by Rachel Hauck
“Don’t stay too long, Suz,” Mama said, bending to kiss Daddy good night. “Get better, Gib. Hear me?” Mama. She who must be obeyed. Daddy couldn’t dare do anything but return to one hundred percent.
The door swung softly closed behind Mama as she left, the tenderness in her voice lingering. Underneath all her gruffness, Mama was passionate about Daddy. About her family.
“She loves you,” Susanna said, scooting into the chair Avery had vacated.
“She does. Bossy ol’ gal.”
“What would you do without her?” Susanna slipped her hand under Daddy’s, careful not to disturb his IV.
“Have a moment of peace and quiet.” He laughed then squeezed her hand. The heart monitor beeped, but when Susanna checked the screen, Daddy’s heart rate held steady.
“You gave us a good scare.” Susanna shifted in her chair, adjusting the constraints of her dress. The tight sheath was fine for standing and walking. Not so much for sitting.
“‘Tain’t nothing. Just a small blockage.”
“You know we’d all be lost without you. Especially Mama.” Susanna stroked her thumb over Daddy’s hand, her eyes ripe with tears.
She could endure losing Adam and the idea of happily ever after, but she could not endure losing Daddy.
“Angioplasty in the morning. I’ll be as good as new. Too stubborn to die. Only forty-eight. Planning on walking you down the aisle.” In that moment, Daddy’s eyes met hers with a clear focus. “I’m sorry about Adam, kitten. You always wanted the one true love, didn’t you?”
“He wasn’t it, I guess.” Tears again. Susanna picked at the threads of the cotton hospital blanket with her free hand. “But you know, it was getting kind of silly. Waiting, not moving forward, acting more like friends than lovers.” She reached for a tissue from the bedside table. “I can see it now. My fortieth birthday, and we’re all sitting on the back deck of the Shack, and Aunt Jen says, ‘Say, Suz, when you suppose Adam is going to propose? You’re getting a bit long in the tooth.’”
Daddy’s short laugh gave way to wheezing. Susanna rose up, ready to buzz the nurses as he fought for a good breath. “I guess … not so funny.”
She sat back down, rolling the tissue over her finger and dabbing the water from her eyes. “But it is. Go ahead and laugh. We could use it.” She cupped her hand under Daddy’s. “What I care most about now is that you’re okay.”
“I’ll be right as rain after tomorrow.” Daddy closed his eyes with a slow, filling inhale. “So what’s with your fancy duds?” He peeked at her through a one-eyed slit. “You look pretty.”
“I was at some benefit with Gage. He’s trying to get the job for the new hospital wing.”
“Gage Stone. Good man. Industrious. Owns his own business—”
“Stop right there, Daddy.”
His lips parted in a half smile. “You see right through me.”
“I do.” Susanna shredded the edge of her tissue. “Daddy, should I try to get Adam back?” She knew the answer. But she’d been committed for so long it seemed downright unholy to just let the relationship end so simply.
“Only you know, kitten.”
“It smarts like the dickens, but …” Her voice waivered with truth. “I think he did us both a favor.” The more she realized she didn’t want to marry him either, the more she felt the fool. Best just to move on. Put it behind her.
The conversation settled, and Susanna watched Daddy resting, breathing. In his fighting years with Mama, Daddy would order Susanna to her room where she’d hide in her closet, shaking with fear. Now she was overwhelmed with love.
He became a very different Daddy after he remarried Mama when Susanna was twelve. He was gentle and kind, encouraging, supportive, and in his way, telling her he was sorry about her childhood. Over and over.
“What am I going to do with all that money?” he ventured through his medicated drowsiness, his eyes still closed, his breathing still a bit labored.
“What money?”
“The money I saved up for your wedding.”
She laughed through a fresh start of tears. “Buy that yacht you’ve been threatening Mama with.”
Wedding. Yacht. It didn’t matter. There were no savings. Daddy and Mama sank all of their money into keeping the Rib Shack afloat. That was Daddy’s yacht. Anchored in the red clay of Georgia.
“I blame myself. Well, your mama and me,” he said, eyes open now. “We skewered you to the wall before you had a chance to duck.”
“Stop it, Daddy. No need for this talk now.” She caught a fast tear with her finger before it dripped from her chin onto his hand.
“You ain’t protecting my feelings by pretending we were great parents.”
“I’m not. You were rotten when I was little. But, Daddy, I can’t blame you and Mama for my failed relationship with Adam.”
“I always thought you were just settling with him.”
“Really …” Susanna stretched back, eyes wide. “This is news.”
“Well, you know. Love’s a tricky business. You seemed to think he was the true love you always wanted. He was a nice, steady boy with a good career. But, kitten, there’s something more for you. I can feel it. Something big.”
“Now that’s just the medication talking. All I want is for you to get better. That’s my something big.”
Daddy drifted off. In the quiet, Susanna realized how scared she had been on the way to the hospital, but Nate—
She jumped up. Nate. Goodness, she’d forgotten him. Left him in the waiting area.
The door eased open and two nurses entered.
“… he’s been sitting there all night,” said one of the nurses.
“I can’t keep my eyes off of him. He’s like a fine painting,” said the nurse with the name tag that read Kasey. “Hey there, Mr. Truitt.”
“He’s sleeping,” Susanna said. “Did you say a man was still sitting in the waiting room?”
“The handsome one.” Kasey typed in notes on Daddy’s bedside computer. “Hasn’t budged in the last hour. Said he was waiting for a woman.” She arched her brow. “You that woman?”
“Of course not.” Well, not that woman in that tone. Susanna gently kissed Daddy’s cheek, then whispered, “I love you. You have all my prayers.”
She hurried down the hall on tiptoe, trying not to disturb the patients with the click-clack of her heels against the tile. Her legs pushed against the constraints of her tight skirt. Her heart thumped against the confinement of her expectations.
Why had he waited so long?
Yet when she rounded the nurses’ station, the chairs were empty. Susanna stopped cold. So he’d finally gone. Disappointment smarted as she slowly finished her route to the chairs.
Well, good for him. He shouldn’t have hung around for so long.
But oh, it would’ve been nice to thank him. Again. Twice in four days he’d been her knight in shining armor.
Maybe she could contact Mrs. Butler’s event coordinator, see if she’d release his phone number or address.
“Thanks, Nate,” Susanna whispered to the cold waiting area as she sank down into the nearest chair, her thoughts drifting toward how she was going to get home.
“Susanna?”
She looked up into Nate’s fine face. He stood over her with a cup of coffee in his hand.
“I thought you’d gone.” She rose to meet him, hand pressed against her stomach as her heart splashed down. He was dashing, with his cocky grin and confident glint in his eyes.
“I’m still here. Just went for coffee.” He hoisted his vending-machine cup. “Would you like some?”
“No, no. Thank you.” She sank to the chair again, bone tired. “W–why did you stay?”
“To see how you—and your father—fared.”
He took the seat next to her, feeling as if she were seeing him for the first time, seeing beyond his high, fine features, beyond the sense that he carried a hundred years of history in his bones.
He wa
s handsome, yes, but kind was the first word that came to Susanna’s mind when she thought of him—at Lover’s Oak, leading her down the hall to the Butlers’ secret garage. Comforting her on the drive to the hospital.
“I don’t always need to be rescued,” she said, out of the blue, out of her heart.
His smile challenged the waiting-room shadows. “Would it be bad if you did?”
She regarded him with wide eyes. “Do you know a man who wants a woman who always needs to be rescued?”
“Sometimes it does a chap’s heart good to rescue a beautiful woman. Makes him remember why God rescued him.” His velvet confession brushed her heart.
“You are a very interesting man, Nate Kenneth.”
“You are a fascinating woman, Susanna Truitt.” He sipped his coffee. “Tell me, how is your father?”
“Good. He’s lucky. It’s a mild blockage. They’ll do an angioplasty in the morning.”
“My father”—Nate settled back against the blue vinyl chair—“battles leukemia.”
“Nate, I’m sorry.” It was the first time she considered whether he had a father or parents.
“He’s been failing the last few months.” Emotion accented his eyes. “I quite regret all the years I fought him, believing I knew better, rebelled.” He laughed at his comment. “I’m a brave man, am I not? To realize the errors of my youth just as my father is ailing?”
“Better than after he’s gone.”
Nate smiled, nodding. “It’s what I love about you Americans. No fussing about. Just say it plain.”
“Plain? I don’t think I’ve been saying things very plain the past decade of my life.” She slid back against the seat and rested her head against the back of the chair. “I’m too tired to go home.”
“Then we’ll just sit here and rest,” Nate said.
With a slow breath out, Susanna released the tension of the night, of the day, of the weekend, and drew strength from Nate’s calm company.
She’d nearly dozed off when his phone rang. The piercing sound jolted them forward in unison. “It’s Liam.” He answered, walking toward the window, then around the nurses’ station, phone against one ear, hand over the other.
Susanna watched his straight back until he disappeared, deciding she liked him. Not because he showed up at the oddest, most-needed times, but because he appeared so genuine and down-to-earth. When she had more energy, she’d like to talk to him about Brighton, his family, what kind of work he did that required the likes of a Liam.
“Susanna! There you are …” Gage charged into the waiting area with the fierceness of a mad bull. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”
“Daddy had a small heart attack.”
“I spent all night apologizing to Mrs. Butler—”
“Excuse me, Gage, but Daddy had a heart attack.” She was awake now, trembling with adrenaline.
“We’re never going to get the job,” Gage huffed, hands on his hips. “I took out a loan … made payroll … because I was so sure we’d—”
“Please do not imply we’re not getting this job because of me. Please.”
“No, not really.” Gage dropped to the nearest chair. “She didn’t even notice you’d gone. I’m just mad. Her guest speaker disappeared, and she was so frantic I couldn’t get one word in about how Gage Stone Associates should be her architects of choice. I’m sure Hayes & Associates down in Savannah will get the job.” His tone sank, despondent and weak. “We’ll go under without this job. Do you hear me, Susanna? Under.”
“Know what, Gage?” Susanna faced him, reaching for her courage. “I’ll make your burden a bit lighter. I quit.” If she’d learned anything from the breakup with Adam, it was to let go. Open up her heart to new possibilities. Leap.
“Quit?” He mocked her resignation with a hard laugh. “Come on. Be real. Where are you going to go if you leave me?”
“I don’t know, Gage. I don’t know.” She fortified herself with a big, cleansing breath. Exhaling all the gunk of having to live by the plan. “But for the first time in my life, I don’t care.”
SEVEN
Nathaniel ran down the beach under a vanguard of seagulls. Images of Susanna soared through his mind. He’d woken up thinking of her and had yet to shake her from his thoughts.
He’d returned from his call with Liam to find her trembling, pacing, talking to herself. Her boss had come ‘round, and she’d mustered the courage to quit her job. For what reason, Nathaniel did not know, nor did he inquire while driving her home. But he loved her spunk in the shadow of losing her would-be fiancé.
“I quit.”
How incredibly freeing. Nathaniel had never in his life uttered those words. He’d resigned his naval commission. Stepped down as CEO of his communications company. All for the sake of the Crown.
But quit? He’d never been allowed. Or privileged to do so.
Quitting was a freedom most people took for granted. The chance to pull up an oar and row on the other side.
When the cottage came into view, Nathaniel sprinted up the beach path, shoving through the sea oats and overgrown palmettos. The sand slipped beneath his trainers, so he had to concentrate on each long stride.
A low stone wall hemmed in the St. Simons cottage, which had been given to the Brighton royal family, to Great-Great-Grandfather Nathaniel I in 1902. Pre-war, the family annually made the voyage to America, to St. Simons Island. But in recent decades … The rusting hinges of the wrought-iron gate squeaked as Nathaniel pushed into the front garden.
He paused to take in his surroundings. The grounds were a bit of a mess and quite run down, distressed, untended.
Nathaniel hadn’t been to the island in twenty years, but he remembered Dad’s beautiful garden and lawn. Where weeds now grew, there’d been a rose bed. Along the lattice of the veranda, Dad had mulched beds of hedges and hibiscus. Nate only remembered because of the alliteration—hedges and hibiscus. Gardens were Dad’s pastime. He said it helped him commune with God. Hours upon hours he’d kneel in the dirt, digging and planting, tending and pruning. Communing.
When he became ill, so did his gardens.
Nathaniel walked up the tattered path, pausing halfway to the house. He’d not inherited his father’s skill with plants and flowers, but he knew of someone who might have an eye for restoring the garden’s glory. Perhaps a beautiful landscape architect in need of employ.
Jonathan stepped onto the veranda from the kitchen, letting the screen door clack behind him.
“You’re in the news.” He held up his iPad.
“American or Brightonian?” Nathaniel joined his aide on the porch. A steady sea-salt breeze brushed under the eaves. With a final glance at the garden, he made up his mind. For his father’s sake, he’d do something about the garden’s abysmal state. It would warm the king’s heart.
“Brightonian. We kept you out of the local paper here. Mrs. Butler kept her part of the bargain.” Jonathan hooked a chair with his sandaled foot and sat as he began to read. “Though she was pretty upset at you for disappearing.”
“Invite her to tea. I’ll apologize.” Nathaniel sat in the adjacent chair. He listened as Jon read aloud, tension building in his chest.
“‘ … with the king growing ill, is Prince Nathaniel ready to take on the kingdom and manage the end of the entail? He can’t even seem to find love and a wife and secure the House of Stratton with an heir.’”
“Jon, seriously, are you making that up?”
“Reading straight off the LibP’s web page.”
“The Liberty Press? And they call themselves a fine newspaper of record … Is there a point to all of this?”
“Yes, I’m getting to it.” He scrolled down. “Ah, here ‘tis. ‘We have a suggestion for the prince—Lady Genevieve Hawthorne.’” Jonathan paused to peer at Nathaniel.
“Oh mercy. And who wrote this inspired piece?”
“Claudette Hein.”
“Ah, of course.” She was one of Ginny’s best friends and a
fiery, active Hessenberg reporter writing for Brighton’s leading paper, the Liberty Press.
“And I should marry Ginny because she’s a distant cousin to Prince Francis?”
Jonathan shifted forward, setting aside his iPad. “Naturally. She could make the end of the entail like a fairy tale. A Hessen princess, from the line of Prince Francis, giving the country independence, making them a sovereign nation again. It would earn you a lot of points with the people.”
“What about this people?” Nathaniel tapped his chest. “I’ve to live with myself and the decisions I make.”
He stood and leaned against the nearest porch post. Today, he didn’t want to talk about entails and agreements or marrying out of duty. He wanted to imagine a lush garden and a beautiful woman in the midst. Susanna. But his thoughts were trapped in the discussion of the entail. “Ginny is not Hessenberg’s solution. She’s not in the grand duke’s royal line, just a very distant cousin through a morganatic marriage a hundred and fifty years ago. The Hawthornes gave up their rights to the throne long before the entail.”
“But the entail ends next year, Nathaniel. People are getting restless, looking for a solution. Is it possible for Hessenberg to be independent again? The EU has promised their financial support to help Hessenberg stand on her own.”
“Yes and generous trade agreements are being discussed with the UK and Germany. But if it requires me to marry Ginny …” He’d have to consider it, wouldn’t he? Could he just reject it out of hand?
“King Nathaniel I and Prince Francis must have had something in mind by requiring an heir at the end of the entail.” Nathaniel determined to seek for it.
“Certainly, Hessenberg was the last autocrat. Prince Francis, well, the House of Augustine-Saxon practically owned all of Hessenberg.”
“‘Tis why they were in no shape for a war.”
“A hundred years later, Nate”—Jonathan shook his head—”Ginny looks like heir enough.”
“She’s a noble. Not a royal. Prince Francis wanted Hessenberg to return to the royal family.”
Judging from King Nathaniel I’s diaries, Nathaniel knew his great-great-grandfather valued the role of kings in government and culture. It’s why he agreed to aid Prince Francis in the first place. To save a nation. Now the end of the entail looked to fall to the next King Nathaniel. Him.