A Year of Lilies

by ohtobealady

1895, heralded by cheers and chimes, leads Robert Crawley to reflect on his parents, wife, children, estate - his life. He comes to realize how, in a single moment, life can change forever - a single moment with the gravity of decades, the effects felt by everyone in a myriad of often unseen ways. This is a story of heartbreak and joy, death and life, and navigating tides of change

1. Prologue

New Year's Eve, 1895

It was over champagne and laughter when he looked at her. He looked and he watched the lines around her mouth, those thin creases moving and shifting with her smile. He watched the way they transformed her full, smooth face into something twinkling, shimmering even, and he felt his chest burn warmer at the sight. It was this, after all, the unguarded way the roundness of her face grew fuller and sweeter, the shallow lines that puckered at her cheeks, yes, it was this that he loved most about her. For as English as Mama had taught her to become, as soft as her vowels tried to lie, and as gentle as her teacup could touch its saucer, it was the lines around her laughter that remained the same. Somehow the dust of a Cincinnati store-room stayed tucked there in those infrequent dimples, teasing him with a past he knew nothing of.

And it made him love her so much more. So terribly, terribly much more.

Of course he'd never tell Cora this, certainly not as they stood nearer one another, so near he could easily smell the jasmine on her wrists and throat; so near he felt he could feel the blue of her gaze, the glow of her cheek. No. He'd never say aloud how his chest felt all aflame as he watched her, how his romantic nature recited Byron as her eyes sparkled up toward his.

No; instead he smiled briefly at her, nodded in reply to her soft touch at his arm, and he turned away, letting his palm find the small of her back.

The champagne in his glass danced with bubbles, waltzing and then vanishing against the glass flute. His family gathered nearer, his sister, his brother-in-law, his cousin and wife, Mama, Papa, and Cora. Cora, who drew ever closer to his side.

And as Papa's voice rumbled about, the dainty chimes of midnight helping him to beckon kisses and toasts, Robert said a quick prayer. A wish. A hope for his family, his mother and father as they shared a small kiss, for Cora whose cheek was warm and soft, and for the two little girls asleep upstairs in their feather-down beds. His little girls.

"To 1895!"

Yes, Robert's prayer answered. To 1895.