appointment with Nate.

“Here.” Aurora’s loose T-shirt swung about her waist when she pointed at the cottage.

“Am I supposed to be here?” Susanna assessed her tent-dwelling friend. Aurora seemed clear, lucid, though she talked in riddles.

“Oh yes.” Aurora walked her bike out from the trees and hopped on. “Most certainly.” She began peddling. “Relax. He’s got the whole world in his hand.”

“Are you talking about God, Aurora?”

“Most certainly.”

“Does he have me in his hand?” By faith, Susanna knew the Lord watched over her, but hearing someone else say it, even whacky Aurora, sealed the notion a bit deeper in her heart.

“Right here.” Aurora shot her hand above her head, palm toward Susanna. “See you.”

Susanna watched her ride away, envious of the woman’s freedom, wondering if she could achieve the same while living in a brick-and-mortar structure and driving a car. Or did deep, abiding peace only come from giving up everything?

But there was no time to ponder. She was late. Susanna hurried to the house, shaking the sand and grit from her shoes as she landed on Nate’s veranda and rang the bell.

The front door swooshed open. “You’re late.” Curt and formal, Jonathan stood aside for her to enter.

“Sorry. I had a moment with Aurora.”

“Who?”

“Aurora.” Forget it. Jonathan didn’t know about Aurora. Besides that, he was walking off and Susanna had to hurry to catch him.

The cottage was beautiful. The gray-shingled exterior hid the interior craftsman-style quality. Lunette windows, gleaming redwood, rounded archways, and the feeling that time rested here.

“Is this a craftsman house? They were popular at the turn of the twentieth century.”

“You have a good eye. It was built in 1901 and given to the …” He reached the kitchen entry, pausing. “… the family a year later. It’s one of the first craftsman homes built in the South.” Jon led her outside to the white, airy veranda with its stone fireplace and stained concrete floor and Nate.

“Welcome,” he said, rising, the same light in his eyes from last night. He looked different this morning in his crisp blue button-down and creased khaki shorts with his dark hair clean and loose about his forehead. A far cry from the aproned, hair-netted man who carried a ratty toothbrush into the bathrooms to scrub around the toilets.

Susanna released a low breath and steadied herself with a hand on the back of a chair. “This place is beautiful.” He was beautiful. Mercy …

She set her satchel on the table, her gaze flickering past Nate’s. He was looking at her as though he could see right through her.

“So … this is the garden?” Moving to the edge of the porch, Susanna took in the withered shrubs and thriving weeds and the low stone wall.

“What do you think?” Nate stood next to her, hands tucked in his shorts pockets.

Oh, Nate … She stepped off the porch. What are you doing to me? He made her want to lean into him as if she’d arrived home after an aimless journey.

Rebound. That’s all this was, rebound. Nate showed up just as Adam exited, and she was airing her feelings out on him. Thank goodness he was only here for a short holiday.

“You have tons of potential with this space.” She walked a few feet down the path, focusing her thoughts on the reason Nate called her here in the first place. “What do you have in mind?”

“I’ve no idea, Suz.” He’d started using her nickname steadily last night under the influence of Catfish, Bristol, Avery, and the rest of the crew. “You’re the professional.” Nate joined her on the path. “I had a grand time last night.”

She laughed. “Grand time? Is this the Brighton form of politeness? You scrubbed toilets, Nate.”

“There’s nothing that cheers a man’s heart like gleaming white porcelain.”

“You’re crazy.” When she tapped his arm, he caught her hand in his.

“I could do with a dose of the crazies,” he said, staring at her too long, holding on too long. “Shall we tour the garden? It’s big, as you can see, but with plenty of beds and space to create.”

“It’s a blank canvas.” His touch robbed her of breath. Why was he holding her hand? Why did she feel his heart against her palm? She took a giant step toward the ocean-side wall as if there were something important to inspect, dislodging her hand from his, easing his fuel from her pulse. “It’s lovely, Nate. So very lovely.”

“I see weeds. What do you see?”

Susanna cut across the lawn, smoothing her hands over her suit slacks. “Angles, textures, and ambiance. I see roses and foxglove, heather and perennials, perhaps a cobbled path and box hedges along the wall.”

Like the Christ Church grounds, Nate’s garden had a mystical aura, as if the flora and fauna understood gardens were for peace. For communing.

She could hide here. Find God here. Even among the barren beds. She stooped to run her hand over the cut blades of grass. “I could lie down and make a grass angel.”

“Like a snow angel?”

“Exactly.” She flopped on her back, pressed down into the grass and flapped her arms and legs, not caring about possible grass stains on her suit.

Nate bent over her. Did he know his smile was a potent elixir? “You look ridiculous.”

“You should see this from my angle.”

“Guess I’ll have to fix that straightaway.” He flopped down next to her, swinging his arms and legs over the grass. “Okay, on three, let’s jump up and see our creations.”

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.” She fired off the ground, twisting her ankle and tripping into Nate. He caught her, wrapping his arm about her waist, holding her to him.

“Well, what do you think?” He jutted his chin at their grassy, angelic impressions.

“I think, um, that my …” If he didn’t let her go, her heart would rocket out of her chest on its way to the moon. “My angel has a rather large behind. Look at that.” She bent down, moving out of his grasp, cupping her hands around the grassy impression of her derriere.

“Seems fine to me.” He winked, and she almost swooned. “It’s just where you pushed down to get up.” He hovered his hand over the grass, a grin on his lips. “See?”

See? Oh, she was seeing …

Susanna pressed her palm against her forehead. “The garden … We should get back to the garden.”

“The job is yours,” he said, low, sincere.

“You don’t know my price. You haven’t seen any drawings.”

“I don’t have to know, Susanna. I trust you.”

A pair of red birds flitted about in a black cherry tree while a couple of cherry-toting squirrels plunged their faces into the grass, storing up for the coming winter.

“You can’t keep doing this, Nate.” She sighed and headed for the veranda. Based on what she knew of the Ocean Boulevard homes, she’d worked up a rough estimate after work last night.

“Doing what?”

“Rescuing me.”

“I protest.” He followed her, arms wide. “I’m doing no such thing.”

“You feel sorry for me.” The truth escaped, smacking her heart.

“Sorry for you?” He dropped to a wicker chair. “No, Suz. Not for you.” The sparkle faded from his eyes as he stared over the garden. “I don’t feel sorry for you.” He shifted his gaze to her. “I envy you.”

“Envy me? You want to run the kitchen tonight while I toothbrush bathroom tile?” How could he envy her?

“Tonight?” His countenance sparked.

“Oh, yeah.” Susanna perched on the edge of her chair. “Mama called this morning. Said she’d put you on the schedule. I told her you were some kind of government official from Brighton and she had no right to schedule you just because you volunteered once.”

“Volunteered? I was told I’d get a paycheck.” He tapped the table. “I deserve it. I worked hard last night.”

“Mama said government officials, of all people, need to see how hard a man works to get a decent wage.”

“She’s right. I’ll be there.”

“Okay, but be warned—she’ll have you cleaning out the trash bins or Cloroxing mold from seedy, hidden places.”

Nate leaned forward with arms on his thighs. “I’ll scrub mold if you’ll design my garden.”

“Sorry, bubba, but working at the Shack isn’t part of my negotiating. Besides, you don’t even know if I’m a good architect, Nate.” Truth nailed down some of her early morning excitement. “You barely know me.”

“Then why do I feel as if I do?”

“Hero complex?” Ha. But he didn’t laugh. He studied her as an easy breeze dropped by, scenting the porch with morning fragrances, and listened in on their words.

“I watched you work last night, Suz. You’re the boss’s daughter but you gave your all. You made everyone feel like a part of the team. Even me. You didn’t ask them to do anything you weren’t willing to do yourself. They respect you because you’re a woman of integrity. That’s how I know you’ll design a lovely garden.”

“You saw all of that on a five-hour shift?”

“It’s amazing what we can see when we take the time to look.”

She surveyed the garden again, then Nate. “I’ll do it.”

He smiled. “Good. I knew you’d see reason.”

“Whatever, wise guy.” She took her sketch pad and pencils from her satchel. “But we’re dickering over the price and signing a contract—the whole shooting match.” She passed over the rough estimate she’d prepared.

Nate flipped back through the pages. “Are you sure you’re charging enough?”

“Nate, I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to dicker down, not up.” Susanna positioned herself on the top porch step and made her first mark on the pristine page, noting the pockets of shade in contrast to the pockets of sun, imagining all the personalities of a southern Georgia, ocean-side garden.

Prayer.

Picnics.

Parties.

Politics.

She imagined the path of a pearly moon through the magnolias. A wisteria vine under which lovers might sit, holding hands, entwining their hearts.

She breathed in the scent of pine, palmetto, baked grass, sea salt. And the fresh scent of Nate’s skin.

She glanced around to find him practically falling out of his seat to see her design.

“I’m just sketching …” She turned away.

“I’m just looking.”

“Nathaniel, you’ve a call,” Jonathan said from the kitchen door.

“Who is it?”

“Your father.”

“Excuse me, Suz.” Nate brushed his fingers over her hair as he left the porch.

“O–okay.” His touch had produced chills on her hot skin. He had to stop touching her. Awakening something deep in her soul.

She tried to focus on the dry weeds and barren beds. But her heart yanked her thoughts back to his touch.

Rebound. This is just rebound. A man gives you a bit of attention, and you’re ready to hand over your heart …

Back to the garden. What it needed was freedom. Space. A subtle beauty. When she finished the sketch, she scripted a garden name across the top.

A King’s Garden.

It helped her visualize the end design. Susanna wasn’t sure Nate would find any connection to such a lofty-sounding name, but she did. Already “A King’s Garden” took up a brilliant residence in her mind.