Ethan & Mary Lindsey

Ethan Lindsey and Mary St. James wed the following March and the day went just as wonderfully as Mary had always imagined. Scarcely any clouds were visible, the sun shining brilliantly, and the temperature was warm for the brisk spring day. Mary’s dress was lovely, the ceremony went on without a flaw, the food was delicious, and their guests had a marvelous time dancing. Neither Ethan nor Mary could ask for anything more.

After spending a week in the mountains, they moved into the little house John and Ethan had worked so hard to build. While Ethan continued his studies at the university, Mary found a job at a local seamstress shop in town and she worked long hours there for their first two years together so that they were able to maintain a stable income. It was difficult, one can imagine, for such an optimistic and beautiful girl as Mary to become accustomed to working life, but she did it for hope of their future.

Once Ethan found a job at the hospital in Brighton, she and Ethan tried desperately to start a family. They’d both always wanted children and now that Ethan was no longer in school, it seemed the perfect time. But things didn’t go quite as well as Mary had planned. It took years for her to finally become pregnant. And when she did, she became quite ill indeed and was forced to quit her job as a seamstress. The pregnancy was uncomfortable and filled with complications. Mary spent most of her days alone in bed, though Betsy stopped by often; Ethan worked from dawn until dusk. And then, after all that struggling, Mary took a violent turn for the worse and was taken to the hospital. She’d had a miscarriage.

After several more miscarriages in the next few years, Mary became with child once more. She and Ethan were still trying their best to be optimistic, despite all their difficulties, and somehow Mary made it through another horrific pregnancy.

In the middle of a cold, winter’s night, their baby girl was born.

Her name was Amelia, after her grandmother, and she was everything they’d always wanted.

While Ethan worked hard to become a surgeon, spending nearly everyday at the hospital, and Mary returned to her old job, little Amelia grew up.

She spent most of her days with her mother, on the floor of the seamstress shop surrounded by scraps of fabric and thread and measure tools. The women Mary worked with adored Amelia and they always made sure that the scissors and needles were out of reach for her little, stubby fingers. Once she was old enough to walk, they dressed her up in frilly laces and lovely calicos, tying ribbons in her hair and adorning her hats with bows.

Little Amelia looked exactly like her mother, from her black, shiny ringlets down to her milky white skin. Her eyes were a beautiful shade, sitting just between Ethan’s navy and Mary’s clear blue, and her lashes were far longer and darker than any child ought to have. With skin as soft as silk, her cheeks were often pinched by the ladies of the seamstress shop, much to her distaste, and Mary always made her wear a hat for fear she’d end up with a face full of freckles.

Amelia’s father doted upon her constantly, bringing his darling daughter surprise gifts from town whenever he could spare the money. Her room was filled with exquisite china dolls, their faces painted with rosy cheeks and crimson lips; rocking horses with real hair that she could braid with pretty ribbons; dollhouses with miniature furniture so intricately designed it was nearly as attractive as the furniture in her house; and tea sets that came with everything one needed to set up a proper meal. She was the envy of every girl in the county, to be sure. Whenever a child was invited to the Lindsey’s house they couldn’t help but be flattered and dressed in their Sunday best so as not to look silly next to Amelia’s lovely dresses and ribbons.

Throughout Amelia’s childhood, Ethan and Mary tried for another child. They wanted nothing more than another lively face to light up their house. But the attempts were to no avail. The miscarriages continued and Ethan soon feared another baby would wreak havoc upon his dear Mary’s health. In this way, it soon became clear that Amelia was Mary’s angel, the only child she could ever have.

As the years past, much to Mary’s pride and Ethan’s dismay, Amelia grew into an attractive young lady and found many interested boys around Brighton. She went off to town every Saturday, her arms around the waists of her girlfriends, to attend the weekly dances held in the great old stockroom. Just like her mother, she easily stole the hearts of many a men and enjoyed acting the part of a playful coquette. There was a new beau calling at the Lindsey’s doorstep every week and Amelia was happy to oblige them.

Their life was a happy one through and through, despite the disappointments of Mary’s many miscarriages. Ethan found success as a doctor and Mary no longer had to work. They lived in that beautiful house in the countryside of Brighton for all their days, adding more luxuries as their fortune increased. Mary Lindsey lived comfortably in a life nearly as perfect as she’d always dreamed of, becoming content with only one child to keep her happy. With a loving husband, charming house, and wonderful young daughter, she truly couldn’t ask for anything more.

Charlie & Sara Wilkie

Charlie Wilkie invited Sara St. James to join him on Violet soon after Mary’s wedding. Of course, she accepted him without hesitation.

Taking up the girl’s old room aboard the old ship, Sara found herself far more comfortable now that she had the entirety of the tiny room all to herself. Nearly two of the beds were stacked with crates of Sara’s book collection, an engagement gift from John, which she set upon reading immediately. And unlike the voyage to Brighton, where Sara spent nearly half of her time in solemnity, she was able to enjoy herself immensely. She fished with Rory and Zooey, learned to play Jess’s fiddle, danced with Charlie and the other boys at midnight parties, and relaxed in Charlie’s office in the company of a thick novel. Being the only woman on board she became the mother of all the sailors, cooking their meals and cleaning their clothes, but it wasn’t half so bad as she imagined it might be. Someone was always willing to help out if need be and the men were never very picky about the cleanliness of the ship or the quality of their food.

By far though, the most wonderful thing of all was that Sara no longer needed to hide her love for Charlie. When she thought of him, she no longer felt tears welling in her eyes or anger arising in her heart. Sometimes when she was stirring soup in the kitchen or reading in his office, he’d creep up behind, wrap his arms around her, and give her a fountain of kisses. The sailors loved to tease poor Charlie about it, but in truth they were all very happy for their beloved captain. Not one could doubt that he and Sara were truly meant to be together.

The only struggle for Sara aboard the ship was that she was separated from her sisters. They were, besides Charlie, her best friends and it was difficult to finally be separated from them after so many years together. But she wrote them often. Long, detailed, novel-like letters that she stuffed into envelopes and sent at every port they entered. And Charlie made sure that Violet traveled back to Brighton during the holidays and whenever else he could manage.

After two long years of engagement, Charlie and Sara were married in a small ceremony aboard the ship in the port of Brighton. Sara wore a very simple, yellow gown and Charlie put on his best trousers, shirt, and tie. The guests were few, including only Sara’s family, the Lindseys, Nathaniel, and Charlie’s sailors. They said their vows and the sailors shouted hurrah and everyone traveled down to the city in a long procession, entering a pretty, little restaurant not far from the docks. Toasts were said, stomachs filled, and then they all headed back up to the ship so that Jess and Billy could play a tune while everyone else joined in a merry, lively dance. Stars slowly began to fill the sky and the moon came out of its shadow as the festivities continued. It was far into the night before the party finally came to an end.

Only two weeks after their honeymoon, Charlie and Sara set out on Violet once more. They traveled up and down the coast, never too terribly far from Brighton for Sara’s sake, and continued on as they had before with little changed except that Sara’s name had become Mrs. Sara Wilkie. But as the weeks continued, another change become apparent as well as it was found that Sara was with child.

Despite the fact that she was on a rocky ship in the huge ocean, Sara’s pregnancy was uncommonly comfortable. She had no morning sickness, no seasickness, and little to complain of. With fifteen sailors and her husband to help out, she rarely had to struggle with any household chores and as soon as the final weeks began, Charlie took her back to Brighton so she could be with her sisters and near the hospital.

The baby came right on time, on the morning of the first day of October. He was beautiful and healthy with ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes, and a fuzz of dark hair.

“What shall we call him?” Sara asked, rocking him to sleep in her arms that evening.

“Royston,” Charlie replied, softly but surely. It seemed he’d had the name planned for months, the namesake being more than obvious.

Sara smiled, “Royston Wilkie.”

Royston soon grew to be a curious young toddler. His hair was just as dark as his mother’s and his eyes were as green as his father’s and, like Charlie, he adored the sea. Aboard Violet, he was allowed to roam wherever he might wish to, for there was always someone around to keep an eye on him. With flushed cheeks, a sweater knitted by his Aunt Mary, and windswept hair, he’d run across the decks as quickly as his stubby legs would allow him. The sailors adored little Royston, and he them, but he couldn’t help but wish for a little brother or sister to play with.

Sara fulfilled his wishes nearly three years after his birth when she became pregnant once more. Although the early pregnancy was just as comfortable as her first, as the months continued she became rather ill and was forced to spend her days in a lonesome bed downstairs. Charlie visited her often and Royston loved to climb up onto her lap and let her tell him a story, but she was miserable despite them. And although Charlie steered the ship as quickly as he could towards Brighton, the baby arrived two weeks before they’d expected.

Violet Wilkie was born aboard her namesake that August.

She was a wrinkled, red, wailing thing that Royston couldn’t help but be disappointed with. For the first few weeks he despised Violet, hating her ugly little face, her constant crying, and what she’d done to his momma, who was now bedridden, tired, and weak.

But although she hadn’t a big brother to love her, nor a mother to care for her, Violet wasn’t without family. Charlie took over all the normally motherly duties, changing her diaper, giving her soft baths, waking in the night to rock her back to sleep, and the sailors were always willing to help. And Sara was soon well again so everything was able to return to custom.

As his baby sister grew a head of light, soft brown hair, her eyes turned to a dark brown, and the redness of her skin faded away, Royston soon found that she wasn’t quite so bad as he’d originally thought. Although she couldn’t really play with him yet, he tried to teach her everything he’d learned about sailing and introduced her to everyone on board. And as the years went by, they soon became an inseparable pair.

Violet was an undeniable tomboy, with a passion for the sea that matched her brother’s and a strong interest in the unspeakable world of pirates. She grew up strong and willful, one of the best fisherman on the ship, and refused to allow anyone to think of her as a silly little girl. She fought each day that her mother dressed her in stockings and dresses, arguing that she ought to be allowed trousers like her brother, and ordered that everyone refer to her as Vi, which she found far less weak and feminine than Violet. And when she played pirates with the sailors, she was always known as Vile Vi.

Her hair was always a mess of tangles, she hated anything with frills, and she found nothing more appealing than a life at sea. With her parents and her family and her fifteen “uncles,” she couldn’t ask for more.

Thus, when she and Royston found out that their mother was going to have another baby, neither was very excited about the prospect. They didn’t see the need for another brother or sister.

Little Thomas Wilkie came last, and rightfully so.

He was unlike either of his elder siblings for from the very start, he was a quiet child. As a baby, he scarcely cried. He went to sleep without difficulty, smiled at the drop of a hat, and only whimpered if he was hungry.

As he grew older, his similarities in appearance to Charlie became startlingly apparent. Like his father, he had floppy, light brown hair; a thin frame; green, sleepy eyes; and a nearly identical nose. No one could mistake their being father and son.

Thomas was soft-hearted and sweet, never speaking nor thinking an ill thought of anyone. When Violet screamed and kicked at Sara and refused to put on her stockings, Thomas knew that his sister never meant to hurt their mother but that she was only very strong-willed. When the sailors drank whiskey at night and cursed and said God’s name in vain, Thomas knew they were only doing what they’d grown accustomed too and that they never truly wished to speak badly of our lord. When Royston refused his father’s suggestions to read the work of Charles Dickens, Thomas knew his brother was simply acting on the urge to go against one’s parent. He forgave all faults and believed that everyone, even the worst of sinners, bore kind hearts.

While Royston grew into a strong-bodied, temperamental sailor and Violet refused to part from her tomboyish ways, Thomas continued to be docile and sweet. No one could dislike him. It was impossible. He always listened to his father and seemed to enjoy his schoolwork, cared immensely for his mother and tried his best to help her with housework whenever possible, fished with the sailors and acted like a pirate with Violet, and normally could be found playing quietly with his toys so as not to cause any disturbance. Thomas loved everyone, regardless of their past mistakes and current flaws, and everyone loved him, for a more wonderful boy could not be found.

Meanwhile, Royston had become a teenager. He was sixteen years old, taller than his father, and stronger than any other man aboard the ship. But although he cared very much for his parents, he rarely showed it. During his school lessons with Charlie he showed no effort and despite Sara’s pleas he never read any of her beloved books. Because he never saw himself leaving the ship, he found bookwork all rather boring and useless. A sailor needs his muscles and his will, he believed, not useless information about geometry and history and arithmetic.

But Violet’s opinions had changed greatly over the years. She was now a young lady, with beautiful brown eyes and a changed heart. All at once, on one devastatingly surprising morning, she decided she no longer would protest her femininity. She didn’t want to be called Vi and she suddenly found that the sailors were smelly and coarse and not at all appealing. When they stopped in town she wanted to buy every frilly hat and every silky ribbon she saw. And when they visited her Uncle Ethan and Aunt Mary in Brighton, Violet desired to have lovely gowns and bouncy curls like her cousin Amelia. She was as girly as any woman you’ll ever meet, a surprise no one could be more shocked at than Sara.

And Thomas, as he too grew older, stayed as angelic as ever. He could never change. He hadn’t the heart for it. He would always be gentle and patient and selfless.

As he became an old man, Charlie realized he could no longer live on the ship anymore. Besides the fact that he was growing bored of it and that he wished his children wouldn’t be forced to always live on the sea and never experience another life, he knew that Sara desired it as well. She would never say it, for fear she should hurt him, but she missed her sisters desperately and was tired of the ocean.

They moved to the city, to Brighton, only several miles from Mary’s countryside home. Charlie found a job as a professor at Brighton University, a position he enjoyed and cherished more and more each day, and Sara worked as a librarian at the school’s gigantic library.

Royston fought against his father’s orders, much to Sara’s dismay, and refused to go to school and become more educated as he ought to. He worked at the docks until he was eighteen, when he became a sailor as he knew he was meant to do. But he always came home whenever he could. Although he hated his parent’s ideas for his future, he still loved them both.

Violet, who had become so suddenly ladylike that she despised her father’s old ship, was unspeakably thankful for the move. She soon met a number of new girlfriends in town, a novel concept to a girl whose only ever female acquaintances had been her aunts, cousins, and mother. And the most wonderful aspect of it all was that, because Charlie was a literature professor and Sara the librarian, Violet found herself amongst many handsome and charming young students at the university. She adored it, needless to say.

And Thomas, too, was very happy in Brighton, although he could have made himself content anywhere in the world. He yearned for the day he could enter the college himself, though he wasn’t quite sure what he would do when his schooling was through. Like the little saint he was, he wanted most of all to help others, not himself, and considered teaching, like his father, charity work, or priesthood. But unlike his sister, he did not find himself quite so adept to communicating with members of the opposite sex. Females were like an unknown species to him, being amongst sailors all his life, and he could barely speak when around girls. Although they flocked to him, attracted to his sweet demeanor and kindness, Thomas could never make out the words to speak to one.

And so Charlie and Sara lived a pleasant life. Royston, Violet, and Thomas were as different as could be, but all three were equally loved and although Charlie had to sell his ship, he maintained his fondness for the sea by living so near to it. And Brighton University’s library soon became the most perfect place in the world, in Sara Wilkie’s humble opinion. Although it took long enough to secure Charlie’s heart, Sara never once could doubt his love for her.

Seymour & Nora Sawyer

After their reunion the day after Christmas, Sawyer realized he couldn’t return to Violet.

Instead, he said goodbye to the sailors and moved into his own little apartment in Brighton despite his young age. Although he’d never had a large amount of schooled learning, he was exceptionally smart. So with a job at the local pub, a loan from the Lindseys, which he intended to fully pay back with interest, and his remarkable brain, Sawyer managed to get into Brighton University. The administrators were wary, considering that he was only sixteen, but once he took their entrance exam and emerged with top scores they couldn’t deny him.

While beginning his studies, of which he intended to focus on the political sciences, Sawyer began to formally court Nora. He called on her at the Lindseys house whenever he had the chance, taking her on walks around the hills or bringing her into town for one of the dances at the old warehouse. He went about it as bashfully and awkwardly as ever, but Nora was beyond charmed with him by this point. She’d become infatuated. And because she knew how hard it was for him to manage school, work, and their courtship, she often tried to make things easier for him. Instead of making him hire a hack, spending some of his preciously spare money and time, to come and see her way out in the countryside, she’d come down to the pub to see him while he was working. And if he ever seemed too tired, she’d always act as though she were feeling ill so that he wouldn’t feel guilty about going home to rest before his classes.

By the time he’d graduated, it was plainly clear to all that Sawyer and Nora were in love.

And one morning, just before dawn, Sawyer headed out to the Lindseys wearing his best suit with a modest ring in the pocket of his trousers.

Nora couldn’t have been more surprised when she awoke, her eyes still half shut and in the middle of a yawn, to find Sawyer at the bottom of the stairs blushing. He made her breakfast, which didn’t come out quite as well as he’d planned, for the bacon was burnt and the eggs were mushy, but Nora was far too enamored to notice such details. He then took her out for a walk, noticing bashfully that John, Betsy, Emy, Gail, and Nathaniel were gathered at the windows. Once they were a good distance away, the only sounds being the lovely tunes of songbirds and the soft hum of the wind, he got down on one knee and asked for her hand in marriage. Needless to say, Nora said yes.

They married very quickly, with little preparation and a very short period of betrothal. Nora wore her best dress, a beautiful violet silk with lace collar, and Sawyer put on a simple black suit and they headed over to St. Luke’s Church over on Main Street as soon as Violet appeared at the docks.

Much like Sara’s wedding, the guests were few and included only family members and the sailors. There were no bridesmaids or groomsmen, but little Royston, who was still very young at this point, walked down the aisle before Nora to spread wildflowers along the path of the bride. The vows and the ceremony were short and sweet; Nora found that she could care less about the frivolities and minor details of her wedding. Her only concern was that once the day was through she be able to say her name was Nora Sawyer.

Following their wedding, it was required almost immediately that they move to St. Francis County, for Sawyer’s new government job. Although she too, like Sara, found it difficult to be separated from her sisters, Nora went without complaint. And then, in another year, she found herself moving again, this time to Wickensville. And then to Norrance.

Throughout the years, Sawyer’s occupation moved them to numerous cities. At first the locations were very exotic, including Thailand, Singapore, Brazil, and Argentina, then they traveled all over Europe, Paris, Dublin, Prague, Venice, Amsterdam, Oslo, London.

Sawyer loved his new job, one of which Nora knew little about except that it was a governmental position and that he dealt with foreign affairs. Without difficulty, his life changed from ships and sails and fish to business suits, important documents, and speaking with ambassadors and presidents and czars. And Nora fell into the roll of a diplomat’s wife with ease.

They feasted on exotic foods, traveled through the jungles, aided those in need, and learned bits and pieces of hundreds of languages.

And throughout all this, between their journeys, Nora had two young children.

Josephine Sawyer was born in a tiny mud hut, with a fretful midwife speaking Nubian, in the depths of the Sudanese desert. Nora was drenched in sweat, her gown nearly soaked through, and Sawyer tried frantically to calm her with a large, dry palm fan whilst attempting to communicate with the midwife. Nevertheless, at the end of the day, once the burning sun had fallen beneath the horizon, Sawyer held a beautiful baby girl in his arms.

And Raymond was born just a year later, on a chilly winter’s day, in a white-brick building, in the center of St. Petersburg. Luckily, this time Sawyer was able to speak Russian, the language of the midwife, so things went a bit more smoothly in that concern. But there was still the unspeakable cold, Nora was shivering like crazy and white as the snow outside their window, as well as Josephine, who was crying hysterically. But Raymond came through in the end, a healthy baby boy with ten fingers and ten toes.

Although most mothers find it difficult to travel with children, Nora took hers all over the globe. She refused to give in to the pleas of Mary, who said she and Sawyer ought to settle down in Brighton, but instead continued to bring the children with her to Iceland and Australia and everywhere in between.

Josephine and Raymond were born travelers and because they hadn’t anyone else to turn to, they soon became the best of friends. Some even mistook them for twins, for their personalities and appearances were so similar. Both had shaggy, blond, curly hair; sparkling gray eyes; an enormity of freckles scattered across their noses and shoulders; and a love for the world.

Their only difference was that Raymond, like his father, wore a pair of thick-rimmed, tortoiseshell glasses.

As they traveled around the world, often revisiting different locations, Josephine and Raymond made new friends wherever they went. There was Rasmus, a kind young man from Zambia who taught them archery, and Lucy, an elderly woman living on a sheep farming ranch in Australia. There was Elian, a Cuban teenager living in the jungles of Argentina with his grandfather, and Olivier, a beaming young father in France who led them around Marseille with his five children in tow. They received letters from all over the world and saved them in a giant photo album to admire their postmarks and reminisce about past memories whenever they missed Rasmus or Lucy or Elian or Olivier or the many others.

When it was time for them to enter college, Josephine and Raymond were not limited to Brighton University or Clarendon. They had the world at their fingertips.

Josephine studied at L’Universite Paris-Sorbonne in France while Raymond headed to the University of Melbourne in Australia. But still the best of friends, they communicated often and, whenever possible, visited each other, often meeting someplace between their two schools such as India or Sri Lanka. Josephine studied philosophy, while Raymond focused on the foreign languages. He meant to major in only one, but could not decide between French and Russian and Portuguese and Czech. From his childhood he’d been multilingual, picking up bits and pieces from his father and wherever they were visiting at the time.

Meanwhile, Sawyer and Nora, who were growing older and were looking for a more permanent home, decided to buy Violet from the man who had purchased it after Charlie. Almost all the sailors were still around and undeniably excited to have Sawyer and Nora back; after Charlie left, they hadn’t been too fond of their new captain so Captain Sawyer was a welcome surprise.

And in a strange sort of irony, Nora saw Ben Leslie nearly every day for the rest of her life. But seeing him in comparison to her husband only reinforced her love for Sawyer all the more. She could never, ever even think about doubting her choice.

Sawyer and Nora’s life together was an exciting one, to say the least. By the time they’d settled back onto their home on the sea, Sawyer was fluent in nearly eight different languages, their rooms were filled with hundreds of various souvenirs from their travels, they’d had two lovely and very educated children, and Nora was more in love with her husband than she’d ever been before.

Brook & Emy Lindsey

While Brook returned to his studies at the Clarendon Art Institute after the holidays, he and Emy continued their courtship. Despite the many miles separating them, Brook took the daylong journey from school to the Lindsey’s every day that he could. And in this way, the following years were spent very happily indeed. Brook came home often boasting beautiful new paintings he could give to Emy, including the very one she’d posed for back in Norrance where they’d shared their first kiss. They went on long walks around the countryside, rode horseback across the hills, played duets together at the piano, and sat lazily beneath the sun on hot summer days. Brook was even teaching Emy how to improve her drawing skills; he’d always believed she had a natural talent.

On a brisk autumn day nearly two years after the finish of our story, Brook knelt down on bended knee to ask Emy to marry him. She agreed to it, of course, after a long bought of crying, and hugged him until her legs gave out.

The wedding was a beautiful one, very similar to Mary’s though slightly more sweet and natural, as to suit Emy. Guests gathered at a lovely old cathedral to watch as Brook Lindsey and Emy St. James said their vows. The entire room was adorned with bouquets of violets and baby’s breath and lavender, their scent heavenly. Emy wore a gown of white lace, constructed and fitted by her oldest sister, as well as a long veil that trailed behind her as she walked down the aisle. Her soft brown hair was curled and pinned, resting at the nape of her neck in an attractive chignon, and her lowered eyes were sparkling with delight. Although she said little throughout the day, always allowing her new husband to speak for her, no one could doubt that Emy had never been happier.

Immediately following the wedding, Emy and Brook boarded a carriage with their luggage in tow and headed back to Norrance. Besides the fact that both newlyweds adored the city more than any other in the world, it was the only place to go if Brook wanted to be successful.

Their house, a tiny white cottage, was located on the very outskirts of town in a pretty little area. A stream of laughing water ran aside the chimney and hundreds of wildflowers and long, yellowy grass surrounded the yard. A large weeping willow tree, its arms dusting the ground, sat in front and there was a small garden in back where Emy planted all sorts of vegetables and fruits, from lettuce and carrots to tomatoes and strawberries. Just beside the white-picketed garden, there were three rounded fruit trees, one for pears, one for apples, and one for cherries. Nature swarmed the entire area, and even the house was being overtaken by a shadow of leafy, green ivy. Although it contained an unbelievably small interior, with only two rooms and a cellar inside, Emy adored it more than any house she’d ever seen in her life. It was breathtaking, she thought, a charming little place for she and Brook to call their own.

Their first several years of marriage were difficult, however.

Brook spent his days painting in the front yard, his easel set up beneath the drifting clouds and his raven hair blowing softly with the wind, while Emy stayed inside with the babies.

The first problem they encountered concerned Brook’s occupation, but it was a difficulty they’d foreshadowed for years so it came as no surprise. As an artist, although his work was very good, Brook barely made any money at all. He painted nonstop, tried his best to appeal to customers, offered to paint portraits of prospective buyers, accepted any and all suggestions, but nothing seemed to work. And when he wasn’t painting, he was roaming the streets trying to sell his work or looking for a warehouse to hire him. But no offers came. He barely brought in more than a few coins each day.

They struggled to get by, but Brook wouldn’t accept any of the charity offered by his parents, Uncle John, or Ethan. Everything he earned went towards food, to join the vegetables and fruit Emy collected from the gardens and trees, yet they still barely ate. Their one joy of the year was the goose they ate on Christmas Eve.

It was the life of a starving artist, to be sure.

And it would have been difficult enough with two mouths to feed, but four more came along quickly enough. They were all girls, half with blue eyes and half with brown, and all had dark, beautiful hair.

First came Sophia, mummy’s little helper who, when her younger sisters arrived, was always willing to help out with the cooking or the housework. Then Caroline, who was as silent and bashful as her mother. After that was May, a lively girl who never seemed to stop talking. And finally Colleen, whose talent for painting often found her at her father’s side. All four were vaguely alike, both in appearance and interest. They were always there to help out their beloved mum, who worked tirelessly, and their father, posing in his paintings or helping him find customers.

Yet Sophia, Caroline, May, and Colleen had their differences as well.

Sophia, though she rarely let it show, was always dreaming of a better, a richer, life. She loved her family and their home and she hated to be ungrateful, but upon visiting her wealthy cousin Amelia, with her elaborate dollhouses and gorgeous dresses and lovely face, she couldn’t help but wish she’d been so lucky. And when they went to see Violet, Sophia dreamed of what it might be like to live in a prosperous city so near to the coast where her Uncle Charlie and Aunt Sara never seemed short of money and where there were always plenty of handsome university students walking about. And finally, whenever Josephine stopped by in between her many journeys, Sophia wished desperately that her father might be a diplomat and that she might travel all over the world and visit exotic lands. Of all her cousins she felt like the most pitiful and was always embarrassed when they joined together at Christmastime. While her cousins dressed in beautiful laces, lovely silks, and charming brocades, Sophia wore asimple, cotton dress. And while they showcased all the wonderful gifts they’d received, Sophia could show nothing but functional hats, knitted sweaters, and new brown boots. Christmastime in Mr. and Mrs. Brook Lindsey’s home was never for luxury. The children only received practical gifts, things they hadn’t the money for other times during the year, and this usually consisted of clothing or shoes. Rag dolls and wooden blocks were their only playthings. And besides her unfulfilled desires, Sophia carried another burden as well. Being the oldest, she often felt like she ought to be the protector of, and set a good example for, her younger sisters. So she was always first to step up when something needed to be done. And instead of constantly plaguing her mother with her sisters’ predicaments, Sophia herself often dried wet cheeks and cleaned up dirty faces.

Caroline was nearly an identical image of their mother. Besides their similar appearances, she carried the same heart as well. She was rarely involved in any sisterly disputes and she was kind to everyone she met. Because of her sweet demeanor, it was nearly impossible to dislike her and she was adored by all her sisters. And, like Emy, she tried never to let her struggles show. When she received yet another bland cotton dress for Christmas, she beamed in delight instead of wishing for something better. When dusk was nearly upon them and she was kneeling down in the garden with dirt and sweat on her knees, hands, and face, she never once complained. And when she was forced to squeeze into a tiny bed in the cellar with all three of her other sisters, a thin blanket their only comfort, she did not frown but rejoiced at the warmth their closeness created. Caroline was truly a gift, Brook thought each night as he tucked her into bed, for no other child would bear burden so easily or so silently as she.

May, who spoke so quickly her mouth could barely keep up with her head, was a refreshment for the little cottage. She was a wild one, to be sure, rather like her Aunt Gail as a child. She jigged around the garden when pulling carrots beside her sisters, sang at the top of her lungs while picking apples with her mother, and never seemed to be lacking energy. Even when she’d finished her chores and come home from school and ran into town for eggs, she still had energy enough to climb a few trees and wade in the stream and swing on the old willow’s wispy branches. Sometimes Emy feared May would never go to sleep, but with a long bedtime from Brook, the deed always managed to be done.

And finally, there was little Colleen, a girl after her father’s own heart. As a baby she loved to dabble in her father’s paints, stick in her hands to make fingerprint images on the parchment, and there was the terrible incident where she covered the back door in black ink handprints. But from the start it was clear that she was meant to be an artist, like her father. She watched him intently every moment she could and dreamed of the day her own paintings would look as lovely. But whenever she wasn’t drawing or painting of constructing sculptures out of mud, Colleen could be found roaming outside with May. She, too, had a great love for the outdoors and because she was the youngest, the baby of the family, she was sometimes relieved of regular chores for other occupations. She had long, lithe legs, perfect for running, so she was often the one sent on errands into town for eggs or poultry or soap or whatever else was needed at the time.

They were a close family, as most families in poverty are. They depended upon one another greatly and whenever one of the girls was ill the whole house seemed to suffer just as greatly as the daughter bedridden.

Brook often returned home weary and tired, depressed at his lack of success. He’d come kneel on the floor beside Emy in her rocking chair, laying his head on her lap with a sigh and a groan. But Emy would only smile, petting his head as though he were a child and assuring him that everything would turn out alright. If it weren’t for her and her unconditional optimism, Brook certainly would have given up his painting years before. But every time he suggested a change of occupation, Emy simply wouldn’t hear of it. She knew that his heart still lay in art and she wouldn’t let him give up no matter how much they suffered for it.

After all, no matter how difficult their life was, no matter how shabby their dresses and how scarce their food, they had love aplenty and that was all Emy needed.

Nathaniel and Gail West

After the chilly winter months had passed and spring returned again, Nathaniel refused to stay in the Lindsey’s house, under their charity, any longer. No matter how much he enjoyed their company and their lovely home, his pride was so badly damaged by that point he knew he had to get away. But although he packed up his things and began renting a room at an inn in Brighton, he spent nearly every hour of his day at the Lindsey’s anyway. Where else was he to go?

He was definitely not going to go to school; haughty professors would only have infuriated him and what was the point of learning useless information if he didn’t want, and didn’t need, a job? His parents would always keep sending him another check each month, money was no difficulty, and he had no desire for random knowledge. And he really didn’t have any other acquaintances in town to visit besides Gail.

So everyday, as soon as he awoke, he paid a hack to be outside his door and it took him to the Lindsey’s for the entirety of the day. He and Gail spent their time as they always had before, playing card and board games, talking, arguing, taking walks around the countryside- in his wheelchair, of course. The only change in their relationship was, now that they had confessed their feelings for one another, the occasional kiss would occur when the two were alone. They were always long and always impassioned, but Nathaniel refused to relinquish his temper, even for Gail, so they were never terribly sweet or sentimental. But they justified the pair’s unconventional courtship just the same. Usually Nathaniel didn’t head back to the inn until well after dusk.

About three years after that Christmas, once Gail was eighteen and, Nathaniel thought, matured enough for the question, he decided to ask her to marry him. Besides the fact that it seemed rather sensible after three years of courtship for him to propose marriage, he’d been dreaming of marrying Gail for months. It was admittedly a romantic, tender thought that he chose to keep secret, but Nathaniel wanted Gail. He wanted to be able to call her his wife. He wanted to hold her in his arms each night. He wanted it to say, on legal documentation, that she was his and that she’d loved him and that, in a sense, he hadn’t been a complete failure of a life. And because he knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, he didn’t see why he should wait any longer. By this time, she was certainly ready for the role. And, in his eyes, if they delayed the event for too long he might be in his grave before it occurred.

Three weeks before Christmas Gail decided she wanted to take Nathaniel ice-skating. They bundled up in their warmest, headed to the pond in town, and joined the throngs of people already skating around the rim of the ice.

Gail wore ice blades attached with buckles to her boots and pushed Nathaniel around the pond in an “ice-chair,” an invention constructed of a normal wooden chair with high handlebars attached to the back and runners instead of feet. It was like any other winter’s day at the pond- the pale sky, the softly falling snow, the hundreds of people circling round and round. But for some reason, on this particular day, every word Gail said made Nathaniel’s heart rush and every touch she placed on him made his head spin. He hadn’t been planning when he ought to ask her or how he ought to do it, but suddenly, when they were mid-conversation, enjoying a laugh, he told Gail to stop, took her hand, and pulled her onto his lap.

“Marry me, Gail,” he said, forcibly yet honest, his eyes sparkling.

Gail’s face didn’t move for a moment, she stayed perfectly calm, perfectly relaxed, and then, her voice clear, she said slowly, “Well, if it’s an order . . . I suppose I have to then, don’t I?”

Nathaniel only nodded.

And then Gail, taking his head in her hands, kissed him in such a way that he instantly knew he was doing the right thing. He could barely feel his legs, they seemed to have gone numb, and his fingers were shaking, though luckily not from illness this time.

Once she’d pulled away, Nathaniel saw the grin that had crossed her lips. She beamed, throwing her arms around him, and shouted joyfully, for all to hear, “Of course I’ll marry you, Nathaniel!”

Only two weeks lately, after discussing the matter endlessly, Nathaniel and Gail decided to elope.

They wanted to marry quickly and they didn’t want to wait any longer. But more than a desire for urgency, they decided on elopement because, in both their opinions, a wedding was a waste of lots of money they could be spending on far more wonderful things. Nathaniel, though he’d often dreamed of marriage, had never dreamed of a wedding. If Gail had been completely eager to have a wedding, he would have certainly eased to her request. But when she didn’t, he knew that they oughtn’t to have a wedding at all. He saw no need for one and neither did Gail.

Gail stole away from the house early in the morning, leaving a letter for John and Betsy, and met Nathaniel at the café next door to his inn. They took a hack to Clarendon, a town far enough away to justify elopement yet close enough to Brook that Gail still felt as though she were with family. All smiles and kisses, the pair headed to the courthouse and recited their vows for a judge and two random poets from the streets who acted as their witnesses. The deed was done and both were the happier for it.

Mr. and Mrs. Nathaniel and Gail West headed back to Brighton where they decided to purchase a simple, redbrick house on the edge of town, where the buildings turned into hills. And although they certainly weren’t like any other married couple you’ll ever meet, they were as joyful as could be.

Neither worked for a living, all their money came from Nathaniel’s faceless parents, so they spent their days enjoying themselves instead. As his life was indeed always very uncertain, Nathaniel wanted to experience everything he possibly could as soon as possible. He and Gail were like children, really. Just as they’d always been. And soon enough, they were joined by two real children.

Gail’s pregnancy was rather unreal to her. She knew that she was carrying a child and that in nine months time he would arrive, but her head still hadn’t wrapped around the concept of a baby. Her baby. Nathaniel’s baby.

So when the child arrived they were both rather awestruck by its tangibility, its life, its honesty. They didn’t even have a name planned. Neither had thought on it once during Gail’s pregnancy, so for his first few days of life he was known only as West, in lack of something more suitable.

But finally, it was decided on that the boy should be named after his father. Nathaniel John West II. But of course Nathaniel wouldn’t allow the boy to be called Nathaniel too; it would be far too confusing. They tried all sorts of variations. Junior was too childish. Nathan sounded too similar to Nathaniel, only being separated by a syllable. Nate was immediately dismissed, for Nathaniel said it sounded too close to Kate. And he could never be John or Johnny, since that was the name of John Lindsey, or Jack, which happened to be Nathaniel’s father’s name. Nathaniel II went for another week without a name, for nothing could be decided on, until Nathaniel settled the matter in one final swoop.

“The boy’s name is Nat,” he said one morning, as he rolled into the kitchen. He nodded, “I’m sure of it.”

And so it was affirmed. Nat West was born.

And only a year later, he was followed by another baby boy, Michael.

They both had seamlessly straight, bright red hair and amber brown eyes, like their mother, with very pale skin and thin limbs, from their father. But their tempers were obviously an inheritance of both parents. For from the moment they arrived in the world, they were screaming.

It should be said that the raising of Nat and Michael was far different than that of most children.

Neither Nathaniel nor Gail had any experience with children and neither had thought to ask their family or friends for tips, lessons, anything that might aid their effort. And because Nathaniel didn’t like to admit that he had absolutely no knowledge of a certain subject, he refused to allow Gail to call in her sisters for help. So instead, they went about the task day by day, learning only from trial and error. And although it may seem rather frightening to some, it was actually a very amusing turn of events.

Most young parents would go crazy with two screaming babies in the house: having no idea why the babies were crying, losing all their sleep in the process of finding out, changing diapers, nursing, washing them up, teaching them to use the potty, and on and on the list goes.

But Nathaniel and Gail were the rare, unbelievable exception. They were never angry or frowning or weeping their eyes out at night from the pressure of it all. Tired, yes. Sometimes a bit frustrated, of course. But they went about raising the two babies together and when they were together, with two wailing babies, they couldn’t help but laugh. So when Nat was crying uncontrollably and Gail, nearly on the edge of exhaustion herself, tried with no success to bounce him up and down in an effort to sooth him, Nathaniel couldn’t help but give a sly grin. And Gail, in turn, burst into giggles herself. And when Nathaniel was changing Michael’s diaper on the bed and the baby wouldn’t stop wriggling and sobbing long enough for Nathaniel to wipe the his bottom, causing Nathaniel to shout in anger, Gail couldn’t help dissolving into laughter. And Nathaniel, seeing her smile, relinquished his own frown and chuckled along.

It was really quite a miracle Nat and Michael turned out all right; both Nathaniel and Gail were astonished at the fact. But they never would feel comfortable calling themselves parents, for they never acted as any other mother and father might do.

To Nat and Michael, they were more like friends. All four of them entered into loads of quarrels and it wasn’t rare for Gail or Nathaniel to act as childish as their own sons at times. Their house was always loud, a fiery of screams and shouts and laughter. And if one saw them on the street together it would take more than a moment to distinguish who was who in this peculiar family. But if they were looked at closely enough, saw the woman place a swift kiss upon the man’s cheek, saw the two teenage boys run up ahead, they’d recognize the relationships of the undeniably odd Wests. There was the invalid father with sleep in his eyes, his merry young wife, and their two, fire-haired sons. A strange, temperamental, unconventional family, but a joyous one nevertheless.

Nathaniel’s health continued to fluctuate as it always had in previous years. Some days he’d feel fine, other days he’d be bedridden and weak, and still others he’d be lying in a hospital bed looking as eerily sick as ever. There were times it seemed he’d never grow ill again, but then a relapse would occur and he’d be back in the hospital.

All this drained on Gail and her sons a bit, as it rightly should, but they bore it better than most families ever could- with laughter and smiles and kisses aplenty. Gail had learned by now not to dwell on her husband’s ailment and she found the optimism to struggle through his many hospital visits. Knowing Nat and Michael were healthy, that no genes had passed on their father’s mysterious disease, was a gift both Nathaniel and Gail couldn’t be thankful for enough. If the first Nathaniel West had wasted his life away in a hospital, at least the second Nathaniel, Nat, would be able to live a full life, untainted by pain and misery.

I would love to tell you that Nathaniel was able to live to an elderly age, as he’d never thought was possible, and that as he grew older his illness faded away. But it didn’t. And it would be a lie to say so. And because, as he told Gail numerous times, the one thing Nathaniel West could not stand was a lie, I shall not lie to you now, though I would love desperately to do so.

Near the age of thirty-eight, Nathaniel grew gravely ill again. He was sent to the hospital in Wickensville and his family joined him there, sitting by his bedside everyday. Nat was sixteen, and Michael only fifteen. They and their mother did their best to comfort Nathaniel and make him laugh, but to little avail. One last time, Nathaniel’s face grew as white as snow, his eyes were rimmed in dark shadows, his fingers shook uncontrollably, and his forehead was peppered in sweat. He began to cough up blood, ghastly amounts, yet the doctors were still doing everything they possibly could to save him. The following day, he lied silently in bed. He could scarcely speak, his voice hoarse and his breath nearly gone, but his charcoal gray eyes sparkled, speaking the words his mouth never could.

Nathaniel West died late in the afternoon near the end of November. It was an unspeakably grave day for all, though his death certainly hadn’t been a surprise. He’d given them numerous scares before, countless times in the past. From the first day Gail met him he’d held no reserve when discussing his death. After all, as he’d said, we’re all dying, aren’t we? They’d known he was on the brink this time, that it was possible, yet it still shook them all to their cores.

The family boarded Violet for the funeral, heading far out into the ocean until only a sliver of land was visible on the horizon. The weather seemed to do him justice, which made Nat and Michael smile. The water was horribly chilly, splashing aboard the decks where the boys were leaning over the edge and turning their cheeks pink, and the wind was in a fury, its howling seeming to mimic Nathaniel’s contentious attitude and terrible temper.

All dressed in black, they gathered at the edge to watch as his ashes were thrown into the ocean’s waves. Ignoring her sisters’ pleas that she ought to bury him in a cemetery, Gail wanted everything to be just as Nathaniel had wished it, for she’d always remember the day he told her about what he wanted to happen when he finally did die. So she didn’t drag him to a cemetery or buy an expensive coffin or place a slab or marble on top that said something silly and untrue. And she didn’t buy a bunch of pretty flowers to place over a man who was dead. For if he could see her now, somehow, she didn’t want him to think she was a fool for wasting her money on a corpse. But she did weep, just once, when she returned to an empty bedroom that night and realized he truly was gone. With her body curled up into a little ball and her head nestled into the pillow, she finally allowed the tears to fall. And she hoped, oh how she hoped, that Nathaniel had seen and that he knew that his life hadn’t been a complete waste.

The St. James Sisters

Each Christmas the five families would join together at Ethan and Mary’s house, all the joyous sisters with their husbands and children in tow.

You could see Ethan at the front door, hammering in a loose nail, while Mary instructed him fretfully. She’d scurry into the house, running back with a wreath, and trying to get everything into place before her guests arrived. Amelia would sit beside the window with her nose pressed against the glass, her satin slippers tucked beneath her and her black curls pinned up atop her head, waiting anxiously for her cousins to arrive.

Sara always arrived first, knowing Mary would need some last minute decorating and cooking to be done. While Charlie carried in the sacks of gifts, fumbling to wave to Amelia at the window without dropping a parcel or ribbon, Sara would hurry in to give her sister a hug and help chop up some carrots or light one last candle. Then you’d see the children rush out: rowdy Royston throwing a snowball at his Uncle Ethan’s back, Violet joining Amelia inside beside the fire, Thomas carrying the last few boxes his father had forgotten.

After that came the Wests, always in a flurry of shouts and laughter. Nat and Michael bounded out first, desirous to be free of that cramped carriage and rumbling around in the snow. Then came Gail, never quite ready for the holidays and attempting to rewrap a few last minutes gifts before she emerged. She’d yell at the boys before rushing inside to join her sisters, carrying in a bowl of messy cookies she and Michael had baked. Then while Michael and fifteen-year-old Nat pulled out the wheelchair from the back, Ethan would hop inside the carriage and carry out Nathaniel, who thanked his brother-in-law profusely yet screamed at the boys not to damage his chair.

Brook and Emy arrived soon after, their hired hack so old its wheels were nearly falling off. Emy carried in the fig pies and apple tarts, all smiles as she greeted her sisters, before Caroline followed after with a crate of fresh vegetables. Then came Sophia, careful not to let her skirts dampen in the snow and quickly heading inside to join her cousins, followed by Brook and his sacks of and Colleen were always last, making snow angels and letting snowflakes drift onto their tongues before they entered the house.

By the time Sawyer and Nora arrived, carrying in loads of crates with all sorts of souvenirs from their latest journey, Royston, Nat, and Michael would already be engaged in a lengthy snowball fight that Raymond immediately joined. And Josephine, though giving a nod and wave to her female cousins couldn’t help but join the boys. But as soon as they caught glimpses of the goodies in Sawyer’s crate, carved shoes from Holland, little rag dolls from Mexico, decorated eggs from Russia, all the children would soon be rushing inside again.

One could see that they were a joyous family, to be sure, as they gathered around the fire beside the Christmas tree. Gifts were thrown across the room, shouts of gratitude exchanged, hugs received. Mary with her doctor, Sara with her professor, Nora with her diplomat, Emy with her artist, Gail with her invalid, and all the many children scattered about. They’d all overcome separate difficulties in the past, whether infidelity, refusal, superficiality, shyness, or illness, but in the end, they realized, all you need is love to help you get by.

The End.

(A/N) I'd just like to thank everyone who's read this and everyone who's reviewed. It really means a lot to me. Your reviews always make my day and I really appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the story! And also, just wanted to mention, I am considering a sequel to this story now. Perhaps focusing in on Emy's daughters, Sophia, Caroline, May, and Colleen in their little cottage in Norrance (If you'd like a longer summary, look on my author's page). But I probably won't start it for a little while. I've still got lots of other ideas for stories that I've been meaning to get to paper first. Thanks again!

-S. Renee