Beginnings

With efficient and practiced ease, she makes her rounds. Her stride is easy without the ring of keys jingling at her hip and softly, contentedly she sings a song from her homeland. She is free to do that now that she is mistress of her own house. She finds that she sings more often and their house is filled with song, gentle conversation, and easy laughter between husband and wife. Elsie finds this man she lives with is much different now that he is no longer Butler. His step is lighter, his countenance brighter, less strained. His romantic heart beating freely, unfettered.

Elsie Carson runs a slender finger across window casements, mantelpieces, and tables making sure that they are free of settled dust. Each guestroom is spotless. The cupboards aired and dusted. The beds made with a lovely duvets and crisp white sheets tucked into perfect corners. The bedside tables have fresh flowers from the garden, tended by Charles' hand. She reaches bends, plucks up a few stems, and rearranges them until she is satisfied. The gauzy curtains glow a milky yellow as the sun breaks through the windows. Shadows of tree limbs move across them like dancers across a stage as the breeze blows gently outside. The leaves will be falling soon.

She hears a knock at the door, his footsteps cross the floor, and the door opens. As she makes her way down the stairs, his deep voice drifts through every nook and cranny of the house. She brushes her hands across her dress, an old habit when she is nervous or excited, and steps toward her husband.

"Please meet my wife," he says smiling, introducing their first guest to her.