C.D. Gerard's Blog

The Wives of Highbury, Part I

Miss Emily Brown stood before her mother’s looking glass. The glass had been in her family for generations, which was clear from its condition. The color was beginning to tarnish, and there were small cracks spiraling arbitrarily though the glass. But Emily knew her mother and grandmother stood before it on their wedding day, just as she was doing today. And from what they both told her, time didn’t change how a young woman felt on the most important day of her life. She was wearing the same gown they wore on their special day. It was altered to fit her figure, which was much smaller than either her mother’s or her grandmother’s. She had admired the dress through her entire childhood. It was a favorite pastime to hide inside her mother’s wardrobe so she could look at and touch the blue and white lace that covered the ivory satin gown, caressing the material between her tiny fingers. She dreamed of the day it would be her turn to wear it. And now her day to wear the gown had arrived. Did they feel the way she did when they wore it? Were they excited yet nervous? Happy yet apprehensive? Did they know their duty, yet were they afraid? How was she, a mere girl of 17, to please a man of 32? It was true her mother had taught her well. She was capable of running a household. She was proficient at many of the accomplishments she should be; she could sing and play the piano, spoke French and Italian, and could draw and paint. She loved children and loved teaching them. In truth, as she got older, she loved it so much she told her father what she really wanted was to be governess. But it was not to be. Her father said only girls that were poor were governesses. John Brown was a solicitor in their town of Highbury. He was known for his knowledge of laws that affected the landed gentry in the area and was well regarded for his efforts. Yet he was not welcome in the social circles of the gentry that he served. She knew he wished to change that. When one of his best clients, Mr. Henry Woodhouse of Hartfield, a popular gentleman and landowner, happened to mention he would like to find a wife, her father invited him to dinner, where he was introduced him to Emily. She found Mr. Woodhouse to be fairly good looking. He was charming and articulate. She liked him, but never thought, because of the difference in their stations, that he would be interested in her as anything more than someone who could make good conversation and amuse him with her musical talents. He was just another one of her father’s wealthy clients. He came to their home only a few times for tea before he took her for a walk one evening and told her he had asked her father for her hand, and he had consented. He told her it would be his greatest pleasure if she would become his wife. She was stunned; unsure of what to do, and more importantly, of what to feel. He was a good man, her mother said. He would give her and her children a good life. Still, Emily felt confused. What about love, she asked her mother. Shouldn’t there be at least some love; some feelings of passion? True love took time, her mother told her. She said she was not in love with her father at first but learned to love him. And as for romantic love, well, that didn’t last. Mutual respect and caring were much more important. Her father wasn’t as kind regarding her questions of love. He said her marrying Mr. Woodhouse would raise the entire family up. Her sisters would be able to make better matches when it was time for them to wed. It was her duty to the family to accept the proposal. So, she did her duty, accepting Mr. Woodhouse, and hoped that all would work out well. She jumped when there was a knock on the door. Mother, is it time?” she asked. “Not yet,” she said. “But something has come for you from Hartfield.” Her mother opened the door and handed her a small box with a note. “Looks like something from your intended,” her mother said with a knowing smile. “I will let you enjoy it in private.” She closed the door behind her. Emily opened the box to find a pair of earrings. They were beautiful; a diamond earring with a drop emerald. She had never owned anything so elegant. She opened the letter. My Dearest Emily: I hope you like the earrings; they belonged to my mother, and they were among her favorite pieces. I think they will lookwell on you; enhancing the beauty of your eyes that are almost as green as the stones. My dear, I know you don’t know me well, and you are apprehensive. I must tell you I feel the same. But anything worth having in life is worth the risk. We can never know for sure what life has in store for us. What I can tell you with certainty that I will be true to my vows to love, honor and cherish you. But I also promise to respect your wishes and your opinions, and we will have a full partnership in all things. I will be your protector, your confidante, and most importantly, your friend. I’ll see you at the altar, my darling. I will be waiting. Your husband-to-be, Henry Woodhouse “I declare, I just don’t understand it,” said Elizabeth Weston. “It is hard to fathom why a man like your friend Mr. Woodhouse would marry someone such as this Miss Brown. I’m sure she is lovely and poised, but he could have had any number of girls with twice the breeding and the dowry. He certainly could have done better than a solicitor’s daughter.” Frank Weston sighed, looking out the carriage window. “Henry is quite smitten with Emily,” he replied. “She will make him a good wife. And Henry says she is quite accomplished.” He turned, taking his wife’s hand. “Besides, if you were so conscious of station, Lizzie, you would not have married me, a mere military man.” “That’s another matter entirely,” said Elizabeth. “You came from a family of means, and they were able to purchase your commission. You have done well for yourself, my love..” “Yes, my father was what people would call a nabob.” “That is a terrible term. It is a crime to make money in the Far East? I think not. Your father did well there and brought his wealth back to England. I say it shows great ambition and ingenuity.” He laughed. “I would have been nice if your father had thought that.” “Yes, well, my family believes wealth must be inherited. They don’t understand the world is changing, and that anyone with the right connections can earn their way into good society if they choose, such as your father did. Still, a tradesperson’s daughter? Mr. Woodhouse could have done better.” Frank didn’t answer. Elizabeth had her opinions about things, and he had learned in the short time they were married that arguing with her about them was futile. He didn’t bother to correct her that solicitors were not considered tradespeople, and many of them had married their sons and daughters into the upper classes. Sometimes he wondered who this woman was that he had married. Their courtship had been a short and passionate one. He met her at a ball given by one of his fellow officers when they were billeted in Yorkshire. When he thought of it today, it still made his heart pound. Elizabeth Churchill was everything he ever wanted. Beautiful, well-spoken and mannered, intelligent and funny. He was sure he’d found the woman of his dreams. But her family had other plans for her. The Churchills were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Yorkshire. They had promised her to the son of her mother’s sister when she was still an infant; a cousin that had £30,000. per year. Frank could never compete with such a sum, even though he had enough to provide Elizabeth a good life. Elizabeth was given a choice, either marry her cousin as planned, or marry Frank and be disowned by her family. Frank told her he understood; that making such a choice would be impossible, but she said no, she wanted to be his wife more than anything. They ran away to Gretna Green in the middle of night, and Elizabeth never looked back. Or did she? He sensed a restlessness in her at times. He gave her all the material things she wished, but she could no longer fraternize with the people of her youth. The social circles she’d been a part of all her life were now closed to her. When she saw these old friends in the streets and tried to speak to them, they looked down and quickly walked away. She was lonely and discontented, and he could not be with her during the times he was called up. He wondered if she was sorry that she married him and turned her back on the life she had known. He was sure that soon she would have a child to occupy her, but in the interim, she needed something to ease her troubled disposition. “My dear,” he started, “I have been thinking. Soon we will have a family, and I don’t wish to raise them in town. My father’s house in Highbury has been vacant for some time. We could move there temporarily, and then build a place of our own.” She stared at him. “You want to live in Highbury? But I know no one there, Frank.” “I grew up there. I know pretty much everyone. And you have always been very adept in the social graces. You would be the most important lady of the town in no time.” She sat quiet for a moment. “I will think on it. You say most of the people in the town will be at the wedding?” “Absolutely. I think you will find them all quite amiable. Many of the people I grew up are like we are, newly marriedand starting families. A new generation of residents are emerging. It will be a wonderful place for our children to grow up in. And when I am away with the militia, you will have friends to look after you. Also, Surrey is only 16 miles from London, should you wish to partake in the amusements of town on occasion.” “And they are all respectable families?” “Well, of course.” She lowered her voice. “You know what I mean by respectable, Frank. I mean people that are equal to our station. You know I cannot be expected to fraternize with farmers and artisans.” “I think that is of minor importance,” he said, his tone curt. “But to answer your question; yes. There is Mr. Knightley of Donwell Abbey, a widower with two young sons and of course there is Henry Woodhouse, and many others.” He reached for her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Trust me, Elizabeth, it is for the best.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Alright, Frank. I will be very astute today in my observations of everyone, and I inform you as to what I think.” “That sounds fine, darling,” he said. Elizabeth could observe all she wanted, he thought, but the decision had been made. He would take her after the wedding and show her his father’s house, which he had completely refurbished just to her taste. She would be thrilled, and ready to show it off. They would be happy, and her memories of life before their marriage would fade. He just knew that all would be well. He could make her happy again. He was absolutely sure. Eleanor Bates sat in an empty corner of the courtyard at Highbury. She had finally been able to escape all the wedding guests, none of which she wished to speak with. Having to smile and curtsey and try to make conversation was terrifying for her. She was happiest alone in her room with her books and writing her stories. She had told her aunt, Mrs. Sophia Bates, she did not wish to attend the wedding of Mr. Woodhouse. She offered to stay at home and care for her little charge Molly, who was five years old. Her aunt and uncle had employed her as governess for the little girl. Molly was an eager learner, loving to draw and read. She and Molly would have a wonderful time together at home, she was sure. But Aunt Sophia said no, that since her uncle was the vicar, and was performing the marriage ceremony between Mr. Woodhouse and Miss Emily Brown, their entire household was obligated to attend. It was their duty, she said. She relaxed for the first time all day. Taking a deep breath, she could smell the mix of honeysuckle and lilac floating in the air. Off in the distance, she could see Miss Emily, now Mrs. Woodhouse, greeting her guests. She seemed very happy. She floated around in her lacy blue and white gown with an ephemeral flair. But Eleanor wondered, was she really happy? She knew Miss Emily’s marriage to Mr. Woodhouse had been an arranged match. The idea of that appalled her. She wanted to marry for love. She wanted to fall in love, like the girls she read about in Fanny Burney’s novels. That was the only way she would marry. And if she didn’t find this love, she would work as a governess, as she was now with little Molly. She knew an intellectual life was inappropriate for a young lady, but it was her heart’s desire, and she was determined to have it. She jumped at the sound of a voice coming up behind her. “Eleanor Bates, there you are!” said Sophia. “What are you doing out here?” Eleanor stood. “Just enjoy the grounds, Aunt. They have such exquisite gardens here at Highbury.” Sophia narrowed her eyes. “Eleanor, we talked about this. You have to learn to make conversation and engage other people. I promised my sister that I would make sure you became a proper young lady.” “I am a proper young lady,” Eleanor replied, hands on her hips. “You would not have entrusted me with Molly’s education if you did not think so.” “That is true. But you are 18 years old. You must start thinking about your future.” “I have. My future is in my scholarly pursuits and in teaching others.” “So you wish to be an old maid? Old maids don’t have much of a life, Eleanor. What will you do for money?” “I will make money from my writings and from teaching young girls.” “That is not a life for a young woman like yourself. Your parents would not have allowed this, and neither will I. As long as I am responsible for your care, you will at least learn some social skills.” She grabbed her hand. “Look at you! You look lovely in that dress. Don’t you want others to see how beautiful you look?” The dress was ugly, thought Eleanor. She hated pink. It was girly; a color worn by silly girls with empty heads. But her aunt insisted the color was perfect on her. Gave her skin a bloom. And her aunt had insisted she wear a corset. Every breath she took was agony. “Come now, you have yet to meet the bride.” “Do I have a choice?” she asked. Mrs. Bates grinned. “Absolutely not.” “Yes, I suppose I should get used to not having a choice. If you are determined to marry me off, I certainly won’t have my own free will once I am someone’s wife.” “Be quiet now,” said Mrs. Bates in a low voice. “Young ladies must speak in a low voice.” The new Mrs. Woodhouse was sitting with Mrs. Weston. Mrs. Bates stopped, turning to Eleanor. “Sitting with the bride is Mrs. Weston. As a member of the Churchill family, she was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte before her marriage. She is also a friend to the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Georgiana. She is one of the most fashionable women in London.” “Then what is she doing in Highbury?” Eleanor whispered. “She married Mr. Weston against her family’s wishes.” Eleanor grinned. “I like her already.” “Yes, well, she will probably become most important here. She and her husband are thinking of building a new home here, so we must be exceptionally polite.” She pulled on Eleanor’s hand again as she hesitated. “Come along now before we lose sight of her.” Mrs. Weston was definitely copying the Shepherdess style made so popular by Marie Antoinette. Her huge hat sat high on her head. The blue and white bow around it was almost as big. Her long curly brown locks flowed freely around her shoulders. Her blue and white striped gown had large puffy sleeves trimmed with lace. The dress was accented with a low neck that most women would consider indecent. “Mrs. Weston, may I introduce my niece, Miss Eleanor Bates. She is living with us and working as a governess to Molly.” The woman smiled, then looked her up and down. “Yes, your uncle the vicar spoke well of you to my husband. He says you at quite good at your books. But remember, dear, your books won’t get you a husband.” She looked at her again, then looked over at Mrs. Woodhouse. “What do you say, Mrs. Woodhouse? Do you think this girl will be the next one down the aisle?” Emily Woodhouse smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bates. Thank you for sharing our special day with us.” Eleanor congratulated her. “I hope you and Mr. Woodhouse will find much happiness together.” “Thank you,” she replied. “I’m sure we will. I am very lucky. Mr. Woodhouse is a good man. Mrs. Weston pushed herself back into the conversation. She took out her handkerchief, gingerly wiping her cheek. “All husbands are wonderful in the beginning. Give it time. You will see his flaws soon enough. But you didn’t answer me, Mrs. Woodhouse. Is Miss Bates the next bride here in Highbury?” Emily’s cheeks reddened. “I cannot say, Mrs. Woodhouse. Do you seek a husband, Miss Bates?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” blurted Mrs. Weston. “Every young girl seeks a husband. She just has to be pointed in the right direction.” She took Eleanor’s hand. “When my husband and I finally settle at Randalls, I will take you under my wing, young lady. After being under my tuteluge, you will have such graces no man will be able to resist you. You will be better wed than our Mrs. Woodhouse here.” “Ellie!” said an excited child’s voice.” Little Molly Bates ran to Eleanor, grabbing her around the legs. “You must come with me to the duck pond. There is a new duck there. They call it a Muscove duck. It was brought here from another country by Mr. Woodhouse’s friend.” She grabbed her hand, “Come, please.” Eleanor looked at Mrs. Bates, her eyes pleading. Mrs. Bates nodded. “Go ahead, my dear. You and Molly have fun.” Eleanor smiled, looking relieved. She curtsied, then ran off after her little charge. The ladies stood watching them.” Mrs. Bates sighed. “She does need help in the social graces. What 18-year-old do you know that would rather look at ducks than socialize? I do worry about her so.” “Everyone grows up at a different pace,” said Emily. “I think she may need more time before marriage.” “What she needs is to be taken in hand,” said Mrs. Weston. Mr. Woodhouse appeared, standing behind his bride. He took her hand in his, then looked around at the women’s faces. “What are you ladies contriving?” “What makes you say that, Mr. Woodhouse?” asked Mrs. Bates. “Because I always know when ladies are up to some scheme.” “Mrs. Weston was just saying we should try and help Miss Bates get a husband,” replied Emily. He shook his head. “Oh no. Matchmakers are the worst. They create all kinds of trouble.” He pulled Emily away, his brow arched in suspicion. “Come, my dear, we have more guests to greet.” As they walked away, Mrs. Weston shook her head. “Men just don’t understand. No two people can make a marriage happen alone. Help is always required. It takes an experienced woman to know that.” Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Bates turned to watch Molly and Eleanor. They had removed their shoes and stockings and were jumping around in the pond with the ducks, kicking water and laughing. Mrs. Weston shook her head. “We have a lot of work to do, Mrs. Bates.” “Yes, it appears so,” said Mrs. Bates. And while she knew Mrs. Weston was right, she turned her head, and smiled.

The Wives of Highbury, Part II

Six months later Emily sat alone, basking in the morning sun as it washed through her window. This room was her favorite in the house. Henry had refurbished the alcove just off their bedroom for her as a wedding gift. It had a large comfortable chair and ottoman, covered in her favorite shade of aqua. Next to that was a beautiful oak tea table that had belonged to Henry great-grandmother. The table had drawers beneath it that kept the china blue tea service from Wedgewood that was a wedding gift from her parents. Beyond that was a matching oak desk where she spent time writing her letters. A welcome gust of wind blew through the light, lacy white draperies, cooling her face as she sipped her favorite brew of tea. Henry always teased her about liking such strong tea, but she couldn’t start the day without it. She never had such delicious, full-bodied tea until she came here to Hartfield. In fact, everything seemed better here, in her own home, and in this new life she loved. She looked down at her belly, which now pushed ever so slightly against the fabric of her dressing gown. She felt she was lucky to have conceived right away, knowing how much Henry wanted a child. If all went as planned, the child would be born just about the time of their first wedding anniversary. Emily smiled to herself, thinking how foolish she had been to worry about marrying Henry. With an arranged marriage to a man that was a stranger to her, she feared for her happiness. But the last six months with Henry had been more wonderful than she ever could have imagined. No woman could ask for a better husband. He was kind and gentle in all things, always looking out for her comfort and care. She had never felt this cared for even by her own family. Life could not be more perfect. She was so deep in thought she jumped when her maid entered. Tess had been a servant at Hartfield since Henry was a child and was very fond of him. At first, she regarded Emily with suspicion, and later admitted she was skeptical about the match. But Emily knew she could bring her around, and now they were great friends. Tess smiled; her face alight with so rosy a glow she looked wind burned. “Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Emily put down her tea and sat up tall. Usually, she knew Tess was coming before she even arrived in the room. A woman with a large girth, she could always hear her coming down the hall, her shoes banging heavy against the wooden hallway floor. “It is alright, Tess. Usually the tea makes me more alert, but today I feel a bit dozy.” “Oh, that is natural, ma’am, in the beginning when you are with child. It is good for you to rest. I know Mr. Henry would wish it.” She lowered a silver tray down to Emily’s level. “Just wanted to bring this letter to you. It arrived just a bit ago.” Emily took the note. Gazing at the unfamiliar seal, she turned it over and saw it was from a place called Randalls. “Randalls? I thought that place was vacant,” said Emily. One thing she could always rely on from Tess was knowing the gossip going on all over Highbury. “Randalls has been occupied, ma’am, by young Mr. Weston. Of course, he is not young any longer, but it was the house of his father before him. They say Mr. Weston means to build a new home here, and they are living at Randalls just for now.” “The Westons? Oh, yes! I remember now! Mr. Weston is Henry’s friend from his childhood. He speaks very highly of him. And I spoke with Mrs. Weston at the reception. She is an interesting woman.” “Yes, she was part of the Queen’s court, they say,” said Tess. “She is quite the lady of fashion.” Tess giggled. “I’ve heard she is quite one for society. She will certainly stir things up in this neighborhood.” Emily broke the seal. She rubbed the fine linen stationery between her fingers before reading the invitation aloud: “Mrs. Frank Weston requests the pleasure of the presence of Mrs. Henry Woodhouse At an afternoon tea on Saturday next at two O’Clock Your Answer is requested. Tess peered over Emily’s shoulder. “Ma’am, how exciting! Why, an invitation from Mrs. Weston is the most sought after in town.” A male voice came booming into the room. “Invitation?” said Henry, “Who is extending invitations to my wife and not to me?” He bent down, kissing Emily on the forehead. “Have you a secret admirer?” Emily laughed. “Not hardly, darling. I have been invited to have tea with Mrs. Weston.” His jovial face suddenly grew serious. “Yes, I have spoken with Frank Weston. I will be good to have him back in the neighborhood. The wife, well, I am not so sure.” “But sir,” Tess chimed in. “It would do a young wife like your missus good to be associated with a woman of society like Mrs. Weston.” Henry glared at her. “That will be all for now, Tess.” Tess looked down at the floor and curtseyed. “Of course, sir. I will take my leave of you.” He sat down on the ottoman and took her hand. “Are you feeling well, my love? You look well today.” “I feel well,” she answered. He gazed over at the tea table. “You did not have Tess bring you a single bite of food. How do you expect this baby to grow if you don’t eat?” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, Henry. I have every intention of eating later. I am queasy in the morning. I do not like to lose my stomach.” “Alright, my dear. Just make sure you do.” He put his hand out. “May I?” She gave him the invitation. “It’s just tea, Henry. And I thought Mr. Weston was your friend. Do you not wish our families to socialize? “I do wish it,” he replied, still staring down at the paper, his eyebrows bent in vexation. “I was told her family was part of the peerage. She’s a very fashionable woman. With her accomplishments, she will run a fine house for Mr. Weston, I am sure.” Henry got up, placing the invitation on the tea table. “I have known Frank Weston since I was a child. There was a time when we saw each other every day before he went off to the army. He was always such a sensible gent, not at all taken in by people with airs. But that wife of his; I don’t understand how someone like him, someone who always had such good judgment, would marry such a woman. I find her coarse and conceited. Look at the way she pranced around at our wedding. It was like had to be the center of attention. And that business about matchmaking for Reverend Bates’ niece? Like she was some expert on the subject. I don’t like it, Emily.” Emily had forgotten all about the conversation at the reception regarding Sophia Bates. She touched Henry hand. “I doubt anyone even remembers that. It was just mentioned casually, nothing serious.” “Women like Mrs. Weston are never casual about stirring up trouble.” He looked at his wife and smiled. She was a beautiful woman, but she was innocent and naive as well. It made Henry yearn to protect her. But she also had to learn some things on her own about people. She looked up at him, smiling. She brought his hand to her lips. “Henry, please. It’s only tea.” “You really want to go that much?”“I want to make friends,” she said. “I’m new here, Henry. I’m sure I will meet other ladies there. I promise I will not get myself into anything I shouldn’t.” He looked into her pleading eyes with pleasure. How could he deny this exquisite creature anything? “Alright,” he replied. “Only if you promise me you will watch yourself with that woman.” He sighed. “Maybe I am over-reacting. Maybe now she is a wife she will guard her behavior and want to make her husband proud. You know, she is also with child they say. You will probably have a lot to discuss, both of you being first time mothers.” Emily nearly jumped out of her seat. “Oh, Henry, that is capital! We will have something in common right from the beginning. You will see, everything will be fine. You will see you had nothing to fear.” He pulled her into his arms. “All I fear is you will not be happy or be hurt.” She looked up at him. “Unhappy, Mister Woodhouse? As your wife? Absolutely impossible!” Eleanor hated sneaking out of the house, but in her mind, it was absolutely necessary. She was determined that she should get a real education, not just an education of female accomplishment. It was just like Mary Wolstonecraft said in her new treatise “Vindication on the Rights of Women; female accomplishment got women nothing. It made them ornamental only. She wanted to be more than dressing on a man’s arm. She wanted to be a person with her own mind, in her own right. And she would get that education even if she had to do it secretly. She was grateful to her aunt and uncle for taking her in after her parents died. They had been kind to her, provided for all her needs, and made her always feel like a real part of their family. And she enjoyed her role as governess to her little cousin Molly. But she knew what was being planned for her, and she would have none of it. She had seen the invitation her aunt received from Mrs. Weston and remembered the conversation at the Woodhouse’s wedding. Find her a husband? Not before she got the education she wanted and became the person she wanted to be. Then if the right man came alone, so be it. But it would be of her own choosing, when she was ready, and it certainly would not be decided by that nasty Weston woman. As she emerged onto the lane from a path through the woods she had personally created for her secret journeys, she nearly collided with Mr. Perry, the apothecary. He stumbled, dropping the knapsack he carried filled with medicine bottles. The bottles made a clinking noise as they hit the ground. His eyes grew large behind his spectacles. “Miss Bates, what on earth are you about, running in the woods at this early hour?” He grabbed his bag, pulling at the flap that had fallen open. “These bottles are expensive. If some of them are broken, I will hold you responsible.” Eleanor kneeled down with him, helping him pick up the few bottles that escaped the bag. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, handing him one. “But it looks like all is intact.” As he returned the bottles to the bag, he held one of them. The morning sun hit the glass, revealing a bright yellow color. “It’s just I have been looking for these plants for weeks. It is very helpful to Mr. Cole’s rheumatism. I would hate to lose any of it. Isn’t the color lovely?” “What sort of plant is it?” she asked. “It’s called Cat’s Claw,” he replied, beaming at her interest. “It is good for the swelling.” “I hear ginger and turmeric are also beneficial for that ailment.” He smiled, turning his head to the side. “You know of these things?” “A bit,” she replied. “My uncle has a book on treatments.” “You are smart young lady, Miss Bates. I say, you will make someone a good wife one day. Nevertheless, I am curious why you are lurking around in the woods by yourself.” As much as she liked Mr. Perry, she knew if he knew the truth he would run and tell her aunt and uncle. As it was, he would probably tell them he saw her. “Just going for a walk before the day begins, sir. Good for the health, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled, the broken veins on his cheeks bursting red. “Yes, indeed. I commend your efforts. It is a lovely morning. The fresh air does everyone good.” He threw his bag over his shoulder. “Have a blessed day,” he exclaimed as he waddled down the lane like the ducks she and Molly fed in the pond. At last she could see the schoolhouse. She picked up her pace, nearly breaking into a run. Every time she saw the little white house that contained Mr. Goddard’s School, she felt the excitement well up inside her. She met Mr. Arthur Goddard when he came to give a progress report to her uncle about a boy he was sponsoring. He was a farm boy named James Martin. He was a member of her uncle’s parish that he felt had potential for the ministry someday and he was paying for him to attend Mr. Goddard’s school. Eleanor generally took no interest in the guests that came to the Bates’ house. Most of them were there to glean assistance, and they were bland and had little of interest to say. She usually stayed upstairs with Molly until they left. But that day, when she heard that Mr. Goddard of Goddard’s School would be coming for tea, she was determined to procure his attention. She made sure she looked well but didn’t want to look too frilly and fancy for someone she hoped would be a serious scholar. She wore her plain grey gown and pulled her long dark her back away from her face. She wanted to be taken seriously, and girls that were too frilly and overdone were not. When she was introduced to Mr. Goddard, he rose, bowed and took her hand. “En chante, mademoiselle,” he said, “It is nice to at last meet you. I have heard much of you from your uncle.” Eleanor pulled her hand away. This was no serious schoolmaster. This man was a dandy. It was clear he was wearing a tight corset underneath his coat to trim his silhouette. His plaid pants were of fine fabric and matched the red velvet of the jacket. His dark beard shadowed his very round face. But the most prominent feature of all was his moustache, which was waxed skinny into a large curl on both sides. It was so large that Eleanor couldn’t pull her gaze from it. Mr. Bates cleared his throat. “Eleanor, you’re being rude. Please sit down.” His chastising pulled her from her stupor. She no longer wanted to talk to this man. She was sure from the look of him he would never support her as a student. She wanted to excuse herself and walk away, but she knew this would seriously displease her uncle, so she sat down, allowing her aunt to pour her some tea. Mr. Goddard took a sip of his tea, then put a napkin to his moustache. Eleanor wondered if the wax would melt from the hot liquid. “So, Miss Bates,” he said. “Your aunt tells me you are quite the reader. What is your favorite? I know most young ladies enjoy Ann Radcliffe, or Fanny Burney.” Thinking she had nothing to lose, she told him the truth. She certainly didn’t want to attend a school with a silly schoolmaster. “I do enjoy a novel on occasion, sir, but I feel I should read more important texts.” “And what might those be?” he asked. He crossed his legs, then began twirling his moustache. “I like German philosophers very much. My favorite is Goethe.” “I see,” he said, “I admire him as well. And he has just finished his new play, Torquato Tasso, which I hear is amazing. Do you like the theatre, Miss Bates? “I’m sure I would. As you can imagine, we don’t get much theatre here in Highbury.” He nodded. “I see. Well, I’m sure someday that problem will be remedied. But I think Goethe’s time has come and gone. We are close to a new century. It is time for new men and woman to take their place on a new stage and show the world a new way.” Her uncle fidgeted in his seat. “Truly, Mr. Goddard, we have tried to show Miss Bates the right way for ladies. But no matter how we try, she still seems to find her way to things that are unsuitable.” Mr. Goddard held his teacup in an exaggerated way with his pinky finger sticking out. “No, no, Reverend. No learning, in any capacity, is bad for anyone, male or female. The more learned all people are, the better the world we live in will be.” He turned back to her. “Have you had the pleasure of reading Mr. Blake’s work?” “Mr. Blake?” “Yes, William Blake. He has new poems. I just received a copy.” “Poems, sir? They do not interest me much,” she replied. “I prefer to read essays. They are much more serious and tell us much more about the world.” “Ah, that is where you are wrong, miss. Poets tell us of the human heart. Have you not read Shakespeare?” “Shakespeare?” she asked. “He has been insignificant for many years. Have you not read Mr. Johnson?"He placed the teacup down, shifting forward in his chair. “You are mistaken. Shakespeare never goes out of style. You must read his works. It is essential in your understanding of the world.” It was her that was now leaning forward in her seat. She looked into his eyes. They were an a light green. But in their cool, quiet color, there was an excitement; a passion that Eleanor knew was like her own. Suddenly the silly clothes and moustache were no longer pertinent in her view. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. There was a ubiquitous understand that needed no words. The moment was broken when Mr. Bates cleared his throat. “Mr. Goddard, I don’t think those things are appropriate for a young lady to read,” he said in a cutting tone. “Eleanor, you should be reading Fordyce’s Sermons.” He turned to Mr. Goddard, his cheeks going crimson. “Sir, you have been teaching young men too long to know what is appropriate for a young lady.” He cleared his throat again. “In Shakespeare there is much, shall we say, fornication.” He stood. “Excuse me, I must see if Mrs. Bates needs my assistance.” As he left the room, Eleanor again locked eyes with Mr. Goddard. They broke into laughter. He reached out and lightly touched her hand. “Miss Bates, never let anyone keep you from improving your mind.” He leaned in again, whispering. “Have you heard of Mary Wolstonecraft? She is a great supporter of women’s learning.” Eleanor felt as if the sun had come out after a long rain. “Sir,” she looked around, then whispered, “I have been trying to read it, but as you can imagine,” she looked toward the door where Mr. Bates exited, “it isn’t without difficulty.” “Why not come to the school and read? I will give you access to my library. Is there a time you can escape the house for a time?” “When shall I come?” “Come in the morning, when everything is quiet. No one will disturb you there.” So began Eleanor’s morning journeys to Mr. Goddard’s library. In the last several months, she had read many of Shakespeare’s play and his sonnets, was able to finish “The Vindication of the Rights of Women,” and other books, all at the suggestion of Mr. Goddard, who would leave a note on the door for her every week with recommendations. After a while, it wasn’t enough to read the books, she wanted someone to discuss them with. She asked if Mr. Goddard would mind meeting her once a week. He agreed, and their discussions, always over tea, were interesting and stimulating. The night before, she could barely sleep, brimming with the anticipation of the next day’s conversation. She was at last at the door of the school. She looked around and behind, making sure no one saw her as she opened the door.

The Wives of Highbury, Part V

Six months later Emily sat alone, basking in the morning sun as it washed through her window. This room was her favorite in the house. Henry had refurbished the alcove just off their bedroom for her as a wedding gift. It had a large comfortable chair and ottoman, covered in her favorite shade of aqua. Next to that was a beautiful oak tea table that had belonged to Henry great-grandmother. The table had drawers beneath it that kept the china blue tea service from Wedgewood that was a wedding gift from her parents. Beyond that was a matching oak desk where she spent time writing her letters. A welcome gust of wind blew through the light, lacy white draperies, cooling her face as she sipped her favorite brew of tea. Henry always teased her about liking such strong tea, but she couldn’t start the day without it. She never had such delicious, full-bodied tea until she came here to Hartfield. In fact, everything seemed better here, in her own home, and in this new life she loved. She looked down at her belly, which now pushed ever so slightly against the fabric of her dressing gown. She felt she was lucky to have conceived right away, knowing how much Henry wanted a child. If all went as planned, the child would be born just about the time of their first wedding anniversary. Emily smiled to herself, thinking how foolish she had been to worry about marrying Henry. With an arranged marriage to a man that was a stranger to her, she feared for her happiness. But the last six months with Henry had been more wonderful than she ever could have imagined. No woman could ask for a better husband. He was kind and gentle in all things, always looking out for her comfort and care. She had never felt this cared for even by her own family. Life could not be more perfect. She was so deep in thought she jumped when her maid entered. Tess had been a servant at Hartfield since Henry was a child and was very fond of him. At first, she regarded Emily with suspicion, and later admitted she was skeptical about the match. But Emily knew she could bring her around, and now they were great friends. Tess smiled; her face alight with so rosy a glow she looked wind burned. “Oh, I am sorry, ma’am. Didn’t mean to startle you.” Emily put down her tea and sat up tall. Usually, she knew Tess was coming before she even arrived in the room. A woman with a large girth, she could always hear her coming down the hall, her shoes banging heavy against the wooden hallway floor. “It is alright, Tess. Usually the tea makes me more alert, but today I feel a bit dozy.” “Oh, that is natural, ma’am, in the beginning when you are with child. It is good for you to rest. I know Mr. Henry would wish it.” She lowered a silver tray down to Emily’s level. “Just wanted to bring this letter to you. It arrived just a bit ago.” Emily took the note. Gazing at the unfamiliar seal, she turned it over and saw it was from a place called Randalls. “Randalls? I thought that place was vacant,” said Emily. One thing she could always rely on from Tess was knowing the gossip going on all over Highbury. “Randalls has been occupied, ma’am, by young Mr. Weston. Of course, he is not young any longer, but it was the house of his father before him. They say Mr. Weston means to build a new home here, and they are living at Randalls just for now.” “The Westons? Oh, yes! I remember now! Mr. Weston is Henry’s friend from his childhood. He speaks very highly of him. And I spoke with Mrs. Weston at the reception. She is an interesting woman.” “Yes, she was part of the Queen’s court, they say,” said Tess. “She is quite the lady of fashion.” Tess giggled. “I’ve heard she is quite one for society. She will certainly stir things up in this neighborhood.” Emily broke the seal. She rubbed the fine linen stationery between her fingers before reading the invitation aloud: “Mrs. Frank Weston requests the pleasure of the presence of Mrs. Henry Woodhouse At an afternoon tea on Saturday next at two O’Clock Your Answer is requested. Tess peered over Emily’s shoulder. “Ma’am, how exciting! Why, an invitation from Mrs. Weston is the most sought after in town.” A male voice came booming into the room. “Invitation?” said Henry, “Who is extending invitations to my wife and not to me?” He bent down, kissing Emily on the forehead. “Have you a secret admirer?” Emily laughed. “Not hardly, darling. I have been invited to have tea with Mrs. Weston.” His jovial face suddenly grew serious. “Yes, I have spoken with Frank Weston. I will be good to have him back in the neighborhood. The wife, well, I am not so sure.” “But sir,” Tess chimed in. “It would do a young wife like your missus good to be associated with a woman of society like Mrs. Weston.” Henry glared at her. “That will be all for now, Tess.” Tess looked down at the floor and curtseyed. “Of course, sir. I will take my leave of you.” He sat down on the ottoman and took her hand. “Are you feeling well, my love? You look well today.” “I feel well,” she answered. He gazed over at the tea table. “You did not have Tess bring you a single bite of food. How do you expect this baby to grow if you don’t eat?” She shrugged. “I’m sorry, Henry. I have every intention of eating later. I am queasy in the morning. I do not like to lose my stomach.” “Alright, my dear. Just make sure you do.” He put his hand out. “May I?” She gave him the invitation. “It’s just tea, Henry. And I thought Mr. Weston was your friend. Do you not wish our families to socialize? “I do wish it,” he replied, still staring down at the paper, his eyebrows bent in vexation. “I was told her family was part of the peerage. She’s a very fashionable woman. With her accomplishments, she will run a fine house for Mr. Weston, I am sure.” Henry got up, placing the invitation on the tea table. “I have known Frank Weston since I was a child. There was a time when we saw each other every day before he went off to the army. He was always such a sensible gent, not at all taken in by people with airs. But that wife of his; I don’t understand how someone like him, someone who always had such good judgment, would marry such a woman. I find her coarse and conceited. Look at the way she pranced around at our wedding. It was like had to be the center of attention. And that business about matchmaking for Reverend Bates’ niece? Like she was some expert on the subject. I don’t like it, Emily.” Emily had forgotten all about the conversation at the reception regarding Sophia Bates. She touched Henry hand. “I doubt anyone even remembers that. It was just mentioned casually, nothing serious.” “Women like Mrs. Weston are never casual about stirring up trouble.” He looked at his wife and smiled. She was a beautiful woman, but she was innocent and naive as well. It made Henry yearn to protect her. But she also had to learn some things on her own about people. She looked up at him, smiling. She brought his hand to her lips. “Henry, please. It’s only tea.” “You really want to go that much?”“I want to make friends,” she said. “I’m new here, Henry. I’m sure I will meet other ladies there. I promise I will not get myself into anything I shouldn’t.” He looked into her pleading eyes with pleasure. How could he deny this exquisite creature anything? “Alright,” he replied. “Only if you promise me you will watch yourself with that woman.” He sighed. “Maybe I am over-reacting. Maybe now she is a wife she will guard her behavior and want to make her husband proud. You know, she is also with child they say. You will probably have a lot to discuss, both of you being first time mothers.” Emily nearly jumped out of her seat. “Oh, Henry, that is capital! We will have something in common right from the beginning. You will see, everything will be fine. You will see you had nothing to fear.” He pulled her into his arms. “All I fear is you will not be happy or be hurt.” She looked up at him. “Unhappy, Mister Woodhouse? As your wife? Absolutely impossible!” Eleanor hated sneaking out of the house, but in her mind, it was absolutely necessary. She was determined that she should get a real education, not just an education of female accomplishment. It was just like Mary Wolstonecraft said in her new treatise “Vindication on the Rights of Women; female accomplishment got women nothing. It made them ornamental only. She wanted to be more than dressing on a man’s arm. She wanted to be a person with her own mind, in her own right. And she would get that education even if she had to do it secretly. She was grateful to her aunt and uncle for taking her in after her parents died. They had been kind to her, provided for all her needs, and made her always feel like a real part of their family. And she enjoyed her role as governess to her little cousin Molly. But she knew what was being planned for her, and she would have none of it. She had seen the invitation her aunt received from Mrs. Weston and remembered the conversation at the Woodhouse’s wedding. Find her a husband? Not before she got the education she wanted and became the person she wanted to be. Then if the right man came alone, so be it. But it would be of her own choosing, when she was ready, and it certainly would not be decided by that nasty Weston woman. As she emerged onto the lane from a path through the woods she had personally created for her secret journeys, she nearly collided with Mr. Perry, the apothecary. He stumbled, dropping the knapsack he carried filled with medicine bottles. The bottles made a clinking noise as they hit the ground. His eyes grew large behind his spectacles. “Miss Bates, what on earth are you about, running in the woods at this early hour?” He grabbed his bag, pulling at the flap that had fallen open. “These bottles are expensive. If some of them are broken, I will hold you responsible.” Eleanor kneeled down with him, helping him pick up the few bottles that escaped the bag. “I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, handing him one. “But it looks like all is intact.” As he returned the bottles to the bag, he held one of them. The morning sun hit the glass, revealing a bright yellow color. “It’s just I have been looking for these plants for weeks. It is very helpful to Mr. Cole’s rheumatism. I would hate to lose any of it. Isn’t the color lovely?” “What sort of plant is it?” she asked. “It’s called Cat’s Claw,” he replied, beaming at her interest. “It is good for the swelling.” “I hear ginger and turmeric are also beneficial for that ailment.” He smiled, turning his head to the side. “You know of these things?” “A bit,” she replied. “My uncle has a book on treatments.” “You are smart young lady, Miss Bates. I say, you will make someone a good wife one day. Nevertheless, I am curious why you are lurking around in the woods by yourself.” As much as she liked Mr. Perry, she knew if he knew the truth he would run and tell her aunt and uncle. As it was, he would probably tell them he saw her. “Just going for a walk before the day begins, sir. Good for the health, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiled, the broken veins on his cheeks bursting red. “Yes, indeed. I commend your efforts. It is a lovely morning. The fresh air does everyone good.” He threw his bag over his shoulder. “Have a blessed day,” he exclaimed as he waddled down the lane like the ducks she and Molly fed in the pond. At last she could see the schoolhouse. She picked up her pace, nearly breaking into a run. Every time she saw the little white house that contained Mr. Goddard’s School, she felt the excitement well up inside her. She met Mr. Arthur Goddard when he came to give a progress report to her uncle about a boy he was sponsoring. He was a farm boy named James Martin. He was a member of her uncle’s parish that he felt had potential for the ministry someday and he was paying for him to attend Mr. Goddard’s school. Eleanor generally took no interest in the guests that came to the Bates’ house. Most of them were there to glean assistance, and they were bland and had little of interest to say. She usually stayed upstairs with Molly until they left. But that day, when she heard that Mr. Goddard of Goddard’s School would be coming for tea, she was determined to procure his attention. She made sure she looked well but didn’t want to look too frilly and fancy for someone she hoped would be a serious scholar. She wore her plain grey gown and pulled her long dark her back away from her face. She wanted to be taken seriously, and girls that were too frilly and overdone were not. When she was introduced to Mr. Goddard, he rose, bowed and took her hand. “En chante, mademoiselle,” he said, “It is nice to at last meet you. I have heard much of you from your uncle.” Eleanor pulled her hand away. This was no serious schoolmaster. This man was a dandy. It was clear he was wearing a tight corset underneath his coat to trim his silhouette. His plaid pants were of fine fabric and matched the red velvet of the jacket. His dark beard shadowed his very round face. But the most prominent feature of all was his moustache, which was waxed skinny into a large curl on both sides. It was so large that Eleanor couldn’t pull her gaze from it. Mr. Bates cleared his throat. “Eleanor, you’re being rude. Please sit down.” His chastising pulled her from her stupor. She no longer wanted to talk to this man. She was sure from the look of him he would never support her as a student. She wanted to excuse herself and walk away, but she knew this would seriously displease her uncle, so she sat down, allowing her aunt to pour her some tea. Mr. Goddard took a sip of his tea, then put a napkin to his moustache. Eleanor wondered if the wax would melt from the hot liquid. “So, Miss Bates,” he said. “Your aunt tells me you are quite the reader. What is your favorite? I know most young ladies enjoy Ann Radcliffe, or Fanny Burney.” Thinking she had nothing to lose, she told him the truth. She certainly didn’t want to attend a school with a silly schoolmaster. “I do enjoy a novel on occasion, sir, but I feel I should read more important texts.” “And what might those be?” he asked. He crossed his legs, then began twirling his moustache. “I like German philosophers very much. My favorite is Goethe.” “I see,” he said, “I admire him as well. And he has just finished his new play, Torquato Tasso, which I hear is amazing. Do you like the theatre, Miss Bates? “I’m sure I would. As you can imagine, we don’t get much theatre here in Highbury.” He nodded. “I see. Well, I’m sure someday that problem will be remedied. But I think Goethe’s time has come and gone. We are close to a new century. It is time for new men and woman to take their place on a new stage and show the world a new way.” Her uncle fidgeted in his seat. “Truly, Mr. Goddard, we have tried to show Miss Bates the right way for ladies. But no matter how we try, she still seems to find her way to things that are unsuitable.” Mr. Goddard held his teacup in an exaggerated way with his pinky finger sticking out. “No, no, Reverend. No learning, in any capacity, is bad for anyone, male or female. The more learned all people are, the better the world we live in will be.” He turned back to her. “Have you had the pleasure of reading Mr. Blake’s work?” “Mr. Blake?” “Yes, William Blake. He has new poems. I just received a copy.” “Poems, sir? They do not interest me much,” she replied. “I prefer to read essays. They are much more serious and tell us much more about the world.” “Ah, that is where you are wrong, miss. Poets tell us of the human heart. Have you not read Shakespeare?” “Shakespeare?” she asked. “He has been insignificant for many years. Have you not read Mr. Johnson?"He placed the teacup down, shifting forward in his chair. “You are mistaken. Shakespeare never goes out of style. You must read his works. It is essential in your understanding of the world.” It was her that was now leaning forward in her seat. She looked into his eyes. They were an a light green. But in their cool, quiet color, there was an excitement; a passion that Eleanor knew was like her own. Suddenly the silly clothes and moustache were no longer pertinent in her view. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. There was a ubiquitous understand that needed no words. The moment was broken when Mr. Bates cleared his throat. “Mr. Goddard, I don’t think those things are appropriate for a young lady to read,” he said in a cutting tone. “Eleanor, you should be reading Fordyce’s Sermons.” He turned to Mr. Goddard, his cheeks going crimson. “Sir, you have been teaching young men too long to know what is appropriate for a young lady.” He cleared his throat again. “In Shakespeare there is much, shall we say, fornication.” He stood. “Excuse me, I must see if Mrs. Bates needs my assistance.” As he left the room, Eleanor again locked eyes with Mr. Goddard. They broke into laughter. He reached out and lightly touched her hand. “Miss Bates, never let anyone keep you from improving your mind.” He leaned in again, whispering. “Have you heard of Mary Wolstonecraft? She is a great supporter of women’s learning.” Eleanor felt as if the sun had come out after a long rain. “Sir,” she looked around, then whispered, “I have been trying to read it, but as you can imagine,” she looked toward the door where Mr. Bates exited, “it isn’t without difficulty.” “Why not come to the school and read? I will give you access to my library. Is there a time you can escape the house for a time?” “When shall I come?” “Come in the morning, when everything is quiet. No one will disturb you there.” So began Eleanor’s morning journeys to Mr. Goddard’s library. In the last several months, she had read many of Shakespeare’s play and his sonnets, was able to finish “The Vindication of the Rights of Women,” and other books, all at the suggestion of Mr. Goddard, who would leave a note on the door for her every week with recommendations. After a while, it wasn’t enough to read the books, she wanted someone to discuss them with. She asked if Mr. Goddard would mind meeting her once a week. He agreed, and their discussions, always over tea, were interesting and stimulating. The night before, she could barely sleep, brimming with the anticipation of the next day’s conversation. She was at last at the door of the school. She looked around and behind, making sure no one saw her as she opened the door.

Looking for Great Reads during Shelter-In-Place? Here's a list to get you started!

These are just a few of my favorites!!! East of Eden by John Steinbeck – Published 1952To me, a truly great book is organic, meaning it changes as the reader changes.I first read this book when I was in my 20s.I loved it then, but for different reasons.Re-reading it in my 50s was a completely different experience.Steinbeck takes the reader from the Civil War era to early 20th century California in this story about the lives of two generations of brothers in this family saga.He imbibes the setting of Salinas, California with the novel’s biblical theme of good and evil, making the imagery rich and succulent. California comes alive on the page; the sounds and smells overwhelming the psyche.The characters are literary perfection; hopelessly flawed; permeated with promise as well as tragedy.Adam Trask, his brother Charles Trask, and Adam’s sons Cal and Aaron live their lives in a circumference of one woman, who embodies both good and evil to the detriment of all that encounter her.She is a true chameleon; a Satanic figure that spits venom and sweetness.In the end, Steinbeck lets the reader decide what is good, and what is evil in this work written later in his career.This novel becomes a part of you, you will remember it forever.That, in my estimation, is what great literature does.Roots by Alex Haley – Published 1976This book, with all the controversy behind it, is still one of the only books that tells the story of the human journey of Africans being brought to America as slaves with honesty and without falsehoods and embellishments.It was the first time many white Americans got a clear view into the barbarism, hatred, and oppression that these people faced when they were brought to America against their will; told from the point of view of the men and women who lived it.Haley put a human face on his characters; letting the reader experience their strife, suffering, and as times goes by, their joys and triumphs.The story inspires every emotion; you’ll find yourself cringing, crying, laughing, and looking at our African-American brothers and sisters with a greater empathy and understanding.Poldark by Winston Graham – Published 1945The Poldark novels (there are 12) are similar to “East of Eden” in the sense that setting acts as character. That setting is Cornwall, with its rocky coasts and raging ocean breakers.It is the center of life of all its inhabitants, who run the gamut between dirt poor and moderately wealthy.The first novel introduces Ross Poldark, a captain in the army returning home from fighting in the American Revolutionary war.Ross comes home to some unpleasant surprises; his father is dead, the girl he loved is marrying his cousin, and his ancestral home is filled with inebriated servants and barnyard animals.But Ross Poldark is no ordinary guy.He is a rebel; a 18th century Robin Hood whose strength of character enables him to buck his own class at every turn.This rebellion includes marrying a girl he hires as a maid to save her from her abusive father, and standing up for the lower-class poor that work in his mines.The 12 novels that span from 1783 to 1820 are rife with history of both England and France.But what endures me to these novels are beautifully rendered characters of every kind.Rich, poor, stupid, brilliant and beyond grace these pages.You are pulled into their lives, and will be compelled to see how it all turns out, right to the last page of the last novel.Outlander by Diana Galbadon – Published 1991Diana Galbadon’s story of Claire Beechum Randall, a brave and gutsy World War II nurse who encounters the ancient stones on Scotland’s Craig na Dun and is accidentally drawn in by their mysterious forces, transporting her back 200 years, is enjoying great popularity due to the television show.But these novels stand on their own merits.Claire is strong and tender and most of all smart, using her nursing skills to transform herself into a healer to survive in the brutal and sometimes barbaric environment of the 1740s Scotland that she is transport to.But what brings the true beauty to this novel is the unexpected and passionate love Claire encounters with Jamie Fraser, a young Scottish Highlander.Galbadon takes you on a journey, not only through 18th century Scotland, but through the ups and downs of a once in a lifetime love that cannot be broken, even by time.There are eight of these novels, but I recommended the first four as the best.My only complaint is that the writer tends to write pages and pages of description, which makes the books drag in certain parts.But the story of Jamie and Claire and their adventures make it worth it.We all wish to believe love can endure anything, and the hero and heroine of Outlander feeds that need in all of us.Through a Glass Darkly by Karleen Koen – Published 1986Koen’s novel set in early 18th century England launched Koen into the stratosphere in the late 1980s, paying her an unprecedented advance at the time of $350,000.00.It was money well spent.The protagonist, 15-year- old Barbara Alderly, is catapulted into the aristocratic world of excess and debauchery when she marries the very much senior Earl Devane.We watch young Barbara go from a sweet and trusting innocent girl to one whose world is shattered by a cruel and ugly one she had no idea existed.She grows up quickly, coming into her own in just a few short years, right before what is known as the South Sea Bubble takes place, which caused an economic crisis in Britain in 1720 that nearly bankrupted the government, sending many in the aristocracy to the poorhouse. The author can depict Barbara’s emotions so well that the readers feels every triumph and every ache as if it were their own.We experience her growth from a child to a woman in a very personal way.Also, the extensive research Koen did conveys the period to the reader in a way you would swear you were there.One of the best historical fiction reads ever! The Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory – Published 2001I’ve been a big fan of Gregory’s novels ever since I first read Wideacre, published back in 1987. The Other Boleyn Girl is by far her best. The novel is told from the point of view of Mary Boleyn,older sister of future queen Anne Boleyn. Henry VIII’s mistress before Anne, the story depictsthe victimization and vulnerability of women in the Tudor aristocracy. When Henry wanted analready married Mary Boleyn for his mistress, she or her husband had little choice in the matter. Henry got what he wanted. After Mary bears Henry two children (one of them a son) she falls in love with the King, only to be cast aside by the jealous and competitive Anne, who lures the King into her trap with her charms. But once Mary recovers, she realizes what she truly wants is a normal life, and moves away from court.But being the sister of Anne Boleyn does not allow for such normalcy. Mary ends up having a ringside seat to the rise of her sister as Queen of England, as well as her demise, and the demise of her once powerful family. I loved this book so much I read it in just one sitting (some 600 pages) one New Year’s Eve after my husband and daughter fell asleep. It does what a great historical fiction read should do; immerses you in another time while it teaches you about the period. Don’t miss it!! America’s First Daughter by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie – Published 2016 It is not easy to find really great fiction set during the Revolutionary War period, but this book nails It. The story follows Martha Jefferson Randolph, daughter of Thomas and Martha Jefferson, through her turbulent life. Martha’s unconventional feelings and relationship with her father touched every part of her life, which included her relationship with Sally Hemings, her own brothers and sisters, as well as her difficult and jealous spouse Thomas Mann Randolph. Written from Martha’s POV, we experience her love hate relationship with her physically and emotionally absent father. Martha is a smart and intense woman whose first priority is protecting her father and his legacy, often at the cost of everything else in her life. Another great page turner that will endear you to the heart of this wonderful character. Benjamin Franklin’s Bastard by Sally Cabot – Published 2013This novel chronicles the life of William Franklin, the son of Ben Franklin and his mistress Anne. The boy is raised by Franklin’s wife Deborah, who resents the boy at every turn. Williamgrows up to take his own path, a path opposite of his father’s, and he eventually becomes the loyalist governor of New Jersey. Cabot’s characters inspire strong emotions in us, along withgiving clear insights into the very common conflicts that emerged between families during the American Revolution. We get to know both father and son with all their gifts and flaws alike.Another great title that combines great history with great people living in it.Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell – Published 1936What list of historical fiction books would be complete without this timeless classic? Scarlett O”Hara is one of the most recognized and revered characters not only in this genre, but in fiction itself. We love her, we pity her, we hate her, along with her foils; the perfect Melanie, the bratty Sue-Ellen, the weak Charles and Frank, the whimsical Ashley, and of course, Rhett Butler, the dynamic character who turns from rake to hero on a dime. As the Civil War churns its turbulent winds about them, they witness the end of the old southern lifestyle and learn how to survive in a whole new world. This book doesn’t need a recommendation. Everyone who loves this genre should read it, period.The Magic of Ordinary Days by Ann Howard Creel – Published 2002This book has a similar theme to Outlander in how it depicts a young man and woman who come together during extraordinary times as strangers that eventually grow to love each other. Olivia, a graduate student, gets pregnant after a one nighter with a soldier during World War II. Her fierce minister father arranges a marriage for her to a young farmer that lives away from her Denver home on eastern Colorado’s desolate plains. Married to a man she doesn’t know or understand, she seeks solace in other things. But even in this small quiet town, the war and its repercussions touch their lives when she makes friends with two Japanese girls who work on her husband’s farm while living in an internment camp. Olivia, driven by loneliness and isolation, unwittingly becomes mixed up in their illegal activities. She encounters betrayal all around her, until she finally sees that the love she needs is right in front of her all the time. Creel depicts that period well with descriptions of historical events, including details of the internment camp. A warm fuzzy of a book set in a time everyone should be familiar with.Happy reading and learning!!

Poems for the Pandemic

Ever since I was a child, whenever anything truly significant or troubling happened in my life, I turned to my pen, and my words.Those words were usually in the form of poetry. So today I give you two of those poems. One is positive, one is not. I feel both points of view are valid. The Apocalyptic FlowerThey said the sightless slayer was coming,But we weren't prepared for battle.So we skittered like cockroachesUnder the lightTo our sequestered places.Empty streets ring of nothingBut the occasional shush of windTossing crumbled receipts down the sidewalkTumbled reflections of life before Corona.We listen for the countLike in Defoe's timeWaiting for the metaphoric dead wagonWho was old, who was young,Who was foreign or domestic in origin.We point the finger at Cheeto manOr the neighbor that emigratedFrom Wuhan.It's their fault, we sayWe try to take back our powerBut with an omniscient opponentAnd ambiguous weaponsWho can win a war?Hate and ugly words won't kill it,Even the guns we love so muchWon't kill itIt galls us greatly,Oh, great, superior humanity,With all its knowledge,Bested by a thing so tiny,That microscopic, apocalyptic flowerBigger than us all.Whew! Need some relief? Here ya go:BreatheIn this time of heartbreak,In this season of anguish,BreatheInhale the scents of spring,Past and present,Take in the rebirth of budding treesAnd birds returningPartake in flowersLaboring through frozen groundAlive againAmid the echoesof looming deathWhen it seems hopeless,In the midst of blacknessIn blinded visionLife beckonsBreathe inYour lover's sighsAnd your children's laughter.Draw inThe musicThat bursts at your windowLife is calling youEven when deathIs all you can hear.Never fearThe seasons are rhythmsThey wan and waxAnd this oneis no exception.

The Wives of Highbury

Miss Emily Brown stood before her mother’s looking glass. The glass had been in her family for generations, which was clear from its condition. The color was beginning to tarnish, and there were small cracks spiraling arbitrarily though the glass. But Emily knew her mother and grandmother stood before it on their wedding day, just as she was doing today. And from what they both told her, time didn’t change how a young woman felt on the most important day of her life. She was wearing the same gown they wore on their special day. It was altered to fit her figure, which was much smaller than either her mother’s or her grandmother’s. She had admired the dress through her entire childhood. It was a favorite pastime to hide inside her mother’s wardrobe so she could look at and touch the blue and white lace that covered the ivory satin gown, caressing the material between her tiny fingers. She dreamed of the day it would be her turn to wear it. And now her day to wear the gown had arrived. Did they feel the way she did when they wore it? Were they excited yet nervous? Happy yet apprehensive? Did they know their duty, yet were they afraid? How was she, a mere girl of 17, to please a man of 32? It was true her mother had taught her well. She was capable of running a household. She was proficient at many of the accomplishments she should be; she could sing and play the piano, spoke French and Italian, and could draw and paint. She loved children and loved teaching them. In truth, as she got older, she loved it so much she told her father what she really wanted was to be governess. But it was not to be. Her father said only girls that were poor were governesses. John Brown was a solicitor in their town of Highbury. He was known for his knowledge of laws that affected the landed gentry in the area and was well regarded for his efforts. Yet he was not welcome in the social circles of the gentry that he served. She knew he wished to change that. When one of his best clients, Mr. Henry Woodhouse of Hartfield, a popular gentleman and landowner, happened to mention he would like to find a wife, her father invited him to dinner, where he was introduced him to Emily. She found Mr. Woodhouse to be fairly good looking. He was charming and articulate. She liked him, but never thought, because of the difference in their stations, that he would be interested in her as anything more than someone who could make good conversation and amuse him with her musical talents. He was just another one of her father’s wealthy clients. He came to their home only a few times for tea before he took her for a walk one evening and told her he had asked her father for her hand, and he had consented. He told her it would be his greatest pleasure if she would become his wife. She was stunned; unsure of what to do, and more importantly, of what to feel. He was a good man, her mother said. He would give her and her children a good life. Still, Emily felt confused. What about love, she asked her mother. Shouldn’t there be at least some love; some feelings of passion? True love took time, her mother told her. She said she was not in love with her father at first but learned to love him. And as for romantic love, well, that didn’t last. Mutual respect and caring were much more important. Her father wasn’t as kind regarding her questions of love. He said her marrying Mr. Woodhouse would raise the entire family up. Her sisters would be able to make better matches when it was time for them to wed. It was her duty to the family to accept the proposal. So, she did her duty, accepting Mr. Woodhouse, and hoped that all would work out well. She jumped when there was a knock on the door. Mother, is it time?” she asked. “Not yet,” she said. “But something has come for you from Hartfield.” Her mother opened the door and handed her a small box with a note. “Looks like something from your intended,” her mother said with a knowing smile. “I will let you enjoy it in private.” She closed the door behind her. Emily opened the box to find a pair of earrings. They were beautiful; a diamond earring with a drop emerald. She had never owned anything so elegant. She opened the letter. My Dearest Emily: I hope you like the earrings; they belonged to my mother, and they were among her favorite pieces. I think they will lookwell on you; enhancing the beauty of your eyes that are almost as green as the stones. My dear, I know you don’t know me well, and you are apprehensive. I must tell you I feel the same. But anything worth having in life is worth the risk. We can never know for sure what life has in store for us. What I can tell you with certainty that I will be true to my vows to love, honor and cherish you. But I also promise to respect your wishes and your opinions, and we will have a full partnership in all things. I will be your protector, your confidante, and most importantly, your friend. I’ll see you at the altar, my darling. I will be waiting. Your husband-to-be, Henry Woodhouse “I declare, I just don’t understand it,” said Elizabeth Weston. “It is hard to fathom why a man like your friend Mr. Woodhouse would marry someone such as this Miss Brown. I’m sure she is lovely and poised, but he could have had any number of girls with twice the breeding and the dowry. He certainly could have done better than a solicitor’s daughter.” Frank Weston sighed, looking out the carriage window. “Henry is quite smitten with Emily,” he replied. “She will make him a good wife. And Henry says she is quite accomplished.” He turned, taking his wife’s hand. “Besides, if you were so conscious of station, Lizzie, you would not have married me, a mere military man.” “That’s another matter entirely,” said Elizabeth. “You came from a family of means, and they were able to purchase your commission. You have done well for yourself, my love..” “Yes, my father was what people would call a nabob.” “That is a terrible term. It is a crime to make money in the Far East? I think not. Your father did well there and brought his wealth back to England. I say it shows great ambition and ingenuity.” He laughed. “I would have been nice if your father had thought that.” “Yes, well, my family believes wealth must be inherited. They don’t understand the world is changing, and that anyone with the right connections can earn their way into good society if they choose, such as your father did. Still, a tradesperson’s daughter? Mr. Woodhouse could have done better.” Frank didn’t answer. Elizabeth had her opinions about things, and he had learned in the short time they were married that arguing with her about them was futile. He didn’t bother to correct her that solicitors were not considered tradespeople, and many of them had married their sons and daughters into the upper classes. Sometimes he wondered who this woman was that he had married. Their courtship had been a short and passionate one. He met her at a ball given by one of his fellow officers when they were billeted in Yorkshire. When he thought of it today, it still made his heart pound. Elizabeth Churchill was everything he ever wanted. Beautiful, well-spoken and mannered, intelligent and funny. He was sure he’d found the woman of his dreams. But her family had other plans for her. The Churchills were one of the oldest and wealthiest families in Yorkshire. They had promised her to the son of her mother’s sister when she was still an infant; a cousin that had £30,000. per year. Frank could never compete with such a sum, even though he had enough to provide Elizabeth a good life. Elizabeth was given a choice, either marry her cousin as planned, or marry Frank and be disowned by her family. Frank told her he understood; that making such a choice would be impossible, but she said no, she wanted to be his wife more than anything. They ran away to Gretna Green in the middle of night, and Elizabeth never looked back. Or did she? He sensed a restlessness in her at times. He gave her all the material things she wished, but she could no longer fraternize with the people of her youth. The social circles she’d been a part of all her life were now closed to her. When she saw these old friends in the streets and tried to speak to them, they looked down and quickly walked away. She was lonely and discontented, and he could not be with her during the times he was called up. He wondered if she was sorry that she married him and turned her back on the life she had known. He was sure that soon she would have a child to occupy her, but in the interim, she needed something to ease her troubled disposition. “My dear,” he started, “I have been thinking. Soon we will have a family, and I don’t wish to raise them in town. My father’s house in Highbury has been vacant for some time. We could move there temporarily, and then look for a place of our own.” She stared at him. “You want to live in Highbury? But I know no one there, Frank.” “I grew up there. I know pretty much everyone. And you have always been very adept in the social graces. You would be the most important lady of the town in no time.” She sat quiet for a moment. “I will think on it. You say most of the people in the town will be at the wedding?” “Absolutely. I think you will find them all quite amiable. Many of the people I grew up are like we are, newly marriedand starting families. A new generation of residents is emerging. It will be a wonderful place for our children to grow up in. And when I am away with the militia, you will have friends to look after you. Also, Surrey is only 16 miles from London, should you wish to partake in the amusements of town on occasion.” “And they are all respectable families?” “Well, of course.” She lowered her voice. “You know what I mean by respectable, Frank. I mean people that are equal to our station. You know I cannot be expected to fraternize with farmers and artisans.” “I think that is of minor importance,” he said, his tone curt. “But to answer your question; yes. There is Mr. Knightley of Donwell Abbey, a widower with two young sons. And there are the Goddards, and of course there is Henry Woodhouse, and many others.” He reached for her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. “Trust me, Elizabeth, it is for the best.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “Alright, Frank. I will be very astute today in my observations of everyone, and I inform you as to what I think.” “That sounds fine, darling,” he said. Elizabeth could observe all she wanted, he thought, but the decision had been made. He would take her after the wedding and show her his father’s house, which he had completely refurbished just to her taste. She would be thrilled, and ready to show it off. They would be happy, and her memories of life before their marriage would fade. He just knew that all would be well. He could make her happy again. He was absolutely sure. Eleanor Bates sat in an empty corner of the courtyard at Highbury. She had finally been able to escape all the wedding guests, none of which she wished to speak with. Having to smile and curtsey and try to make conversation was terrifying for her. She was happiest alone in her room with her books and writing her stories. She had told her aunt, Mrs. Sophia Bates, she did not wish to attend the wedding of Mr. Woodhouse. She offered to stay at home and care for her little charge Molly, who was five years old. Her aunt and uncle had employed her as governess for the little girl. Molly was an eager learner, loving to draw and read. She and Molly would have a wonderful time together at home, she was sure. But Aunt Sophia said no, that since her uncle was the vicar, and was performing the marriage ceremony between Mr. Woodhouse and Miss Emily Brown, their entire household was obligated to attend. It was their duty, she said. She relaxed for the first time all day. Taking a deep breath, she could smell the mix of honeysuckle and lilac floating in the air. Off in the distance, she could see Miss Emily, now Mrs. Woodhouse, greeting her guests. She seemed very happy. She floated around in her lacy blue and white gown with an ephemeral flair. But Eleanor wondered, was she really happy? She knew Miss Emily’s marriage to Mr. Woodhouse had been an arranged match. The idea of that appalled her. She wanted to marry for love. She wanted to fall in love, like the girls she read about in Fanny Burney’s novels. That was the only way she would marry. And if she didn’t find this love, she would work as a governess, as she was now with little Molly. She knew an intellectual life was inappropriate for a young lady, but it was her heart’s desire and she was determined to have it. She jumped at the sound of a voice coming up behind her. “Eleanor Bates, there you are!” said Sophia. “What are you doing out here?” Eleanor stood. “Just enjoy the grounds, Aunt. They have such exquisite gardens here at Highbury.” Sophia narrowed her eyes. “Eleanor, we talked about this. You have to learn to make conversation and engage other people. I promised my sister that I would make sure you became a proper young lady.” “I am a proper young lady,” Eleanor replied, hands on her hips. “You would not have entrusted me with Molly’s education if you did not think so.” “That is true. But you are 18 years old. You must start thinking about your future.” “I have. My future is in my scholarly pursuits and in teaching others.” “So you wish to be an old maid? Old maids don’t have much of a life, Eleanor. What will you do for money?” “I will make money from my writings and from teaching young girls.” “That is not a life for a young woman like yourself. Your parents would not have allowed this, and neither will I. As long as I am responsible for your care, you will at least learn some social skills.” She grabbed her hand. “Look at you! You look lovely in that dress. Don’t you want others to see how beautiful you look?” The dress was ugly, thought Eleanor. She hated pink. It was girly; a color worn by silly girls with empty heads. But her aunt insisted the color was perfect on her. Gave her skin a bloom. And her aunt had insisted she wear a corset. Every breath she took was agony. “Come now, you have yet to meet the bride.” “Do I have a choice?” she asked. Mrs. Bates grinned. “Absolutely not.” “Yes, I suppose I should get used to not having a choice. If you are determined to marry me off, I certainly won’t have my own free will once I am someone’s wife.” “Be quiet now,” said Mrs. Bates in a low voice. “Young ladies must speak in a low voice.” The new Mrs. Woodhouse was sitting with Mrs. Weston. Mrs. Bates stopped, turning to Eleanor. “Sitting with the bride is Mrs. Weston. As a member of the Churchill family, she was a lady-in-waiting to Queen Charlotte before her marriage. She is also a friend to the Duchess of Devonshire, Lady Georgiana. She is one of the most fashionable women in London.” “Then what is she doing in Highbury?” Eleanor whispered. “She married Mr. Weston against her family’s wishes.” Eleanor grinned. “I like her already.” “Yes, well, she will probably become most important here. She and her husband are thinking of buying a home here, so we must be exceptionally polite.” She pulled on Eleanor’s hand again as she hesitated. “Come along now before we lose sight of her.” Mrs. Weston was definitely copying the Shepherdess style made so popular by Marie Antoinette. Her huge hat sat high on her head. The blue and white bow around it was almost as big. Her long curly brown locks flowed freely around her shoulders. Her blue and white striped gown had large puffy sleeves trimmed with lace, which also encircled a low neck that most women would consider indecent. “Mrs. Weston, may I introduce my niece, Miss Eleanor Bates. She is living with us and working as a governess to Molly.” The woman smiled, then looked her up and down. “Yes, your uncle the vicar spoke well of you to my husband. He says you at quite good at your books. But remember, dear, your books won’t get you a husband.” She looked at her again, then looked over at Mrs. Woodhouse. “What do you say, Mrs. Woodhouse? Do you think this girl will be the next one down the aisle?” Emily Woodhouse smiled. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bates. Thank you for sharing our special day with us.” Eleanor congratulated her. “I hope you and Mr. Woodhouse will find much happiness together.” “Thank you,” she replied. “I’m sure we will. I am very lucky. Mr. Woodhouse is a good man. Mrs. Weston pushed herself back into the conversation. She took out her handkerchief, gingerly wiping her cheek. “All husbands are wonderful in the beginning. Give it time. You will see his flaws soon enough. But you didn’t answer me, Mrs. Woodhouse. Is Miss Bates the next bride here in Highbury?” Emily’s cheeks reddened. “I cannot say, Mrs. Woodhouse. Do you seek a husband, Miss Bates?” “Don’t be ridiculous,” blurted Mrs. Weston. “Every young girl seeks a husband. She just has to be pointed in the right direction.” She took Eleanor’s hand. “When my husband and I finally settle in Highbury, I will take you under my wing, young lady. After being under my tuteluge, you will have such graces no man will be able to resist you. You will be better wed than our Mrs. Woodhouse here.” “Ellie!” said an excited child’s voice.” Little Molly Bates ran to Eleanor, grabbing her around the legs. “You must come with me to the duck pond. There is a new duck there. They call it a Muscove duck. It was brought here from another country by Mr. Woodhouse’s friend.” She grabbed her hand, “Come, please.” Eleanor looked at Mrs. Bates, her eyes pleading. Mrs. Bates nodded. “Go ahead, my dear. You and Molly have fun.” Eleanor smiled, looking relieved. She curtsied, then ran off after her little charge. The ladies stood watching them.” Mrs. Bates sighed. “She does need help in the social graces. What 18-year-old do you know that would rather look at ducks than socialize? I do worry about her so.” “Everyone grows up at a different pace,” said Emily. “I think she may need more time before marriage.” “What she needs is to be taken in hand,” said Mrs. Weston. “And between us three ladies, we will make the marriage of Eleanor Bates our special project. As soon as I am settled, we will have tea and discuss the details.” Mr. Woodhouse appeared, standing behind his bride. He took her hand in his, then looked around at the women’s faces. “What are you ladies contriving?” “What makes you say that, Mr. Woodhouse?” asked Mrs. Bates. “Because I always know when ladies are up to some scheme.” “Mrs. Weston was just saying we should try and help Miss Bates get a husband,” replied Emily. He shook his head. “Oh no. Matchmakers are the worst. They create all kind of trouble.” He pulled Emily away, his brow arched in suspicion. “Come, my dear, we have more guests to greet.” As they walked away, Mrs. Weston shook her head. “Men just don’t understand. No two people can make a marriage happen alone. Help is always required. It takes an experienced woman to know that.” Mrs. Weston and Mrs. Bates turned to watch Molly and Eleanor. They had removed their shoes and stockings and were jumping around in the pond with the ducks, kicking water and laughing. Mrs. Weston shook her head. “We have a lot of work to do, Mrs. Bates.” “Yes, it appears so,” said Mrs. Bates. And while she knew Mrs. Weston was right, she turned her head, and smiled.

Keep Reading: Part II of "Lighting a Dark December."

Jane entered the kitchen the next morning to find Carrie in a furious rant. “I knew it,” she blustered. “I knew that Master Nathan and Miss Sarah and all those people working against the king would come to no good. They’re ending up just like my first master, Mr. Lawrence. He was blown to high heaven! And now Master Hale is hung. And that silly, willful Miss Sarah. I bet she’s gonna hang too.” She sputtered as she cut up leeks for the afternoon meal. Jane jumped as Carrie slammed the knife down on the wood cutting block. “If you keep doing that, Carrie, you’re going to cut your finger off.” She stood for a moment, taking a deep breath. She glared at Jane. “You look like you ain’t seen a lick of sleep.” “I was seeing to Gilbert. He was ill most of the night.” “I know, I heard. He was heavin’ from all that whiskey he drunk.” Carrie pointed to the table. “There is tea and toast over there.” Jane poured her tea, then spread jam on some bread. “I take it you heard about Nathan and Sarah,” said Jane between bites. She ignored Jane. “Foolishness. And foolishness always leads down a bad road. That Master Hale, he was always trouble for Miss Sarah. She almost committed the worst sin of all because of him.” “It’s not the worst sin, Carrie. Not if two people love each other.” She turned to Jane, eyes like massive black buttons. “I ain’t talking ‘bout fornication. Do you remember when we had that terrible blizzard two winters ago?” “Yes,” Jane replied. “Of course. It was one of the worst winters we’ve ever had.” “Miss Sarah tried to jump off the pier in that storm. She tried to kill herself when Master Hale jilted her. Mr. Dudley, he saved her. If not for him, she would be fish food at the bottom of the Sound.” She picked up the knife again, continuing her slicing. “And why was she with Master Hale again? Wasn’t she going to marry Mr. Dudley?” She grabbed an onion, slamming the knife into it. It fell into two perfect halves. “It’s all a waste, I tell ya.” Jane lowered her eyes. “I’m sorry, I did not know about her trying to harm herself.” Toby, the butler, and the other former slave of the Lawrence’s had been sitting in the corner, peeling potatoes with his thin and shaky fingers. He was nearing his 90th year now. Crippled and frail, he couldn’t do much, but he was a part of the Saltonstall family and a companion to Mrs. Saltonstall and friend to everyone in the house. Until now, he hadn’t said a word. Suddenly he shook his white head. “Poor Miss Sarah. She loved that Master Hale. She loved Mr. Dudley too. And they loved her. What a girl she was.” Carrie turned to him. “Oh, hush your mouth, you old coot. You don’t remember nothing. None of it has come to any good. Just death. It all started with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson hiding all that gunpowder from the Redcoats.” “Mrs. Thompson didn’t hide a thing,” said Toby. “She was a Tory. A horrible woman. She tried to kidnap Miss Sarah and her daughter Clarise and take them back to England. She wanted to turn Sarah over to the King.” “Now Master Hale is hung, and Miss Sarah is in prison,” Carrie continued. “Nothing but waste. And have we rid ourselves of the King? We have not. Are we free of England? We are not. Nothing has changed. Just more dying.” Jane couldn’t argue with Carrie there. Things were looking dire for the rebels. After a summer and fall of many battles, the British had taken back York City and were heading toward Philadelphia. Mr. Saltonstall heard that the Continental Congress had fled Philadelphia for Baltimore for this reason. Washington was now asking Congress to create a professional army since the militia had not been enough to hold back the Redcoats. If Congress did not approve the new army, the chances of conquering the British and starting this new country many dreamed of were very bleak. Jane sat by the fire with her breakfast. “We must not give up. We must keep fighting.” “And you, girl,” Carrie bellowed. “Are you and Mr. Gilbert gonna do the right thing before that babe you’re carryin’ comes?” Jane stared at her, her face coloring. “Oh, yes. I know. You’re getting’ as fat as a house. And don’t tell me it’s my cookin’ ‘cuse you eat like a bird.” “Please, Carrie, lower your voice. I’m sure Toby doesn’t want to hear about this.” “Him? He already knows.” “That’s right, Miss Jane. I alreadys know. You are a good girl. That Mr. Gilbert, he can be a rascal. You need to make him do right by you.” “I will, Toby,” Jane replied. “And thank you. But how does everybody know? Do Gilbert’s parents know too?” Carrie stared at her. “Have you told the boy yet? Lordy, girl, you ran out in the snow last night with nothing on but a thin cloak, and you mean to say you still didn’t tell him?” ‘I was going to. But with the terrible news about Nathan, well, I never got around to it.” “Never got around to what, Jane?” Gilbert entered. He grabbed a piece of onion from Carrie’s block, biting into it. “Um, Carrie, these onions are strong. That soup will be savory and delicious. Just how I like it.” She pushed his hands away. “It won’t be no good if you keep takin’ what’s goin’ in it. You’ll be getting’ your fingers cut off. I’ll be cookin’ those in the pot.” She turned and glared at him. “How are ya feelin this morning? Must not be good after getting sick on all that liquor.” “That liquor will be the death of ya, Mr. Gilbert,” said Toby, now struggling to pop beans from their pods with his arthritic fingers. “I know many a man lost it all to that demon drink.” “You tell ‘ , Toby,” said Carrie. “One of these days he might listen.” “Yes, thank you, Toby, Carrie. Last night I got terrible news. I promise I will watch my drinking for now on.” He went over to Jane. “So….. what is the big secret you two are sharing?” Jane and Carrie exchanged a glance. “Nothing,” Jane replied. “Just talking gossip.” Carrie turned away, frowning and shaking her head. Gilbert grabbed her hand. “Come, let us get our cloaks and go for a ride. The sun is beautiful on the snow. I have the horses and the carriage all set. I have a surprise for you.” “Did you forget, Toby?” Carrie said, looking at Gilbert. Toby thought for a moment. “Oh, my goodness. I did almost forget. Mr. Gilbert, someone come with the package for you this morning.” Toby stood very slowly. The sound of his back cracking was audible. “Ouch,” he cried, grabbing his cane. “Sit back down, Toby,” said Gilbert. “Don’t exert yourself. Just tell me where it is.” “It’s right out the door here, on your mama’s desk.” Gilbert opened the door and grabbed the package. His scratched his forehead as he read the envelope. “What is it, Gilbert?” Jane asked. “I know not. It’s from York City. Dated mid-October.” “Are you going to open it?” He smiled at her, putting the envelope in his pocket. “No, not now. Come, we have other things to do. I want to show you my surprise.” As they went through the door, Carrie stared at Jane with wide eyes. “She has one for you too,” Carrie muttered. Jane glared at her as Gilbert took her hand, leading her out of the kitchen. Jane sat close to Gilbert, her head on his shoulder as the sleigh slid along the path. The trees were shrouded in sparkling blankets of white. Daylight pushed through the dappled trees, nearly blinding them as it burst through the weighted branches. She bowed her head, hiding her face from the light in the wool of Gilbert’s coat. The wind picked up, blowing the wet snow down upon them from above like a chilly dust. Jane squealed with glee as it came down, tickling her skin. Gilbert laughed, putting his arm around her. He slapped with reins, the horse trotting faster. As the sleigh picked up speed, the sharp air burnished their faces. They emerged into a clearing. Snow covered cornfields surrounded them on all sides. Just beyond the fields, there was a small, crude little building. As they got closer, Jane saw it was a rundown old barn. The roof was half off, and the boards on the sides were pulled up, as if someone had ripped them from the frame. Gilbert stopped. “Do you remember this place?” he asked. Jane thought for a moment. “Yes,” she said, “I do. Isn’t that Amos’ place? Wasn’t this where the Redcoats attacked that meeting of the Correspondence Committee two years ago? He got out of the sleigh. “It is. But it’s not Amo’s anymore. It’s mine.” “Yours? Why would you want this place? So many died here.” “True. But it was mostly Redcoats. Besides, I wasn’t there when the attack happened.” “Yes, I know,” she replied. “You were in the woods with my sister.” He turned, wrinkling his nose. “That’s an incident I would really like to forget about.” As Nathan and Sarah ran away from the Redcoat’s attack on the Correspondence Committee meeting, they discovered Emma and Gilbert, naked together in the woods. Several other men had seen them as well, and a scandal erupted, making Emma’s bad reputation much worse. After that, their father forbade Emma from seeing Gilbert ever again. “I wish I could forget it too,” she said under her breath. She followed him out of the sleigh to the barn. “I can still smell the smoke from the fire,” said Jane. “I’m surprised the Redcoats didn’t burn it down.” “They tried,” Gilbert replied as he entered the broken-down structure, looking up at the ceiling. “Amos did fix some of the burnt sections, but he was never able to finish because he answered the Lexington alarm. He’s in Boston now. He wrote Father and said he wasn’t returning and wanted to sell the property. I sent him the money for it just yesterday.” “And your father approves?” she asked, looking out a large hole in the wall. “He does. He wants me to make my own way; even though I’m set to inherit everything he has. And look at all this,” Gilbert gestured toward the fields. “Amos did very well. All this gave him a good living. I hope to do the same. It will give me a place to begin my life when this war is won.” Gilbert walked out of the barn. He pointed to a clearing in the trees. “And there’s the Thames River just over there. Lots of moisture will make good for all kinds of growing.” She knew it was impertinent to ask, but considering the situation, she knew she must. “Is this why you brought me out here? Is this the surprise? Are you telling me this to be my home too?” He hesitated, turning his gaze from her. He shuffled his feet on the icy ground. “Well, maybe someday. When the war is over. Right now the most important thing is winning this war.” She stared at him, shaking her head. “You’re never going to marry me, are you? You are going to abandon me like you did Emma.” She walked toward the river. He came after her. “Please, Jane. We’ve talked about this before. You know I don’t feel I can be the husband you need right now.” She turned back to him abruptly. “Did you ever love Emma, Gilbert?” “What does it matter now?” “It matters to me.” He sighed. “I don’t know, Jane. Emma was different than anyone I’ve ever met. There was no other girl like her. She was vivacious and fun. She made me very happy. But when I found out about all her other lovers, I just couldn’t be with her anymore. I’m sorry.” “If you’d really loved her, that would not have mattered.” “It does matter. I wanted a woman that would be mine alone.” He came up behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Emma has nothing to do with why I don’t want to marry you right now. I have never truly loved anyone but you, Jane. And when I marry, if you will still have me, it will be you that I want. That will not change. But I will not leave you a widow. It isn’t fair to you.” “What makes you so sure you will make me a widow, Gilbert? You’re just privateering. That is quite safe, isn’t it?” “It’s safer than soldiering. But it’s still risky.” He backed away from her. “Besides, all that has changed now.” “Meaning what?” she asked. He didn’t reply, looking down at his feet again. “Why are you looking like someone shot your dog?” she asked. “Because I have something to tell you that I know will not please you. My privateering days are over. Washington has given me a naval commission, and my ship will become part of the newly established Continental Navy. All my shipmen are going with me. He is summoning us to the coast of Jersey. We leave in two days.” "That is the most dangerous place right now in the war," she replied. "That is where the king has all those Hessian troops. You father said they fight like savages. They make the redcoats look tame.'"Yes, I've heard that. That is why we are needed there."She felt her heart pounding in her ears. “Why do this? Didn’t you say Washington was pleased with your privateering successes? Why must you put yourself in harm’s way?” "Washington is pleased. But he wants me to do more, and I can do more. Our friends are all doing more, not just riding along the waters, waiting for something to happen. They are engaging the enemy. Hell, some have even given their lives. Look at Nathan..."“So that is what this about? You want to be a hero like Nathan, Gilbert? Nathan is dead. That isn’t a hero, it’s a martyr.” He put his face inches from hers. “Do you know what they say he said before he died? He said he wished he had more than one life to give for his country. I want to do more, Jane. I want to honor the best friend I ever had by giving everything I can, just as he did. Please try and understand.” She sighed. “I do understand you wish to make an important contribution. I just wish there was a safer way. Please be careful, Gilbert. “We are at war. Nothing is safe. I will be as careful as I can be.” She leaned against a smooth, white birch tree, running her hands over the bark. She looked out at the frozen river that not long ago roared with life. A red cardinal flew by, bringing a violent burst of color in the white world around them. “But I would be much happier if when you left we could be man and wife. I love you,” she said. She grabbed his collar, pulling her to him. “Kiss me.” She pushed open his mouth with her tongue, their teeth knocking together. He groaned, pushing his body against hers. “Oh, Jane, I have missed you. Tell me you will come to my bed tonight.” “I will,” she whispered as she bit his ear. “And we will be free to do everything to one another. Will can throw away all precaution.” He broke the kiss, backing away. He moaned. “Um, that would be delicious. But isn’t that a bit dangerous?” She stared into his eyes. “The danger is gone, my darling, because the danger is already here.”

The Story of Benton House: The Romance and Tragedy of Elijah Benton and Jemima Barrows

It was 1776. His name was Elisha Benton. He lived in Tolland, Connecticut. Elisha fell in love with a girl who came from the Barrows family. Her name was Jemima. It is said that she was approximately twelve years younger than Elisha, but they had great affectionate for one another. A story of complication occurred between the Benton family and the family of the girl, and the marriage was not approved between the two. Elisha decided that it was best that he sign up to fight in the War for Independence from England. It is believed that he thought that the two families could resolve their differences, and, upon his return, the marriage would be approved. Elisha Benton was captured. He was sent to a ship that served as a prison for Americans by the British that was in the New York harbor. These ships were considered to be notorious for American prisoners. Americans were allowed to use bedding, clothing, and other items that had been infected by the deadly smallpox disease of the time. Naturally, Elisha Benton caught the disease. Shortly thereafter, he was on the list of individuals in the prisoner exchange and was allowed to go home. Being sent home was probably the start of the reputation of the Daniel Benton home being considered one of the real haunted places in America. Naturally, the Benton family was excited to have Elisha home. Unfortunately, fear immediately followed as the smallpox disease was very contagious and was known to result in a relatively rapid death. No one really wanted to subject themselves to contracting the disease, yet they knew someone needed to care for the sick, weak soldier and loved one. This is when the Barrows girl, Jemima, came forward in her love and vowed to ensure to care for her one true love. Daniel Benton HouseA special room was included in the homestead. This room was used to house the sick, or individuals giving birth. Within a few weeks, despite the best efforts of caring for him, Jemima had to say goodbye to Elisha Benton, who died on the 21st day of January in the year of 1777. He was a mere twenty nine years old. He was buried near the driveway of the home, with a simple stone as remembrance. Five weeks later, on the 28th day of February, Jemima also died of the smallpox disease. The family buried her close to her true love because of her sacrifice, but a few yards away as they had not been married, could not be buried closely. Original Grave of Jemima BarrowsMany believe because of the tragic nature of their deaths, Jemima's spirit has never settled. There have been experiences in which crying that expresses deep mourning and loss has been heard. The girl that is heard crying is said to be Jemima Barrows. It is believed that this is a residual type of haunting, and seems to occur regularly.An apparition of what is believed to be Jemima has been seen by numerous individuals throughout history. Many state that she is wearing a wedding dress, while others have noted her in typical dresses from the late 1700 era. It is believed that she is waiting, or searching for her one true love, Elisha Benton. Modern Gravestone of Jemima and Elisha, along with memorial plague.When I first heard this story on "Haunted History," I couldn't get it out of my head. Okay, I admit some of the attraction had to do with the story being set not far from the place where my family lived for 200 years, and from where I was born. But more than that, it sparked my interest because it told a story that was fit for the ages, and embodied the lives of the people who fought to create out country.Out of that came my novel "Romancing Jemima," which is part history, gothic, romance, and suspense. It's free the month of July. For a copy, go to https://www.girlwiththebook.com/freebies

Cool off from summer with a story of winter: Read Part I of "Lighting a Dark December."

New London, Connecticut December, 1776. Jane Lawson grabbed her cloak and headed for the door, running into the fading daylight. She ignored the pleas of Carrie, the housekeeper. “Miss Jane, you’re gonna ruin those shoes without your patins,” Carrie yelled at her. “I don’t care,” Jane yelled back. “Gilbert is home. He will buy me new ones.” Her skirts dragged through the snow that came up over her ankles. She pulled her cloak tight around her. Heavy flakes fell onto her eyelashes, tickling the corners of her mouth and the tip of her nose. She put her head down, pushing forward. The snow was worse than she feared, but it didn’t matter. She had to see Gilbert, who had been patrolling the coastline as a privateer and hadn’t been home for two months. She couldn’t wait to tell him the secret she’d been keeping. Her clothes were getting tighter, and the stares of people in the house were getting more frequent. She and Gilbert must make haste; they had to marry before Mr. and Mrs. Saltonstall, Gilbert’s parents, whom she had been living with since her loyalist parents went back to England, discovered her condition. As she ran, she heard the voice of Mr. Allen, the owner of the mercantile. “Miss Jane, are you headed to the quay? I hear the ships are in.” “Yes, “ she hollered over the sounds of the screaming wind as she passed him. He ran after her. “Here; take my lantern. You will be blinded soon by the snow and the darkness.” She grabbed it. “Thank you, sir,” she yelled back at him, “I will return it to you on my way back.” “Bring it back at your convenience,” he responded. “And tell that boy of yours we are happy to have him home.” As she ran, she gazed briefly at the empty space that was once the large and elegant home of Thomas and Elizabeth Lawrence, who died when their home exploded, caused by the gunpowder stores Mr. Lawrence was hiding from the Redcoats. Snow covered the piles of rubble that had never been cleared. The pungent odor of burnt gun powder still lingered one year and a half later. A momentary pang of sadness came over her. The house was a reminder of better days before the war; when she was tutored there by a governess named Sarah Carrington. It also reminded her of her beloved sister Emma, who died in childbirth six months ago. Almost everyone from those times before the war was gone from New London. Some, like her parents, had left because of their loyalty to the crown and returned to England. Others, even though they were patriots, left and moved farther inland; afraid living in a coastal town was too dangerous. Others had left to fight, either for the Continental Army or the British. Her best friend, Ivy Templeton left with her mother shortly after the Concord alarm to follow her brother who was in the militia. At first, the letters from Ivy came regularly, but then they fell off, and she hadn’t received one in about three months. She would have had to return to England with her parents if not for Emma inviting her to live with her, and promising her parents she would make sure Jane was looked after. But two months after her parents sailed, Emma and her newborn daughter were dead. Soon after she was buried, Emma’s husband General Beechum asked for Jane’s hand in marriage. He was returning to England soon, and he said it would be a perfect solution; she was the aunt of his son, and the boy could be raised by a family member if they married. But she found Beechum, a pompous old Tory general her parents forced her sister to marry to be repugnant. One night he came to her bed, insisting she give herself to him. When she would not, he tried to force her. She fought him off, and left his house the next day, having no idea where she would go. It brought tears to her eyes to remember her little one- year old nephew, his sad face at the window as she waved good-bye, his tiny handprint leaving a mark from the morning dew on the window. The best boardinghouse in town, Alden’s, was gone; Mrs. Alden and her daughters going back to England on the same ship as her parents. The tavern keepers that were still here would not take her in, wanting to avoid the scandal of taking in a young girl without a chaperone. It was Gilbert that found her one night, walking alone on the quay. When she told him what happened, he insisted she come and stay with his parents. At the time, Jane said no. She didn’t think much of Gilbert Saltonstall, who Emma had loved very deeply once, and who jilted her quite cruelly and treated her ill. But he insisted. She didn’t know what the Saltonstall’s would think. Samuel and Jocelyn Saltonstall were among the founding families of the town and garnered respect from everyone. What would they think of her; a girl with no parents and no home forced into the streets? She finally agreed, only because she knew Carrie was there. Carrie, who was the Lawrence’s former slave, was now the cook and housekeeper with the Saltonstall’s. Jane knew her from her days as Miss Sarah’s student. Luckily, Mr. and Mrs. Saltonstall showed much kindness and understanding and didn’t ask any questions about her plight. And after getting to know Gilbert, and discovering he was no longer that cruel person Emma knew, they fell in love, keeping their feelings to themselves with the exception of Carrie, who caught them in the barn one day. She gave them a tongue lashing about being indiscreet but also promised she would not say a word to anyone if they promised to behave. Of course, they didn’t; they were just more careful where they spent time together. The lantern improved her vision, and she was able to see the docks illuminated by the lights on the ships. Men were working as fast as possible, bellowing orders as they emptied their cargo. She saw Gilbert’s ship at the end of the dock. As she ran toward the ship, she caught the attention of Gilbert’s man Tully. “That you, Miss Jane? What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death.” “Where is Gilbert?” Is he still on the ship?” “No, miss,” he yelled, the icicles bobbing on his frozen beard as he spoke. “He didn’t even stay to help unload. Someone handed him a message as he was getting’ off the ship. He’s very upset. He said he was going to Miner’s Tavern.” “Miner’s Tavern? Why did he go there? Do you know what the note said?” “It was about his friend, you know, that schoolmaster that taught here before the war. I guess he was a pretty good friend of his.” “You mean Master Hale. He is now Captain Nathan Hale. He is Gilbert’s best friend.” “Yeah, that’s the one. Seems he was hung in New York by the redcoats. They said he was a spy...” Jane didn’t hear the rest as she turned away, running toward the tavern. The sign for Miner’s Tavern was barely visible covered in a fresh coat of snow. It creaked in the heavy gusts on its old hinges, as if it had been there since time began. In some ways, it seemed as though it had. For several years, it was the place in town where everything happened. Passionate men and women came there every night to share the day’s news, to hide from Redcoats, and to argue the most revolutionary concept ever heard, that being the idea of breaking from a monarchy and beginning a free republic. But on this night there were only a few people there. She found Gilbert alone in a corner, several empty shot glasses in front of him. He clung to a piece of paper. He wiped his eyes, then put his head down in the crook of his arm. “Gilbert!” she exclaimed. He picked up his head. His eyes were bloodshot. “Jane,” he said, pushing the table away and running into her arms. “My darling. I’ve had terrible news. I can hardly believe it.” “I know,” she said, wrapping herself in his embrace. “Nathan is dead. I’m so sorry, my love.” He ran his hands over her coat. “You are soaking wet. Come, let’s sit by the fire and get you warmed up. Why did you not wait for me at the house? You could have gotten lost in the storm.” “Mr. Allen loaned me his lantern. I’m fine. I just couldn’t wait to see you. And now our reunion is mired by terrible news.” Gilbert’s eyes filled up. “It is much worse than you can imagine.” “Who is the letter from?” “It was from Dudley. Dudley Livingston. You remember him. He was the redcoat that Thomas Lawrence turned.” “Yes, he is Miss Sarah’s fiancée.” “Well, it seems Dudley and Sarah and Nathan were arrested over in Huntington.” “What? What were they doing over there? It’s full of Tories. Why would they take such a risk?” “Nathan and Sarah were on a mission for Washington. It seems Dudley was captured and held on a Tory ship, and he escaped to Huntington, only to be caught again later with Nathan and Sarah.” Tears filled Gilbert’s voice. “They let Dudley go because of his rich loyalist sister and brother-in-law. But Sarah is in prison in New York, and Nathan, they hung him the next day for treason.” “When did this happen?” “They were captured in September. This letter is dated October 1.” He handed her the letter. “Here, look for yourself.” She took it, scanning over it. “None of that makes sense. Why would Miss Sarah be on a mission with Nathan? I can’t imagine Washington would allow such a thing.” “Dudley didn’t say anything about why she was on the mission with Nathan.” “But what will happen to her? If she was working for Washington, can’t he get her out?” “Dudley says no. The king wants her brought back to England to stand trial for that theft of those Hutchinson’s letters years ago.” Jane felt her stomach turn. If Miss Sarah went back to England, she would surely hang. Trying to push that image out of her mind, she shifted her focus back to her true purpose. “Gilbert, one of the reasons I came to find you is we must talk, darling.” “I know,” he said, caressing her hand. “But can it wait till tomorrow? I know you have been waiting patiently for me, but truly, I feel terrible.” He stood, looking up at the front of the tavern where Nathan Hale made many recitations and speeches. “Our Dear Nathan; he was magnificent, wasn’t he? I can still see him up there; in front of everyone. He could get through to people like no one I have ever known. When he stood up there and spoke, there wasn’t a noise in the room. When he finished speaking, people would be standing on their seats cheering. He made everyone believe in the cause. He was so beautiful, you know. How can he be gone, Jane? It hurts so much.” She pulled him to her. “I know, my love. We will all miss him. But drowning yourself in whiskey won’t bring him back.” He stared to speak. He turned away from her, heaving all over the floor. “Get him out of here!” hollered the barkeeper. “Go puke at home.” Jane grabbed a rag, wiping his face. “Come. Let us get you home.” He clung to her as they ventured back out into the snowy night.

Make A Child Special: A tribute to Auntie

Let's face it; by the time you reach my age, (I'll be 59 in May) you've lost a few loved ones, and a few friends. Your grandparents are usually deceased, and like me, you've lost one parent or both. Losing my mother in 2013 at the age of 83, I am still extremely blessed to have my father still with me, at age 88. Lately, it seems like there have been quite a few of those losses. Just in the past few months, several of my high school classmates have passed, mostly from cancer. One of my best friends from that time died of breast cancer two weeks ago. I really thought she would beat it, and from what her family says, they believed she would too. But it was not meant to be. She will forever be missed.But the hardest thing of all lately was the loss of my mother's beloved older sister, Virginia Frances Edgerton Christensen.My Aunt Virginia, age 10 and my mother Beatrice, age 6 at their christening into the Congregational ChurchSome would say, well, she was 92. So many of us don't get to live such a long life. And they would be right. Her death was not a painful one; she merely slipped into a coma and passed a few days later. But in her passing, she took the final visage of something that, while in years has been gone for a long time, still survived as long as she was here. It was the childhood that because of her, was special, if not almost magical.What was special? Of course the time we spent together; trips to Friendly's Ice Cream parlor, and shopping trips that filled my closet full of more clothes than I could ever wear. She took me to my first movie, "Mary Poppins," and took me with her when she and my grandmother purchased two Saint Bernard puppies, Monday and Friday, who I used to ride around their Connecticut property. They built a massive swimming pool in their backyard, just so I could learn to swim. But if she had never done any of those things, I would not have cared. What I wanted was to sit next to her on the sofa, cuddled at her side as I was read to, or just talked to. She listened to every word I said, even as a young child. When I spoke with her, it was like she took in every word, and made me feel everything I said was very important. It made me feel as though I was just as important as any adult. Even the ordinary things I did, she thought were special. I was made to feel I was the most unique child that was ever born. As long as she was there, I felt as though I could conquer the world. There were no limits to what I could do. Our house and my aunt and uncle's were all built on my grandfather's property. As a young child, I would sit at the dining area window everyday about 4pm, and wait to see her brown Chevrolet station wagon pull up the long hill of her driveway. When I saw it, I would run outside, bolting across a small open field that lay between our two houses. I would run there into her waiting arms, usually with my mother at my heels, scolding me for running off without her permission. All I wanted to do was be with her. She made everything wonderful.When our family left Connecticut for California when I was 7, leaving her was devastating for me. I couldn't wait for my aunt, uncle and grandmother to come at Christmas. I would count the days and the weeks till their arrival. During their two weeks with us, she would go Christmas caroling with me and my girl scout troop. I remember when she was there, there wasn't a single person in the world I wanted to be with. I didn't want my parents, or even my girlfriends. It was almost as though if I let her out of my sight, she would disappear. She was all I needed to be happy. When she left to go home, I would cry so hard I would make myself ill. I would take me days to recover.When I about 13, they stopped coming every year for Christmas, and our visits became more sporadic. I grew up, having my own family and building my own life. Over those years, most of my contact with her was over the phone. Once they retired to Florida in 1990, our contact became even less. I heard about Auntie most of the time through my mother.It was when my mother died five years ago that our contact resumed. In the loss of my amazing mother, we grieved together, and not only were we able to keep my mother's memory alive, but also all the memories we shared over all these years. I felt so fortunate that we could still talk, even though her hearing was failing, and the phone was becoming more difficult for her.Her death has turned my world on its axis. When someone that important to you goes, regardless of how old they are, it is only understandable that nothing in the world feels the same. All I can do, in her memory, is love the people in my life as much as she always loved me to honor her memory.I would like to also honor her memory by reminding people that every child should be made special like I was. Each child is unique for themselves, just by being here on this earth. Each child may not be special to everyone, but they should be special to someone. Nourish and celebrate them, just for themselves. It will make them flourish. And who knows? With all that love, the world my generation leaves behind may be a better one. And as for my aunt, my mother, and all of those I've loved and that have loved me that are no longer on earth, saying thank you seems inadequate somehow, but all I have left are my words and my undying love. You are all here with me in spirit. May we be together again some day!Auntie and Mom, late 2000s