The ceremony is terrible. The guests turn to watch me walk down the aisle that is far too long, far too grand, and they whisper. Those wretched old gossips hiss back and forth, likely speculating on the delay. Thescandalof something not going exactly as planned.
But AJ smiles at me from the end of that aisle, and his look could light a cave on a dark night. I blame the next mishap on that great, blinding smile that has my heart outpacing a racehorse. Halfway up, my slipper catches my dress and I fall for the second time today, plunging toward the stone floor. Ansel catches me as if rescuing me is a reflex.
Marriage is the Russian Roulette of humanity—deposit yourself firmly in the arms of another, and hope they deign to catch you every day of your life.
I will be all right.
For the entire three years of my current existence, my delicate roots have lain aboveground, desperately poking at the dirt, looking for a place to plunge down and anchor themselves. To hold me steady against the weather. Now at last I feel those roots slip into warm, loamy soil and go deep.
Yes, I am safe. I have found an anchor for my soul. And for several hours, I am blissfully happy as Mrs. Ansel James Winthrop.
Chapter 5
Itisthedreamthat ruins everything that night. Like an ocean tide it sweeps over me as I sleep, drawing me deep into the shadows of my mind. I’m in the sea, weighted and immobile, floating on a song that ebbs and flows beneath my back as I swim in it.
My sweetheart, come along,
Don’t you hear the fond song,
The sweet notes of the nightingale flow?
This song—like a ghost from the forgotten past it flows naturally, word after word falling from my lips. I squeeze my eyes shut against this place that vibrates with the familiar—warm sun on my skin, gulls calling, my body floating on salt-tinged water.
Don’t you hear the fond tale
Of the sweet nightingale,
As she sings in those valleys below?
So be not afraid
To walk in the shade,
Nor yet in those valleys below,
Nor yet in those valleys below.
Something flicks my leg and my eyes shoot open as I flail, struggling to stand in the shallows, and I glimpse the world I’d left behind. Looking out over the water, a castle stands in the distance—a sprawling gray stronghold pockmarked with tiny windows rising out of a pile of rocks. Light from its windows is cast over the beach, making the wet shells and rocks sparkle. It’s a treasure trove. A fairy kingdom where broken pieces shine like diamonds. My voice falls over these crystalline shards as they wink and glimmer.
Movement to the right. Then my traitorous gaze drags along the horizon to a figure. A man.I know him.I squint to see better. Black trousers, suspenders over a white shirt open at the collar and flapping in the breeze.What’s his name?The tide swirls around my calves as he approaches in the distance.
A little closer.
Let me see your face.
Please be a brother or a cousin.
Wind whips his dark hair, blows sand over smooth drifts of shore as he strides over them, and at last he looks up. He is remarkable—those crescents of eyes that study the world with quiet pleasure, taking great meaning from everything and spinning it into art. I am standing in the presence of a great man. Then he spots me and his face melts into a smile, his neat mustache bending up at the corners.
You know me.
Oddly…I know him, too.Oh, how my heart ricochets in his presence, sticking in my ribs and swelling until it aches. He stands before me and turns my right hand up, slippingsomething into it—a small round disk like a coin—and closing my fingers around it.
I look down. A tarantula agate. No, that’s not right. Aturritellaagate, made from the beaches here. Right here.
“For you. A piece of the seashore, to keep with you always.”
I lift my gaze to his face and my breath catches.
