New York Times bestselling author Luanne Rice transports listeners across the sea in this moving, magical tale of a lonely woman with a promise to keep. Spurred by her mother’s dying wish, Susannah Connolly has traveled from her lifelong home on the Connecticut shoreline to the fabled French Camargue, to see its famous white horses and find a mysterious saint linked to her family’s history. An accomplished anthropologist, Susannah has always been confident of her ability to navigate anywhere on the globe. But in the wake of a failed love affair and grieving the loss of her mother, she is adrift and uncertain. American-born Grey Dempsey had come to the Camargue as a journalist, fell in love with a celebrated Romany rider, and suffered a devastating loss of his own. Now he operates a ranch as he struggles to raise his spirited but troubled young daughter, who now fears the horses she once loved.Within their bittersweet private orbit, Susannah Connolly will find a part of herself she hadn’t known she had lost. And here she will find herself embraced by a circle of strong and passionate women bound together by their abiding faith in the legendary slave-saint Susannah seeks and in the miracles she is said to still perform. Yet old secrets swirl within the fog-shrouded landscape, betrayals that may be beyond the power of any saint, or supplicant, to repair.
Air France 321, scheduled to leave Boston's Logan Airport at 7:50 that night, was full. Susannah Connolly sat in seat 22A; she had her tray table stowed, seat in the upright position, and carry-on bag tucked under the seat in front of her. She'd slipped her passport into her jacket pocket, and at this very moment, she was missing a surprise party--hers.
Her seat belt was tightly buckled. She had the window seat, and two strangers--a couple, whispering comfortably to each other--had the middle and aisle. She had a novel, a magazine, and a guidebook to read. She hoped the party guests were enjoying champagne and birthday cake. She couldn't think of many things she felt less equipped to do than pretend to be having fun at her own surprise party.
Every seat on the plane was taken. The captain's voice crackled over the loudspeaker, telling them they were third in line for takeoff. His French accent was soft, alluring, and sexy, but she barely noticed.
Staring out the window, she felt the plane begin to move, its wheels bumping slowly along the accessway. Susannah traveled a lot. Her passport had been stamped so often, the customs officials had to search for a clean page. Work had taken her away from home a hundred times in the last few years. But this was different--brand new territory: this was a journey for herself, to connect with her mother.
Her mother . . . Although she had died six months earlier, it still didn't seem real.
Susannah was a cultural anthropologist, on the fast track in a competitive field. She taught at Connecticut College, but this was a sabbatical year. Her specialty was cave paintings--specifically those with a spiritual bent--with a concentration on horse illustrations. Cave dwellers had looked to the sun, the sea, the great bear, the forest deer, the blue whale, the wild horse. They'd created saints before the birth of the church, and she'd always been impressed and moved by the inspiration they'd found in the world around them.
Susannah had traveled the world to crawl, wriggle, dive, and spelunk into the planet's deepest, most hidden crevasses--dark, usually slimy, frequently precarious holes, where other humans had gone before, to leave messages, stories, splashes of hope, despair, and beauty.
She had crawled deeper into caves than anyone else would dare to go. She'd lie on her stomach, inching forward as the rock walls closed in on her, fighting claustrophobia, knowing that if only she made it a few feet farther, she'd be rewarded with the sight of something no one had seen in thousands of years.
Ian had seemed to understand. He'd often traveled with her, but rarely entered the caves; he'd wait outside, review the data she sent back via the miracle of fiber optics. He'd had a phobia of being trapped, and no matter how hard he'd fought it, he couldn't overcome the fear--but it hadn't mattered; his analysis of the images had been without peer.
Susannah had met him when they were both grad students at Yale. They'd started out studying together; they took the same classes, had the same professors. The work was hard, so they encouraged each other. Susannah would get lost in her research, the love of her subject matter, and Ian would remind her to apply for grants, submit her work to journals.
Once they were studying in his room, and Susannah fell asleep on his bed. It was December, just before break, and an icy draft was coming through the old windows. She woke up to find him curled beside her, and she pressed against him for warmth. They lay there for a long time, and then he began to kiss her.
His arms were around...
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"Spellbinding."
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