Part III, Chapter I

April 10, 1906

Brooklyn, New York

The sky was unusually blue. Perhaps "unusual" isn't the best word. Shockingly blue. Yes, the sky was shockingly blue in the afternoon and the sun was brighter than ever. Its rays shimmered off the windows of Benham's Market and Flynn's baking shop. When the man took out his pocket watch to check the time, it almost blinded him. He cupped a hand over it and read clearly, four o'clock.

The man sighed and wiped his hands on his suit pants. He wouldn't tell you he was nervous even if he was; that just wasn't him.

"Union strikes afta foul play suspected!"

The man's eyes darted to his left to the small newsboy at the corner. Moments after belting out the leading headline a group of interested readers crowded him and the newsboy's stack of papers dwindled. The man smirked to himself and made his way over. The newsboy, from where he stood, looked so young.

"Aftanoon, mistah, that'll be a penny."

Digging in his pocket, a rustle of change was heard, and he handed the boy a dime. "Keep the change."

The boy's eyes widened but he quickly composed his expression to professionalism. "Thanks, mistah."

"You've got yourself a pretty good spot, there, don't'cha?" asked the man, folding his newspaper and placing it underneath his arm. He looked up at the street corner, knowing it would have two small signs: Pine and 4th St. He looked down at the boy with a slight smile on his face.

"Yes, sir. Best spot in the world."

The man nodded. "Damn right it is. Good luck sellin' today." He walked back across the street and sat down at the nearest bench. He opened his newspaper, trying to fool the passersby. He really didn't need to read the newspapers -- he worked for them now. But really, was there ever a time he didn't work for the newspapers?

He let one of the corners fold down at the time. Perfect, he thought. He kept his eye on the corner of Pine and 4th. After a while he folded his paper back up and dug for his watch. Four twelve. He felt his stomach rake with nerves. He'd always been used to that feeling but today it scared the hell out of him.

With an envelope in her hand, the woman turned the corner and made her way down 4th St. She could feel her heart beating too fast for her to keep up with, so for comfort, she fumbled her sweating hands to open the envelope that she had opened so many times, to read the letter she had read too much. The paper was weathered and had been folded in all different directions, and she could almost recite it word for word:

Emma,

First, I love you. Always have, always will.

Second, it's time I need to see you again. I thought I could handle it and for the past four years I tried my best to do just that but I can't any longer. I don't know if you ever married that guy or not, if you had babies with him, or if you're even living at this address (I had one of the newsies who works for us try and find your place -- I should probably tell you I work for the Eagle. I ain't a newsie anymore but they got me working business for the paper. I actually got a real life after sellin' papers, who'd 'a thought?) but I'm not gonna keep this up anymore. My life needs you in it.

The truth is, I think about that day in Crown Heights all the time and kick myself for it. I know you felt like it was the worst decision I ever could've made and in a way, it's true. I've hated that choice since the second I made it but I'm glad it got you out of harm's way. I always knew I'd see you again, I think that's what made it easier to let you go -- but it wasn't easy at all, trust me, to live with that decision.

So if this letter finds you feeling the same way, and let's be honest, I think it just might, please come see me. April tenth -- I saved the date. You're also probably wondering about the key I put in the envelope too. It ain't yours, the one you gave me when we were thirteen. I still wear that one. This is the key to my apartment in Brooklyn. If you reject the offer, I kinda need it back. But at least it'll let me see you again.

Four o'clock. You know where.

Spot.

P.S. Please don't bring Peter.

Emma breathed. She couldn't help the smile she had on her face or the butterflies she felt in her stomach. Before walking down the street, though, she replayed the day she first opened the letter in her mind. She had come home, still living with her parents, yet still neighboring the Crenshaw's, and her mother gave her the envelope. Helen Corwell had read the blank return address, "Brooklyn, New York," and with a knowing expression on her face, handed it to her.

Peter had been in the apartment at the time, so had Mrs. Crenshaw, and they were getting ready to serve dinner. Almost every day after having coming home from Brooklyn four years ago, the Corwell's and the Crenshaw's ate together. It was also every single day that Emma grew more and more hateful toward Mrs. Crenshaw after the marriage comments she made to her, Peter, or often times both. Mrs. Corwell hated the old bat -- she wasn't exactly happy that Emma hadn't married Peter or anyone for that matter, but she would never live with herself knowing she'd married her daughter off unhappily. Peter shrugged off the comments and was merely happy enough to have Emma around all the time, even if they didn't live together.

Emma had opened it at the table and was stunned. She read through the lines quickly and took out the key. With one hand shakily clutching the letter and the other holding the bronze trinket, she exchanged shocked glances between the two.

"What's that?" asked Mrs. Crenshaw nosily.

Peter was the first to look over at Emma's unmoving form. Mrs. Corwell looked next, remembering the significance of the key and the return address of Brooklyn; she smiled.

"Emma?" prodded Peter.

She came back down to reality and talked to Peter alone. As he read the letter, sitting on her bed, and Emma leaning against the closed door of her bedroom, he looked defeated, but not surprised. He had known this day would be coming sooner or later.

"I can't keep you forever," he had told her, handing her the letter.

Emma looked down. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Don't say you're sorry. I'd prefer not to have pity," he had said calmly. "You're supposed to be with him. I'm not going to keep this up anymore because I thought I would someday be the person you wanted to be with. That's obviously not the case."

"Peter…"

"Just do me a favor and leave when I'm gone. I'd never leave you, but you left me as soon as you ran away to Brooklyn in the first place." He got up steadily, accepting his defeat, and kissed her on the forehead. Just before opening the door and leaving, he said, "If you ever need anything…"

Emma nodded. "I know."

Now, after having replayed it in her mind, she felt more at ease. The block seemed longer than she remembered, and it was a busy day in Brooklyn. She couldn't see the street corner where she had known instinctively to meet Spot. She thought he may have mean the docks or the bakery, but she shook her head -- there was only one place he had been talking about. But as soon as she was halfway towards Pine and 4th, and the crowds cleared, she saw it. There was a boy there, selling papers, and it was almost too unrealistic.

Though she had yet to reach the corner, she saw across the street a man in a dark gray suit sitting alone on a park bench. He sat upright, alert, and every so often he checked the time on his pocket watch. The smile on her face grew, especially when, just before reaching the corner, the man looked up and saw her.

Spot was on his feet in an instant. Emma dropped the jacket and suitcase she had in her arms and ran. Without running into anyone on the street, as if the clearing of the crowds was meant to be, they rushed towards each other, the gap between them shrinking, as if the years apart were disappearing. As soon as they met, Emma jumped into his arms in a tight embrace that took her back to being eight, thirteen, and seventeen years old again. As she felt the tears well up in her eyes and him wrap around her tighter, spinning her around in a small circle, she knew at once time played no factor in her love for him. His body was warm and strong, and she felt herself melt all over again the way she had when she first realized she had irrevocably fallen in love with him so many years ago.

Spot bit down on his lip -- it quivered once. The feeling of her in his arms was what he had lived without for four years, and he knew he wouldn't have to last a day without it anymore. He set her down and held her face in his hands, taking in the delicate features that had aged her into an even more beautiful young woman than he had imagined. She wrapped her arms around him, too afraid to let go at first, as if they would never have this moment again. Her eyes were still sparkling green and they weakened him so much that he practically collapsed. He pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, kissing her lips softly.

"I swear I just saw you yesterday it feels like," said Emma, breathing an exasperated laugh.

"Feels like I saw you an hour ago, more like it," replied Spot.

Emma shook her head slightly and pulled away to look him up and down. He had grown in height, his features achingly handsome and distinguished. His face had changed but it was the same to her. And his eyes, his sapphire blue eyes, her arguably favorite part of him, had not changed a single bit. For a moment she thought he was a mirage. "This isn't real, I can't even believe this is you, Spot."

"Patrick these days," he laughed.

Emma shook her head. "No. Spot."

"Alright, then. No one's called me Spot for the last three and half years, but to you, I'm Spot."

"Yes. That's the way it'll be from now on." She embraced him once more, leaning her head tightly against his chest as he twirled a strand of her blonde hair around his finger. It had been too long since he felt the soft strands at his fingertips.

"Got my key?" asked Spot after a few moments.

She broke away and took hold of his hand, leading him as she walked towards the corner of Pine and 4th where she had set down her jacket and suitcase. She dug around the pockets of her jacket, and pulled out the envelope carrying her letter. Spot smiled lightly as he watched and appreciated every movement she made.

Emma finally pulled it out and held it in front of her face. Spot made to take it from her but she pulled away, saying, "Don't you think I'll need it too?"

"You're staying," thought Spot aloud. He felt his stomach rush with nerves.

She nodded, closing her eyes briefly. "I'm staying. How could I not?"

"You love me too much. I'm quite a catch, I'd have to agree…" joked Spot arrogantly with a smirk on his face. Emma felt her knees weaken a little, and she was thankful he couldn't see them through her dress. She shook her head a second later and smacked his chest teasingly.

"Hey! You obviously still feel like you need to keep me in check…"

"Well, yeah, some things never change."

Emma picked up her suitcase, threw her jacket over her arm, and linked the other with his. She leaned her head against his arm lovingly, not caring if it was entirely appropriate or not to do so in public. Spot proudly held onto her tight, finally feeling utterly complete. For so long he had thought Brooklyn was his purpose in life, but at that moment he knew that was the furthest thing from the truth. He smiled to himself and kissed her forehead.

They walked down the block aimlessly for the rest of that day. If you were to see them on the street from afar, you'd swear they thought they were the only people in the world that mattered. It didn't matter where they were going or how long they had been walking -- time finally slowed down for Spot and Emma. It forgave the distance that kept them apart, and it forgave anything that had gotten in their way: heartache, anger, resentment, loneliness. After sixteen years, they were finally able to be together for the rest of their lives.

And it's quite true that great love requires sacrifice. It does. But it also keeps the heart yearning for the love that had been sacrificed in the first place, until time has healed those wounds. It keeps it from beating for anyone else but who you're meant to be with. It's one thing to love someone, to say, "I love you." Yes, the trials of that kind of love are painful and powerful, weakening the soul and changing your life. That kind of love ends and in time, the heart learns to beat on its own.

But great love -- that withstands the test of time, and for Spot and Emma, their love had been nothing less than great love.

END TO HAVE AND TO HOLD

Come, come now...you didn't think I'd leave you hanging, did you?? I thought the end of that last chapter would be a dead give away to this one, the true ending of the story. Alas, I was wrong. Hope you enjoyed it -- this is my baby. Many thanks to all my loyal readers and reviewers!! Review a lot, I'd like to break 200...