Introduction

Today I am introducing a novel laid in the World War I era. This is a war that has often been lost in the shadow of World War II, yet it had a profound effect on the norms of society that were considered inviolate at the time. The horror of trench warfare, the injuries from munitions and gas, and the ruthless tactics of a generation of generals living in the past made this a time many just wanted to forget.

My grandmother served in the Red Cross in that war and her stories of her time there, the ones which she was willing to tell me, have informed this book although it is not a portrayal of her or her family. In fact, it is a timeless tale of a young girl who did not fit into the life into which she was born and what she did about it.

The House on Ellis Avenue: Prologue

The last day in which my family was a whole entity rests in my memory like one of those ancient insects who lived a million years ago, and are now preserved intact in amber.  It is a still portrait of the six of us, caught in our last moments. We are in the dining room of the large yellow brick house on Ellis Avenue.  Each of us is seated in our usual places: Papa at the head of the table commanding our attention even when silent, Mama at the foot keeping an eagle eye on our manners and deportment, my two brothers Arthur and James, 16 and 14 on one side of the large mahogany table, and on the other side, across from a large epergne holding a flower arrangement, sat we two girls, my sister Trixie, 7 and I, 8. 

Josie is coming and going through the swinging door to the kitchen bringing various platters from the kitchen presided over by Emma the cook.  We are serving ourselves from these dishes as we have each of us in turn, since we were old enough to be allowed to join family dinners.  We take some of everything we are served, Papa assuming we will without question, and Mama’s keen eye making sure we live up to that expectation.  Only Trixie will sometimes try a minor revolt by taking only three peas or a lone lima bean, her two vegetable adversaries.  But ever-alert Mama, sends a frown down the table, and Josie, wise to the ways of the dining room requirements, waits patiently until Trixie takes more, scowling in her defeat. 

There we all are, none of us realizing what made us truly a family.  It was not Papa sternly reigning from his end of the table, or Mama trying to still any waves that might arise in the smooth family pond, but Arthur, our beloved older brother.  And this noon-time meal, caught in amber, is the last he will ever have in this dining room. After this, the family will fragment into a million pieces.