From poverty on the cobblestone streets of London in 1855, to the American Civil War, a story of loss, adventure, and love, spanning two continents and a generation.
Warren Phelps gripped the ship’s railing as it sailed into Liverpool. Light rain and wind blew into his face as he squinted toward the harbor.
England! Even through rain and smoke-laden sky, it was a welcome sight. He was filled with anticipation and relief. Relief that, after five years, his voyage had indeed taken him home when, so often, he thought he might never see England again, and anticipation that he would see Dottie and Nigel at last.
He often thought of how she might have reacted when his letter came. It would have taken weeks to arrive. Warren pictured her smiling as she read. She would have sat in their only upholstered chair, reading by the light of the window, twirling a strand of hair with her fingers. Perhaps she wept a bit with joy, or maybe laughed out loud with delight. She would have raised her dainty hand up to her smiling lips. He saw her calling Nigel over and reading it to him while the boy knelt beside her. He could see her explaining to him what it meant for their future. He thought she might read it again by candle light at night, falling asleep with it cradled to her chest.