Five years had passed since Lucy had first taken Emerson as her surname. She sat at the drawing table looking out at the view of her and dear George's new Estate. This was quite different from their Townhouse in London, and Lucy was enjoying the change for the time being. The English green was ebullient and overgrown slightly across the grounds, rainfall had swept the land over the past month now although the cold creep of death had yet to grasp the roots quite yet.

Death had gripped their life of late, however, as the late Mr. Emerson had passed that August. Lucy missed his visits and his friendly face, always in good temperament. Although brash at times, she remembered him fondly and thought of him often as an example of how to truly experience the marrow of life.

Poor George had taken the news awfully hard. There were moments where he would sink into his gloomy states, even after their happy union. But something about this experience was different for George. He slept in his room quite often, and had taken a leave of absence from his position at the London Post. He would re-read some of his old favorites and take morning walks around the grounds. But conversation had run dry between them and Lucy worried she was inadequate to fill any emptiness George was experiencing.

It was time for them to return, Lucy Thought, to the room with the view. Perhaps he will be able to see that within himself the sky to be blue.