Suzanna's Surrender

I will not write of the winter. That is not a memory I wish to relive. But I did not leave the island. Could not leave it. She was never out of my mind in those months. In the spring, she remained with me. In my dreams.

And then, it was summer.

It isn't possible for me to write how I felt when I saw her running to me. I could paint it, but I could never find the words. I haunted those cliffs, waiting for her, hoping for her. It had become easy to convince myself that it would be enough just to see her, just to speak with her again. If she would only walk down the slope, through the wildflowers and sit on the rocks with me.

Then all at once, she was calling my name, running, her eyes so filled with joy. She was in my arms, her mouth on mine. And I knew she had suffered as I had suffered. She loved as I loved.

We both knew it was madness. Perhaps I could have been stronger, could have convinced her to go and leave me. But something had changed in her over the winter. No longer would she be content with only emptiness, as I learned her marriage was for her. Her children, so dear to her, could not forge a bond between her and the husband who wanted only obedience and duty. Yet I could not allow her to give herself to me, to take the step that could cause her guilt or shame or regret.

So we met, day after day on the cliffs, in all innocence. To talk and laugh, to pretend the summer was endless. Sometimes she brought the children, and it was almost as if we were a family. It was reckless, but somehow we didn't believe anything could touch us while we stood, cupped between sky and sea, with the peaks of the house far up at our backs.

We were happy with what we had. There have been no happier days in my life before or since. Love like that has no beginning or end. It has no right or wrong. In those bright summer days, she was not another man's wife. She was mine.

A lifetime later, I sit here in this aging body and look out at the water. Her face, her voice, come so clearly to me.

She smiled. “I used to dream of being in love.”

I had taken the pins from her hair so that my hands could lose themselves in it. A small, precious pleasure. “Do you still?”

“Now I don't have to.” She bent toward me, to touch her lips to mine. “I'll never have to dream again. Only wish.”

I took her hand to kiss it, and we watched an eagle soar. “There's a ball tonight. I'll wish you were there, to waltz with me.”

I got to my feet, drew her to hers and began to dance with her through the wild roses. “Tell me what you'll wear, so I can see you.”

Laughing, she lifted her face to mine. “I shall wear ivory silk with a low bodice that bares my shoulders and a draped beaded skirt that catches the light. And my emeralds.”

“A woman shouldn't look sad when she speaks of emeralds.”

“No,” She smiled again. “These are very special. I've had them since Ethan was born, and I wear them to remind me.”

“Of what?”

“That no matter what happens, I've left something behind. The children are my real jewels.” As a cloud came over the sun she pressed her head to my shoulder. “Hold me closer, Christian.”

Neither of us spoke of the summer that was so quickly coming to an end, but I know we both thought of it at that moment when my arms held her tight and our hearts beat together in the dance. The Jury of what I was soon to lose again rushed through me.

“I would give you emeralds, and diamonds, sapphires.” I crushed my mouth to hers. “All that and more. Bianca, if I could.”

“No.” She brought her hands to my face, and I saw the tears sparkling in her eyes. “Only love me,” she said.

Only love me.