Early the next morning, (Phoebe and her grandfather) made their way, arm in arm, across the tiered gardens, bright with late season mums and roses and flame-like celosia, and through the gate in the privet hedge that separated the formal gardens from the service grounds. An autumn sharpness tinged the air and a bright golden hue tipped the ends of the leaves overhead. Soon, green and gold would turn to fiery reds and russets, and fall would burst forth in earnest. Phoebe was

Cowes, Isle of Wight, April 1920 Phoebe Renshaw pressed a hand to her stomach in a futile attempt to ease the incessant gnawing inside.

“Take my advice, Miss Cross, and marry a rich man. Then you may do whatever you like.” The train from New York City to North Kingstown, Rho