Five Sisters (60 page)

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.