“You are? How amazing!” The woman’s eyes almost fell out of her head. “How ever did you do that?”

Annabelle smiled benevolently at her. “I went to medical school in France, after my husband died.”

“Was he a doctor as well?”

“No,” she said simply. The husband who had died did not exist. “Consuelo’s father was the Viscount Winshire. He was killed in the war, at Ypres.” All of that was true. She had not told a lie about Consuelo’s father. And it was none of her business, and never would be, that they hadn’t been married. It didn’t diminish her accomplishments, or the good she had done in the world.

“Of course,” the woman said with a sniff, far more impressed than she wanted to admit, but she could hardly wait for Annabelle to leave so she could tell her daughter, whom Annabelle scarcely recognized she had gotten so fat, and had hardly known before she left. She was playing shuffleboard with friends.

And a moment later, Annabelle and Consuelo walked on.

“Who was that?” Consuelo asked with interest.

“Just someone my parents knew in New York,” she said, feeling better than she had in a long time. Antoine had struck hard. And those who had come before him had taken their toll as well. But suddenly all of them seemed to be losing their effect on her.

“She has mean eyes,” Consuelo said wisely, and her mother laughed.

“Yes, she does. And a mean mouth. I used to know a lot of people like that.”

“Is everyone in New York like that?” Consuelo looked worried.

“I hope not,” Annabelle said brightly. “But we’re not going there for them. We’re going there for us.” And she was no longer willing to stay away and hide from them either. They didn’t own Newport and New York. She had her own world now, with her life in Paris, her patients, her practice, and her child. The only thing missing in her life was a man, but if she had to be belittled, humiliated, and “forgiven” by men like Antoine, who didn’t believe or respect her, then she preferred to be alone. She was fine.

The crossing passed uneventfully. They had a lovely time. Annabelle and Consuelo ate in the dining room together every night, and when the captain invited her to join his table one night, Annabelle politely declined. She preferred to dine with her daughter, than amid the nonsense and hypocrisies of people like the friends of her parents she had met on board.

As they steamed into New York harbor, assisted by tugs, Annabelle felt a lump in her throat as she saw the Statue of Liberty, standing proudly with her torch aloft. It was a moving moment, as though she had been waiting just for them. She pointed out Ellis Island to her daughter, and explained what she had done there, before she was a doctor, and that it had been an impossible dream for her then.

“Why, Mama? Why couldn’t you be a doctor here?” She didn’t understand. Her mother being a doctor seemed the most natural thing in the world to her, and she wanted to be one too, and might well be one day.

“Because women didn’t do that very often. They still don’t. People think they should be married and have babies and stay home.”

“Can’t you do both?” Consuelo looked at her with a puzzled expression.

“I think you can,” she said, looking at the Statue of Liberty again. It was a reminder to all that the light of freedom never dimmed. Even if you closed your eyes, she was still there, lighting the way for all, men, women, rich, and poor. Freedom belonged to everyone, and to Annabelle now too.

Consuelo was looking pensive then. “If we were married, like to Antoine or someone like him, would you stop being a doctor?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” She offered no comment about Antoine, who had called her child a bastard. She would never forgive him for that. And hadn’t been able to forgive him for the rest.

When they tied up at the dock and cleared customs, they found two cabs to take them and their luggage to the Plaza Hotel. It had a lovely view of the park, and was in walking distance of her old house. Annabelle was shocked at how New York had changed, how many new buildings had appeared, how much more crowded it seemed. Consuelo was fascinated by it, and as soon as they settled in and had lunch, she and her mother set out on foot to explore the city.

It was inevitable that they went to her old house first. Annabelle couldn’t help herself. She had to see it. It was in good repair, although the shutters were closed and it looked unoccupied. She supposed that the new owners were away for the summer. Annabelle stood staring at it for a long time as Consuelo held her hand.

“That’s where I lived as a little girl.” She was about to say “until I was married” but stopped herself. She had never told Consuelo about Josiah, although she knew she would one day.

“It must have been very sad when your papa and brother died,” Consuelo said solemnly, as though visiting their grave, which in a way it was. And her mother’s. She had died in that house. And Annabelle had been born there.

“Your Grandmother Consuelo lived there too.”

“Was she nice?” Consuelo asked with interest as her mother smiled.

“Very. And she was beautiful, just like you. She was a wonderful, kind person. And I loved her very much.”

“You must miss her very much too,” Consuelo said softly.

“Yes, I do.” Standing there, Annabelle remembered the morning she learned that the Titanic had gone down, and the day her mother died. But she remembered the happy memories too. The days of her childhood when everything had been so simple and easy for her. She had had a golden life among loving people who protected her from all harm. And in the years after, she had paid her dues for everything she had now.

They walked away slowly, and Annabelle took Consuelo to see other landmarks in her life. She told her about her debut ball. And they visited her grandfather’s bank, where Annabelle introduced Consuelo to the manager and several employees she still knew. Consuelo politely curtsied and shook hands. At the end of the afternoon, they came back to the Palm Court at the Plaza for tea. It was very impressive, and they saw beautifully dressed, stylish women wearing extravagant hats and jewels, chatting and enjoying teatime under the enormous skylight.

Consuelo loved New York, and Annabelle was happier than she had expected to be. It was nice to come back, and fun to show it all to her daughter. Lady Winshire had been so right, it was a piece of her own history and her daughter’s, and it was important for Consuelo to see where her mother had grown up. They stayed for a week, and Annabelle saw no one she knew. There wasn’t a soul she wanted to see. By the end of the week, she was anxious to get to Newport and the cottage. She knew Consuelo would love it there, just as she had as a child. Independent of the social life that was so essential to the residents, the ocean and the beach and all the natural beauty were even more appealing than the cottages that were so vital to their owners and all who knew them.

They checked out of the Plaza and took the train to Boston, and her parents’ old butler William was waiting at the station for them with one of her parents’ old cars that they still kept in Newport. He began to cry the moment he saw her, and bowed when he met Consuelo, who was very impressed by how old he was, and how respectful to her. And she felt so sorry for him when he cried that she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. He and Annabelle both had damp eyes when they greeted each other. The staff knew about Consuelo from Annabelle’s letters to Blanche, but they were not entirely clear on who her father was or when the marriage had happened. From what they could gather, he had been killed shortly after he and Annabelle were married. William looked at Consuelo with misty eyes and a nostalgic expression.

“She looks just like you at her age. And there’s a little bit of your mother.” He helped them settle into the car, and they set off on the seven-hour drive to Newport, with Consuelo observing and commenting on everything along the way. William explained it all to her. And here again, Annabelle found that much had changed, though not in Newport itself. As they drove into town, it looked as venerable as ever. And Consuelo’s eyes grew wide when she saw the cottage and the vast expanse of land it sat on. It was an imposing estate, and they had kept it in perfect condition.

“It’s almost as big as Grandmother’s house in England,” Consuelo said, in awe of the enormous home, and her mother smiled. It looked just as she had remembered, and brought her back to her own childhood with a sudden pang.

“Not quite,” Annabelle assured Consuelo. “Your grandmother’s house is bigger. But I had some wonderful summers here.” Until the last one. Coming back here brought up so many memories of Josiah, and the terrible end to their marriage. But it made her think of their happier beginnings as well, when she was young and all was hopeful. She was thirty-two years old now, and so much had changed. But it still felt like home to her.

As soon as the car stopped, Blanche and the others came running out of the cottage. She wrapped her arms around Annabelle and couldn’t stop crying. She looked much older, and when she saw Consuelo, she hugged her too. And like William, she told Annabelle that her daughter looked just like her.

“And you’re a doctor now!” Blanche still couldn’t believe it. She could believe even less that she had finally come home. They had thought she never would. And they had been deathly afraid she would sell the house. It was their home too. And they had kept everything in pristine condition for her. It looked as though she had left the day before, not ten years ago. Those ten years seemed like an entire lifetime, and yet when she saw the house again, the time since she’d last seen it melted away to nothing.