A March Bride (A Year of Weddings 1 #4)(21)

“But he’s not asking you to quit your job, Suz. Like you said, he’s asking you to give up your very identity. You’d no longer be an American citizen with all of our family’s heritage and tradition. You’re moving a long way from the poor Irish farmers who came to this country looking for a better way of life.”

“Wait, now you’re saying I did the right thing by leaving?”

“No, I’m saying I understand why you panicked. You were right to take time to think about it. Did you overreact? A bit, but you’ve made a lot of very big changes in the last year and a half.” Mama flicked the towel at Susanna’s legs. “I’m proud of you.”

“I’m not so proud of myself, but—”

“Susanna!” She whirled around to see Aurora emerging from the pines and palmettos that lined the path to the beach. “What in the world?” Aurora called out. “You’re not supposed to be here.” The woman scurried up the deck steps wearing a mismatched outfit of a summer dress over jeans with an oversized men’s sweater that might have been the style in the 1950s.

“Came home to think.”

Aurora, with her white-blonde hair and bright red fingernails, circled the picnic bench where Mama sat and glared at Susanna through narrowed eyes.

Her testimony was a simple one-line pitch. “I went crazy and returned to my right mind, and to my God.”

“Listen to me.” Susanna flinched as Aurora jumped up on the bench, startling Mama. “You belong in a palace.” She fired her hand in the air, pointing east, toward the Atlantic and Brighton’s shores. “You don’t know, Susanna. You don’t know . . .”

“What don’t I know, Aurora?” The woman wafted so much between the natural and the supernatural that at any given moment she might be speaking from the Spirit or from the craziness of her own soul.

Let the hearer beware . . .

“Such a time as this.” She wagged her long, skinny finger at Susanna. “Such a time. Such a time.”

“That’s what Reverend Smith said.”

“Then there you have it.” Aurora jutted her hand to her waist, standing on the bench like a skinny, worn-out Wonder Woman. “Glo, what’s cooking?” She sniffed the air.

“You know what’s cooking, Aurora. You hungry?” Mama exchanged a glance with Susanna. She always leaned toward Aurora being crazy. But Susanna knew better. Aurora had declared, “The prince is coming,” just days after Susanna met her prince under Lovers’ Oak.

She didn’t know he was a prince, but somehow Aurora knew.

“I am, Glo.” Just like that, Aurora shifted gears, jumped down off the bench, and followed Mama through the kitchen door.

But when she glanced back at Susanna, the glint in her eye ignited a flame in Susanna’s spirit.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “Fear is the opposite of faith. And without faith—” She shook her head. “You can’t please Him.”

For moments after Aurora went inside, Susanna burned with the fire of truth, leaning against the deck rail, exhaling the embers of doubt and fear.

This wasn’t about giving up her citizenship but about giving up all of herself. The final call of God was to surrender all of her plans to Him—her identity, who she thought she was and wanted to be.

What did it matter what country she belonged to in this world when she was a citizen of God’s glorious kingdom?

And how many times in her life had she been willing to surrender her heavenly citizenship for the momentary pleasures of this world?

Far too often.

Her heart churned with a blend of joy and grief. Joy at what Jesus afforded her. Grief at how little she understood its power. Loving Nathaniel was also about loving her Lord and being true to Him above all else.

As she made her way down the sandy path to the beach, Susanna’s heart whispers came to life. “I know You can fix the mess I’ve made, but help my heart to believe,” she prayed. “Tell Nathaniel to call me? Or listen to my gazillion voice mails? Lord, help my weak, frail heart.”

Heading north on the beach, into the wind, with the light of the stars and waterfront houses guiding her, she struggled to keep the flame of truth alive.

She now added guilt to the battle of doubt and fear. She should’ve never left Brighton.

Up ahead, a small light bounced over the sand. Someone was walking her way. A man. He had broad, square shoulders and a long, even gait.

She knew that stance. That stride.

Nathaniel?

She picked up her pace, and when she caught the glint of his glossy black hair in the bold white light burning from the edge of the Island B&B, she kicked up her heels and began running on the smooth wet sand.

“Nathaniel!” The crashing waves roared against the shore. She saw him quicken his own pace. She fired into his arms the moment she reached him. “Oh my gosh, you’re here. You’re here.”

He caught her up, lifting her off the ground, swinging her around, kissing her cheek. “I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry. I should’ve never let you go.”

“No, no, it was me, babe, all me.”

He buried his face against her neck, and his warm breath sent chills skirting over her skin. “I was scared of losing you. I wanted to tell you.” He set her down. “I promise not to hide things again. Especially in matters of your heart and mine.”