Chapter One – The Comfort of Routine

Hannah Grüen began her chores the same way she did every morning. She dressed in her normal prim and proper attire and checked her list of tasks to complete for the day. "Vacuum the rugs," "sweep the floors," "pick up fresh produce" were all the top of her list. She followed with the weekly tasks: laundry, dry cleaning, and bedding. There was one more item on her weekly list that she routinely saved for last these days. She never minded the work she did, never complained about the care she put into keeping this home neat and clean. Dusting, on the other hand, was becoming more and more o f a chore. That task in and of itself had changed. She had no problem wiping the wood furnishings throughout the house. Starting out with a cheery whistle of one of her favorite childhood songs, she would make each piece gleam and hum with the fragrance of oranges. Inevitably, as she neared the end of her chore she became more subdued until, finally, the task she'd been dreading since the last dusting had arrived.

Hannah looked at the number of framed photographs and sighed. It was getting harder by the week to dust those photographs. Each of them reminded her of the changes, both happy and sad that had come to this home. The largest one, a photo of a young man and woman in front of a cathedral hung, surrounded by friends and family. To the left, one of that very same couple, both in graduation gowns with two elder couples flanking them, their love and approval clearly evident on their faces. To the right of the wedding picture was the man, a little older now, standing in front of a Chicago law firm his arm around his pregnant wife, both beaming for the camera. Directly below the wedding picture was the first family photograph, taken by a close friend of the couple. Between the two of them was a bright-eyed baby girl, who seemed to inherit her parents' smile right out of the womb.

Those pictures spoke of promise, of happiness and a bright future.

It was an awful feeling, knowing that she could trace the dark days so easily, just by turning away from that wall and applying that duster to another picture frame. As she swept from one picture to the next throughout the home, the beautiful wife vanished entirely. The man still smiled into the camera, his love for his daughter clearly etched in his face, but the eyes…they spoke of a loss that never quite faded away, no matter how unaware the little girl in the picture was of how profoundly that loss affected him. Yet there was healing in those pictures as well. That little girl grew up, beautiful and strong, with an intellect of which both parents would have been proud.

And coming full circle, in the study, Hannah stopped in front of a large photograph of the girl she had come to love as a granddaughter, dressed in commencement regalia, father and aunt at her side, arm around Hannah's shoulders, grinning for all she was worth.

Promise, happiness and a bright future.

The tears had already begun to fall, but it wasn't until she reached the last photograph that they'd become an unstoppable torrent. It just wasn't fair! Hadn't this man suffered enough tragedy in his life? First his wife and then, just when she was poised to begin a new phase of her life, his daughter? Hadn't she suffered enough, losing her family in order to escape to freedom west of Khrushchev's Berlin Wall? It wasn't supposed to happen like this, was it? To add insult to injury, they only had the memory of pictures, because the home itself was different.

The alarm system sounded, announcing that someone had entered from the garage. Wiping her tears as hastily as she could, Hannah headed downstairs to greet the man who suffered more than she ever could.

Carson Drew noted the approaching footsteps and sat his weary frame into the nearest chair. He'd had a full docket today, and none of his cases were easy wins; in fact, they all required continuances in order to proceed. Carson smiled humorlessly. Not one of those continuances had come from his side of the courtroom. Between his amazing research staff, his legal team's analytic skills and instincts, and his own intellect and experience, his firm was difficult to beat in the courtroom or at the bargaining table.

Carson's firm had run on a simple plan since he set out his shingle over twenty years ago, but he nevertheless managed to gain a great deal of fame and respect as a criminal attorney. Yet, just when his friends and rivals thought he couldn't get any better, he kicked in with an intensity they'd not thought possible. He dramatically expanded his research division, and started acquiring additional associates to handle the less urgent legal matters. No one was surprised when he made these changes. A man on a mission would have settled for nothing less.

Carson had been reluctant to expand in the past. He'd been saving most of his profits to give to his source of joy, the reason he breathed. He didn't have to worry about recovering the funds he invested. He'd made it all back plus thousands more, though it gave him little comfort anymore. It was always the next case for him, the next victory over an opponent in the battle to save a client he believed in.

It felt as if was nothing else left, no matter how often his rational side chided him for such a notion.

The footsteps were closer now, and Carson could hear the telltale sounds of a woman's tears. His eyes found the calendar by the dining room entrance—July 25, 2008.

"Ah, yes, Friday," Carson sighed. Every week, they dragged themselves through the same routine. Carson came home ready to drop from exhaustion, and Hannah would greet him after dusting the framed pictures that graced his home. Hannah would compose herself on the short journey from his study to the kitchen, but he'd hear her sniffles before she entered the room. Neither would address the source of their gloom, but it would be there, thick as Scottish fog and just as difficult to ignore.

The ritual lent such elegance to their misfortune. Carson chuckled, shaking his head. The ever-present reporters, forced by court order to remain outside of his neighborhood, helped that along as well. He couldn't even say that his family endured a hardship that many other families have experienced.

"The Drews don't know the meaning of the word simple, do we?" he murmured.

"Not at all, Carson!" Hannah replied as she entered the kitchen. She beamed at her long-time employer, hoping to distract him from her red eyes and sniffling nose. She busied herself with brewing fresh coffee and preliminary food preparations for dinner. "I take it you had a productive day at the firm?"

Carson closed his eyes, breathing in the aroma of his favorite coffee. It never failed in relax him, if only a little. "Always, Hannah." He smiled at her then, reminding her of happier times and happier pictures. "I can't believe how well Victor Bane is working out. He's proven to have a great head for research. Makes all of our lives easier."

That was their routine, going through the motions and trying to maintain a semblance of normalcy when everything was anything but normal. Hannah prepared dinner while Carson talked about his cases. The lawyer looked through the mail while the housekeeper recalled some funny exchange she witnessed at the market. Both tried to keep the other from noticing how often they glanced over at the phone, as if it were a beacon to guide them in from stormy seas.

Finally, as it happened every Friday evening, Hannah laid down the gauntlet as gently as she could.

"Is there any word, Carson?" she asked, the hope in her inquiry an ill-match for the despair in her voice. "Is it safe for Nancy to come home?"

Carson sighed again, wishing they never had to have this conversation, but knowing he wouldn't stop it even if he could. He looked up at his housekeeper, his friend, and said the dreaded words. "No word from them, Hannah. She isn't coming home to us yet."

Hannah took a deep breath, eyes closed to the empty chair beside her. When she could trust herself to speak, she looked at Carson. "I just wish we could talk to her, tell her we love her."

Carson reached over and patted her hand. "Nancy knows, Hannah. I'm sure she knows."