The lecture I later endured from his mother informed me the words I had uttered were actually a series of four-letter words, of which our English equivalents begin with "f" and "d" and "s" and so on. Though Dominique's mother was willing to admit their oldest son had "gone astray" from the values they had taught when he was younger, I could do little to recapture the ground earlier won in gaining their approval. A rather frank discussion just before we left revealed her belief that I was just a rich American girl having a good time, and her son would ultimately be hurt when I returned home and forgot all about him. As I look back today, with the heart of a mother now, I don't blame her a bit!

However, at the time, such words only served to fire up my stubborn streak and pushed me further in my desires to be Dominique's wife and spend the rest of my life at his side. The weeks that remained before my sailing in June, we spent constantly together. We swam and played in the warm, crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean Sea by day, and then walked for miles along its beaches, with sunsets coloring the sky and sea and sand into glowing rose and golden embers. Each night, as the fiery glow of the sunset faded, we spoke of our love: a fire that we would never allow to fade. We quietly vowed loyalty and faithfulness to each other.

"No darkness shall ever come into our lives, capable of putting out the fire of our love!" we declared, as we held each other. "Darkness there may be, and dark times, as there are in everyone's life. But let it come! We will not ALLOW it to shut out our love!"

The words of our resolve pounded in my head, as I sailed from the shores of France westward-bound across the Atlantic Ocean once more. "Darkness there may be..." I did not know how prophetic those words would prove.

Wandering slowly and aimlessly through the corridors of the gigantic ship, my thoughts rebounded constantly from one side of the Atlantic to the other. Unlike the original trip to France on this pleasure cruiser, little interested me as I passed the shops and salons filled with other passengers. I stepped through a doorway and leaned against the railing of the outer deck for a solitary moment of reflection. I fixed my eyes upon the swirling trail of blue-green waters white with foam carved by the ship's propellers. I lifted my head. My eyes followed the path left behind the ship until it disappeared, swallowed under the endless expanse of water rolling around me.

"Each new surge of water streaking from the back of this ship is carrying my further and further from Dominique!" my heart cried. I missed him terribly. And when would I see him again? He still had a year of Chemistry school to finish, and I faced my senior year at West Chester, alone! He had promised to work in the vineyards harvesting grapes all summer to earn enough money to come and see me in September. But that was nearly three months away!

"How can I live that long without him? And then we'll be forced to say goodbye to each other again!" Oh, how hard those parting moments are - the final embrace of love torn apart, two hands stretching toward each other in that farewell wave, eyes scanning the horizon for one last glimpse as time and distance grow, building a wall barring the possibility of even a moment to touch his face or gaze into his eyes!

Days later, I stood shoulder-to-shoulder with hundreds of other passengers lining the deck of the ship as we sailed under the Verrazano Narrows Bridge and past the Statue of Liberty. I searched the crowd of upturned faces far below when our giant boat maneuvered toward the dock, and I finally saw my family. The trip home in the car and the next couple of weeks were filled with questions about what it was like to live in France and much story-telling, as slides and souvenirs were shown to family and friends.