Prologue
London, 1871
A candle flickered on the bedside table, casting a glow about the dark
chamber. The dim light outlined the old woman’s withered face and
wisps of white hair. In a plain grey dress, she sat upon the edge of the
bed where her husband lay so miserably frail and weak. His features
were gaunt, and his skin was grey and translucent.
He was dying.
It had been days since he’d last uttered a word or had been the least
bit coherent. To think death’s door could bring a strong and powerful
man to such a state stood as a vivid reminder of how little power one
ultimately had in the larger scheme of life.
Undeniably, he had always been a man of great strength and
staunchly set in his ways. Stubborn as an old mule, she used to say.
Though, to be honest, she’d been no better. Indeed, their obstinacy and
determination had very nearly cost them a lifetime together.
Her eyes slid over her hands tightly clasped around his cold fingers.
At one time her hands had been so beautiful and graceful. Now they
lay stippled with liver spots and crooked from rheumatism that had
ailed her for years.
Tears rimmed her tired eyes as she squeezed his hand with a glimmer
of hope that he’d awaken, turn to her, and assure her, as he always had,
that everything would be fine.
However, in her heart of hearts, she knew this time it would not be
so. It simply hurt to breathe.
How could it be that they were old? How could it be that their
lives had passed them by so very quickly? With six children, fifteen
grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren, they bore the evidence
of a long, fruitful and extraordinary life. If only it did not have to come
to an end.
She supposed it selfish of her to think thusly. After all, not many
people could claim such a wonderful and well-lived life as she and her
beloved. Times were different now. There was a lost innocence in the
people of this day, an innocence that had been so sweet and charming
in its time was now seen as silly and frivolous. And she supposed it had
been. However, it had been an endearing time to live and to love.
They’d been blessed with a charmed life, filled with love and
happiness. Not to say they’d not had their share of trials and tribulations.
Goodness no. But somehow they had managed to make it through
together.
Smiling down at her husband, she reminisced about the years gone
by and contemplated how very extraordinary life could be. What an
enigma it truly was and how a matter of circumstance could alter one’s
life forever.
London, 1871
A candle flickered on the bedside table, casting a glow about the dark
chamber. The dim light outlined the old woman’s withered face and
wisps of white hair. In a plain grey dress, she sat upon the edge of the
bed where her husband lay so miserably frail and weak. His features
were gaunt, and his skin was grey and translucent.
He was dying.
It had been days since he’d last uttered a word or had been the least
bit coherent. To think death’s door could bring a strong and powerful
man to such a state stood as a vivid reminder of how little power one
ultimately had in the larger scheme of life.
Undeniably, he had always been a man of great strength and
staunchly set in his ways. Stubborn as an old mule, she used to say.
Though, to be honest, she’d been no better. Indeed, their obstinacy and
determination had very nearly cost them a lifetime together.
Her eyes slid over her hands tightly clasped around his cold fingers.
At one time her hands had been so beautiful and graceful. Now they
lay stippled with liver spots and crooked from rheumatism that had
ailed her for years.
Tears rimmed her tired eyes as she squeezed his hand with a glimmer
of hope that he’d awaken, turn to her, and assure her, as he always had,
that everything would be fine.
However, in her heart of hearts, she knew this time it would not be
so. It simply hurt to breathe.
How could it be that they were old? How could it be that their
lives had passed them by so very quickly? With six children, fifteen
grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren, they bore the evidence
of a long, fruitful and extraordinary life. If only it did not have to come
to an end.
She supposed it selfish of her to think thusly. After all, not many
people could claim such a wonderful and well-lived life as she and her
beloved. Times were different now. There was a lost innocence in the
people of this day, an innocence that had been so sweet and charming
in its time was now seen as silly and frivolous. And she supposed it had
been. However, it had been an endearing time to live and to love.
They’d been blessed with a charmed life, filled with love and
happiness. Not to say they’d not had their share of trials and tribulations.
Goodness no. But somehow they had managed to make it through
together.
Smiling down at her husband, she reminisced about the years gone
by and contemplated how very extraordinary life could be. What an
enigma it truly was and how a matter of circumstance could alter one’s
life forever.
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Enjoyed the description of the book. Sounds like a great read.
ReplyDeleteWe're all victims of circumstance, aren't we?
ReplyDeleteSounds good.
ReplyDeletePretty cover. Nice video.
ReplyDelete