Prologue
The County of Somerset, England
A flock of birds soared above the small gathering, calling to each other as they dipped and swayed in a group across the gray sky. Below them, Lizbeth Davenport stood in front of the gaping hole in the ground and shuddered at the sound of dirt dropping onto her mother’s coffin. The cloudy sky and cold wind, fitting for the occasion, caused her to hug her coat tighter to her body.
She stared at the bright yellow flower she’d dropped onto the coffin right before the first clods of dirt rained down. Within seconds the flower was covered, no longer visible, gone. Like Lizbeth’s life.
She stepped back.
Mama was the last person in her family to be buried. A mere three weeks before, Lizbeth’s life had been perfectly normal. She and her two brothers, Jacob and Eli lived in their snug little house in Somerset with their parents. Papa was a solicitor, providing a comfortable living for his family.
Eli and Jacob did well in school, and Lizbeth diligently worked on her paintings, planning her first art show in the newly opened art gallery in her town. Then Papa returned home from work one Tuesday evening not feeling well, and within days he was gone. Influenza took him and both her brothers in rapid succession. Mama managed to hang on until the day before when she succumbed to the disease.
Miraculously, some would say—Lizbeth wasn’t so sure herself—she never fell ill and nursed them all until Mama’s last breath. Now she was alone in the world with no other relatives except a few in America whom she’d never met.
“My dear, if you are considering selling your Papa’s house, I know of a family eager to purchase it.” Lizbeth turned to the young pastor, aghast at his insensitive words merely minutes after the service had concluded.
“I haven’t decided just yet,” she mumbled and turned to leave the graveside.
So much for kindness and caring from a man of the cloth. Sell the house? Where would she go? In fact, with being completely alone in the world she had no idea whatsoever on how to go on with her life. What she would do, where she would go, or how to even support herself. Although Papa made a good living, Mama told her near the end that there wasn’t much in savings. Not even a respectable dowry for her.
At twenty years, she should have been married with a family of her own, but with her interest in art, she’d only attended a smattering of the social events in town. Consequently, she’d had a few suitors over the years, but none of them appealed enough to put her art aside to take up the role of wife and mother.
Not that she never planned to marry. Just not yet. Now she was reconsidering her decision, wondering if she’d been foolish. Had she a husband, she wouldn’t be alone and concerned with where her next meal would come from.
Several of her friends had attended the funeral, but a few of them had family members themselves who were sick, since the illness had spread throughout the village. They offered quick hugs and then hurried away, fear in their eyes that the next funeral would be for one of their own.
After the short carriage ride home, she slowly made the climb up the few steps to her front door. She removed her hat, coat and gloves as she entered the house, dropping them on the sofa. Wearily, she collapsed into the rocking chair in front of the parlor window, Mama’s favorite spot in the house. She rocked back and forth, her body and mind numb.
The next morning, she sat in the same place without having slept more than an hour or two. She rose from the chair and wandered through the house dragging her fingertips over the furniture, as dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the windows. She bent to pick up one of Eli’s toy soldiers and placed it next to Papa’s now cold pipe.
One tear slid down her cheek. All that her body could produce after days and nights of crying.
She wiped her face and walked to Papa’s desk. She pulled out the worn and faded map of England Papa kept in one of the drawers. She spread it out and studied it. She covered her eyes with her hand, and moving her index finger in a circle, she placed her finger on the map, and opened her eyes.
Bath.
That was where she would go. She had no choice, the memories here were going to kill her. Let the family Pastor Nelson said eagerly wanted the house move in.
For her it was too quiet.
Too dark.
It was no longer her home.
1
Bath, England