The Edge of the Ocean

Chapter One

Chapter One

Thursday, April 4, 1912

The letter had been read so many times that, though it had originally been folded, it now lay flat on the dark oak of the writing desk, the elegantly written words now a blur behind the veil of tears that threatened to fall from the young woman's eyes. She turned away from the letter, the desk, and the window that overlooked the long, dirt drive that wound down the long field and through a thicket of trees leading, eventually, to the main road. With an impatient swipe at her tears with the back of her hand, she picked up the letter without really looking at it, placing it unceremoniously in the ornate box beside it. When she saw, however, that it didn't quite fit, the edges of the heavy parchment paper hanging over the side, the young woman picked it back up and, in a fit of burning hot rage, tore it cleanly in two and then again so that the four remaining pieces fit quite neatly into one of the little compartments of the Chinese sewing box.

"Miss Catharine?"

The voice of the handmaid startled her from her thoughts. She quickly shut the lid of the box and turned to the bedroom door as it opened, her hands behind her back like a child who had been caught sneaking biscuits from the jar. The maid, Esther, however, did not look remotely suspicious as she walked in with two large, flat boxes.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Miss," she said briskly, placing the boxes on the closed lid of the brown steamer trunk, "but Mrs. Murray finally found the last two boxes. They were in Miss Lillian's room, which explains why we had such a time finding them. You've got everything you'll want?" Esther straightened up in her task of placing the two large, wide-brimmed hats in their delicate tissue-paper wrappings and looked at Catharine, who still stood guiltily before the desk.

Instead of answering her question, rather preferring to put off their inevitable departure just a little longer, Catharine fiddled with the long sleeve of her white glove.

"I do wish you would call me Cate," she said, trying to make sure her voice stayed light and airy. "Honestly, Esther, no one calls me Catharine except my grandparents and no one calls me 'Miss' except the milkman."

"Oh, I couldn't, Miss," Esther replied cheerfully, placing the lids over the boxes once more. "If it would please you, though, I could call you Miss Cate as a compromise."

"I suppose that will do," Cate said at last, although smiling slightly at Esther's infectious good spirits. "You make me feel far grander than I am."

"I don't know if that's the case, Miss Cath—Cate." Esther corrected herself quickly. "I would imagine there are great many people who would dare to call you the grandest lady they've ever laid eyes upon."

Now Cate laughed. "Esther, you flatter me," she said. Her eyes caught sight of her reflection in the small mirror that had been fixed to the wall some years ago, now so far in the past that it seemed like it had always been there. With her hair pinned just so and the long, lavender dress that reached the floor, covering the corset that restricted her every breath and the layers upon layers of petticoats and underthings, Cate felt like a prim doll, one that could be found high on the shelf of her grandmother's parlor, looking down imperiously at all who entered. Such a thing surely did not belong in the humble cottage nestled in the Scottish hillside.

"Where's my Sunflower?" A man's voice boomed from downstairs, causing both women to start, their conversation halted. Esther looked questioningly at Cate, who smiled.