EPILOGUE

Sometimes I come down to the beach and take off my shoes, delighting in the feel of the shifting sand beneath my feet. I can listen to the waves now without hearing the cries of my lost child, and I am more at peace than I have ever been.

I have begun to swim in the ocean again, and John has asked me to teach Rebecca and our son, Samuel, when he is old enough. We will do so together, John and I, as we have done everything in our lives since the night of the fire.

Robert and Elizabeth’s betrayal will always be with me, like a scar from an old wound. The pain is gone, but at times the fingers of my memory touch the ridges of the scar, a medal of survival and a reminder of John’s love for me. Forgiveness is an elusive ghost to me still, but I try. Every day I try.

My home and family have become a great tide pool of my own creation, and my love the dam that protects them from the encroaching waves. I can face the vastness of the ocean now, with the salt wind whipping at my hair and banishing the gnawing hunger from my soul, and feel only possibility and an overflowing well of contentment.

When I think back on those first tumultuous months of our marriage, I see it as a macabre dance: John and I waltzing around a circle, with the dark shadow of betrayal lurking in the middle, waiting to consume us. But now the light of my beloved island shines on us, illuminating the corners of our lives and our hearts. We take delight in the building of our house and the joyful cries of our children. His touch strengthens me, and mine him. We have waited all of our lives for this, and know that we are blessed.