Seneca Surrender by Gen Bailey

her forehead, as though that action alone might release the floodgates.
    “Did you remember something? ”
    Sarah shook her head. “No, I thought that perhaps I had, but, pray, I am still as unaware of my past as you are.”
    “Do not alarm yourself,” he said reassuringly. “In time, your memory will return.”
    “I do hope you are right. I sincerely pray it will be so. But tell me,” she uttered, curious again as she asked, “you said something a moment ago that caught my attention and I fear I must ask you about it. You said, ‘a man of my age.’ Surely, sir, you are not so very old? ”
    “I am thirty and five summers.”
    So he was older than she was after all. Why, she was only … Sarah furrowed her brow. Dear Lord, even the knowledge of her age escaped her. Sighing hard, she said, “And are you married, sir? ”
    “Nyoh. Neh.”
    “What does that mean? ”
    “Yes and no.”
    “I fear I do not understand. Yes and no? ”
    “My wife is dead,” he explained. “But she still lives on, deep within my heart.”
    “Ah,” Sarah said. “Now I think I understand.” And so she did, though why she shared such empathy with him was not completely clear to her. She continued, “How long ago did she die? ”
    “It has been fifteen summers since she walked this earth in the flesh.”
    “Fifteen summers,” Sarah repeated. “I am sorry for your loss. ’Twas fifteen years ago? She must have been little more than a woman in her teens. May I ask what took her away from you at so young an age? Was it childbirth? ”
    He shook his head. “ Neh , no. And I mean no offense to you, so please do not take one. I do not speak of her death.”
    Sarah gazed away from him. “I understand.”
    “I know you do.”
    “Do you? ”
    He said merely, “You spoke often of people you love.”
    Sarah frowned.
    “In your sleep,” he explained. “In some ways, we are alike, you and I. We both love people who can no longer be with us in the flesh.”
    “Yes,” she said, but she was embarrassed. Though she couldn’t bring back to mind the memories she’d told him, apparently in her stupor she had related her deepest thoughts and perhaps her most intimate secrets. Alas, the fact was disconcerting. She said, “I am very sorry to hear that I spoke out as I did. Had I been awake and in my senses I would have never burdened you with my memories.”
    “Do not be sorry. Your pain has endeared you to me.”
    “Oh? Endeared?” Again Sarah was caught off guard. She simply didn’t know what to expect of a man who was so utterly forthright in his words. Indeed, it seemed to be out of her realm of experience.
    So as to steer the subject back toward something more easily spoken about in a polite society, she said, “I am frustrated. I have awakened only to find that I do not know who I am, where I am from or even who are my friends.”
    “It is true, and what you feel is to be understood, but with time, it will come to you,” he assured her. “You have only awakened this very first day. Do not expect too much too soon. One begins a long journey by first taking a single step. Yet, if he keeps onward, placing one footfall after another, he will eventually arrive at his destination. Rest, sleep, eat well. You will remember. And when you at last recall the details most important to you, upon your request, I will return you to those who are your people.”
    “Yes,” said Sarah, “I would like that.”
    But did she really like the idea of that? Some innate warning caused her to doubt the sincerity of those words even as she spoke them. If that were true, why did she not feel more elation at the prospect returning home?
    “Come,” he said, “we have talked enough. It is time for you to rest again. We will have time aplenty for talk later.”
    Sarah might have remarked on his presumption, for she was uncertain she could go back to sleep simply because he required it of her, but she held back any criticism. Instead, when he gently