Keep My Heart- Prologue

Keep My Heart- 27

"Do your little bit of good where you are; it is those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world."-

Desmond Tutu

Hello, most wonderful readers of mine! First allow me to say, even though I did not make the Watty Award deadlines because of my stupid computer, thank you for reading my story. :) It means everything to me that the crazy, jumbled up words that fall from my brain to my fingertips are cherished and enjoyed. It is my dream, actually. :)

Anyway, thank you dearly. Please remember to vote and comment!

The entire way back to America, she cried.

She wept the same way she had when Rashleigh had let his older brother tell her the awful news. And she kept her dearly beloved husband's words close, but she cried the entire day and dreamed about him as she slept.

There was no fear in her that was stronger than the fear of losing him. It sent her reeling with a stomach ache and when the kind Americans on the ship brought her food, she found that she could not eat it.

Suddenly, she was in a place called New Orleans and the people were strange and spoke with strange accents. In the midst of it all, she felt lost and came to tears more than once. There were so many colors and so many noises and so much music. It was so different than what she had known. What she missed dearly.

Olivia was staying in a hotel, and was curled up in the chair by the window. Outside, it rained but the people seemed not to notice. They sang, and drank and sold their goods. For these people, the world had not stopped. There were still days and nights. There was no fear.

Mostly, while waiting for her trip back to Boston, Olivia slept. It was seldom that she ate, those few days. She slept and did nothing. New Orleans was queer and seemed sinful to her, despite the fact that she herself had known dark sin. With her husband, her life had been so different...

On the third day that she was in the hotel in New Orleans, the hotel attendant came knocking upon her fine, mahoganoy door. She slinked up from her bed, clad in her white cotton nightrail, irritated at having to rise. With swallowed agitation, she crossed the room and pulled the door open.

"Yes?"

"Madam, there is a gentleman here who says he wants to see you."

She sank back, wondering who in the devil would want to see her. It would not be any of the people on the ship her husband had sent her on...they had all returned to the place they were from. She had thought that they said they were from Virginia.

"Send him away," she muttered. "I do not wish to see anyone."

The lady continued, "He stressed that it is urgent, madam."

Olivia scoffed. "Did he provide a name?"

"He said he is family."

Her brows came down, and she bristled. "I haven't any family, he is mad."

"He claims to be your father-in-law."

Then, she stopped. But she swallowed hard. "That is impossible. He is dead."

"Shall I send him away, then?"

"No, no...what did you tell me his name was?"

"A Mr. Hawke."

She felt gray then, and puzzled. She fought a wave of nausea, swallowing the acidic bile that rose up in her throat. Her head swam, and she drug a hand up to her hair, feeling it and squeezing her bright blue eyes closed.