A March Bride (A Year of Weddings 1 #4)(15)

Shoot, she’d forgotten about her bare left finger. And wasn’t Mama quick on the draw? Susanna had been hiding her left hand since she arrived home, but all this talk of being scared caused her to lower her guard. “I left it in Brighton.” She curled her hands into her lap.

“Oh, have mercy—”

“Mama, Nathaniel and I both needed to think about what we’re doing. Yes, it’s down to the wire, but there’s also a lot on the line. I left the ring in my suite at Parrsons House in case, for whatever reason, you know, I didn’t go back. Hey, Nathaniel has just as much to think about as me. He could call any second to break off the whole thing. So don’t put this all on me. Besides, I didn’t want to be responsible for a two-hundred-year-old royal family heirloom.”

In truth, her ring finger felt cold and empty, and she missed the beautiful antique designed for Queen Anne-Marie. She regretted her impulsive, childish decision.

She hoped the ring remained safe in her bedroom where she had left it. And that Nathaniel didn’t find out.

“I’d like to wring that boy Adam Peters’s neck for doing this to you. Making you scared to hang on to anything worth-while because it might be ripped from your hands.” Mama’s hand smacked the counter. “Listen to me. You let fear keep you with Adam about ten years too long. Now fear is driving you from Nathaniel.” Mama reached for her coffee cup, her eyes glued on Susanna.

That’s the way she did it—she eyed a person until they confessed their deepest, darkest sin.

“Actually, Mama, fear is also making me wise up. This citizenship issue put everything in a fresh light.” Susanna leaned against the counter, watching the sunlight wash the kitchen window. “Let’s say I do this one last thing, in a series of one last things I’ve had to do to marry Nathaniel. There will be no going back. I’ll forever be a citizen of Brighton Kingdom and never, ever again a native-born American citizen. Should we break up, for whatever reason, I’d have to immigrate back to my own country.”

For a brief moment, she felt justified in her dramatic exit from Brighton. After all, Nathaniel and the Parliament had asked a dramatic thing of her.

But what hit her afresh in the cozy old kitchen where she taught her baby sister to bake chocolate chip cookies was how bold and rash her move was when she slipped off Nathaniel’s ring. Just how true was her commitment? How deep was her love?

“This ain’t the kind of fear that makes one wise up. This is the kind that makes a girl run. You always ran to your garden as a kid to hide when you were afraid—which is exactly what you’re doing now.”

“Thank you for that, Professor Glo. I don’t need your pop psychology. Besides, I ran to hide from you and Daddy when you got to fighting like wild animals, throwing dishes and four-letter words at each other.”

Many of Susanna’s girlhood evenings were spent hiding in her secret garden, her closet, hiding from the storms raging inside her house.

“I make no excuse.” Mama sipped her coffee. “We were young and foolish when we got married. Divorce was the best thing that ever happened to us.” Mama smiled. “ ‘Cause then we met Jesus, got healed, and remembered why we loved each other in the first place. But, Suz, you’re grown now. You understand these things. Your teen years were pretty darn good as I recall. Daddy and I both apologized for your childhood. Did all we could to make it up to you. This fear is on you. It’s yours to deal with no matter where or how you came by it. You stayed with Adam because you wanted a safe plan. And we see how well that didn’t work for you. Now you’re leaving Nathaniel to hide in your garden—this one just happens to be all of St. Simons. Marrying that boy is probably the safest plan you ever came by. Hear me now, Suz. If you let fear clip your wings now, you will never fly again.”

Susanna made a face. “Never fly again? Don’t be so dramatic, Mama.” She moved out from under Mama’s stare and carried her soggy Cheerios to the garbage disposal.

But Mama took hold of her shoulders and turned her around. “Fear is nothing but a big ole fake roar. You let it trip you up and, next thing you know, a mewing kitten will have you hightailing it to the hills. That’s the way fear rolls. Don’t look for it to play fair.”

“Fear also teaches you a lesson,” Susanna retorted. “Get a swat on the behind, you learn to behave. Touch a hot stove, you learn to keep your hands to yourself. Get burned by love, you understand that nothing, not even the truest of intentions, is a sure thing in this life.”

“So this is how you’re going to be? Cynical?”

“I prefer the term ‘realist.’ ”

Mama started to reply, but her old Motorola cell phone buzzed from the counter. “Hold that thought. This might be your granddaddy with an update from the doctors.” Mama answered as if it might be granddaddy, but her expression and tone changed as she conversed in low, clipped sentences. “Yes. Certainly. Of course. I see.”

“Who is it?” Susanna slipped her arm around Mama’s shoulder. “Is it Granddaddy?”

“Shhh.” Mama waved her off, shaking her head, pinching up her face as she listened. “You can send it to my e-mail address. Yes, that’s the one.” Snatching up her purse from the kitchen table, Mama started for the garage. “We can manage from our end, yes.”