Map of the Heart

Dedication

For my husband, Jerry: For all the journeys we’ve made, for all the

moments of inspiration, for getting lost on lost byways, for endless rambles

and flights of imagination, for knowing that the greatest journey in life is

the one that takes you home.

You’re the best adventure I’ve ever had.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Part 1: Bethany Bay

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Part 2: The Var

Nine

Ten

Part 3: Bethany Bay

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Part 4: Bellerive

Fifteen

Sixteen

Part 5: Aix-en-Provence

Seventeen

Part 6: The Var

Eighteen

Part 7: Switchback

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

An Excerpt from THE OYSTERVILLE SEWING CIRCLE

Prologue

P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

About the Author

About the Book

Praise

Also by Susan Wiggs

Copyright

About the Publisher

Part 1

Bethany Bay

Thank you for all the Acts of Light which beautified a summer now passed to its reward.

—LETTER FROM EMILY DICKINSON TO MRS. JOHN HOWARD SWEETSER

One

Of the five steps in developing film, four must take place in complete darkness. And in the darkroom, timing was everything. The difference between overexposure and underexposure sometimes came down to a matter of milliseconds.

Camille Adams liked the precision of it. She liked the idea that with the proper balance of chemicals and timing, a good result was entirely within her control.

There could be no visible light in the room, not even a red or amber safelight. Camera obscura was Latin for “dark room,” and when Camille was young and utterly fascinated by the process, she had gone to great lengths to practice her craft. Her first darkroom had been a closet that smelled of her mom’s frangipani perfume and her stepdad’s fishing boots, crusted with salt from the Chesapeake. She’d used masking tape and weather stripping to fill in the gaps, keeping out any leaks of light. Even a hairline crack in the door could fog the negatives.

Found film was a particular obsession of hers, especially now that digital imagery had supplanted film photography. She loved the thrill of opening a door to the past and being the first to peek in. Often while she worked with an old roll of film or movie reel, she tried to imagine someone taking the time to get out their camera and take pictures or shoot a movie, capturing a candid moment or an elaborate pose. For Camille, working in the darkroom was the only place she could see clearly, the place where she felt most competent and in control.

Today’s project was to rescue a roll of thirty-five-millimeter film found by a client she’d never met, a professor of history named Malcolm Finnemore. The film had been delivered by courier from Annapolis, and the instructions inside indicated that he required a quick turnaround. Her job was to develop the film, digitize the negatives with her micrographic scanner, convert the files into positives, and e-mail the results. The courier would be back by three to pick up the original negatives and contact sheets.