Prologue

A Chapter by Michelle

Introduction of lead female character. Look at the event that will shape and influence her adult life.

The seven am southbound train from Boston en route to New York coasted over the tracks as its passengers merrily went about their conversations and varying tasks. Some sat playing cards while others sipped on coffee and cocoa chattering away about the day’s plans. The seemed to bustle with anticipation and excitement as all seemed to be preparing for Christmas time in the city.

Sitting midway through the car a lovely woman in her mid-thirties enjoyed the company of her husband and daughter. British by birth she and her husband had emigrated to Boston years ago hoping their import/export business would be of greater success than in England. So far their risk had paid off, not only was the business successful but their daughter was thriving.

“Are you comfortable darling?” Josephine asked the twelve-year-old sitting next to her.

Turning her doe eyes up to stare at her mother the girl bobbed her head with a degree of assurance.

“Yes mother.”

Bronte had lost her accent long ago despite the fact that her parents still had the telltale drawl. She still, however, had the impeccable manners her mother had been sure to instill in her from the earliest days she could remember. They enjoyed afternoon tea, as was custom in any proper English household, ate meals off fine china and crystal, and of course enjoyed family evenings together playing games and reading.

It was from those books that Bronte learned that she was named after her mother’s favorite authors, three sisters alike in so many ways yet each still an individual. Time and time again she sat at her father’s feet listening to his deep voice as he spoke the words that rest on the now worn pages of the family copies of Wuthering Heights or Jane Eyre.

Those times were so precious to her, equally precious as this one would be. She was going to spend a weekend in New York City, her first, with her parents. They were going to go Christmas shopping, enjoy sundaes at Serendipity, dinner at Tavern on the Green and playful snowball fights in Central Park. It was scheduled to be the perfect trip.

The car slowing to a halt for the next stop Bronte didn’t pay it any mind. She continued fiddling with the pages of the book in her lap. It was only after several pages that she looked up to peer out the window and noticed that they were in the middle of a snow-covered field.

Shifting in her seat Bronte looked across her mother to where he father sat, “Daddy, why have we stopped?”

Rustling the newspaper he was holding so that it was folded in his lap Bronte’s father focused his attention solely on her.

“I’m not sure darling. I doubt it is anything to be concerned over.”

Taking hold of his wife’s fidgeting hands he settled them into her lap. Not usually a nervous traveler, this trip found her particularly anxious. Glad that Bronte hadn’t noticed her mother’s behavior he tried to soothe his wife enough to keep his perceptive daughter from catching on.

“Josephine, why don’t you play a game of cards with Bronte while we wait.”

Looking plaintively at her husband Josephine’s head bobbed up and down quickly before she extracted her hands from his.

“What an excellent idea Graham. Bronte, do you have the cards?”

Noticing her parents exchange uneasy glances Bronte reached for the deck of cards she had left resting in the netting of the pouch attached to the seat in front of her.

“Right here mother.”

Taking hold of the deck Josephine discarded the packaging that surrounded the thin scraps of paper and began to shuffle. The crisp sound of the cards clapping together vibrated in the dull buzz of conversation around the unmoving cabin. Tossing one card onto Bronte’s tiny seat-side table then dropped one for herself. Back and forth she dealt until the whole stack was divvied up between them.

“You go first darling.”

Josephine let her eyes rest lovingly on her daughter as she flipped the top card in her pile. Her daughter was the spitting image of herself at age twelve. Big brown eyes, thick mahogany hair, and gorgeous olive skin peppered with freckles over the bridge of her nose. Of course, barely anyone noticed they were there but as her mother she knew every square inch of her daughter. She would be a fighter, a teller of truth, a woman of conviction and passion that much Josephine knew.

Perplexed by the blank look on her mothers face as she watched the first card being played Bronte tapped on the table.

“Mother, it’s your turn.”

She was unsure when, but there was a clear shift in her parents’ mood since the car had stopped. Up until that point the day had been one of festive banter and playfulness. Now, it seemed, there was a dark cloud hovering above and Bronte couldn’t quite place why.

“Yes darling, you’re absolutely right.”

Wrapping her fingers around the card atop her pile it was as if it became suspended in air at the sound of screaming permeated through the aisle. Now all that could be heard was a man’s voice bellowing loud and angry as he charged from one end to the other. Dropping all the cards from her hand Josephine paid no mind to the fact that they now lay scattered on the table, their seats and the floor. All she cared about was protecting her child.

“Mother, what is happening?” Bronte asked, her voice laced with confusion and trepidation.

Enveloping her daughter into a tight embrace Josephine marveled at the fact that she heard little fear. As a man, his body laced with explosives, ran madly up and down the aisle of their car her daughter remained ever fearless.

“Nothing that will harm us darling. I promise.”

Running her hands over Bronte’s silken hair Josephine knew the act was more for the purposes of calming her own frazzled nerves than her daughter. Feeling the broad arm of her husband reach across her torso Josephine was relieved at her husband’s assistance in reassuring their daughter.

“Mother is right darling, everything will be alright.”

Tussling the hair that her mother had just recently flattened Graham smiled his trademark smirk at his little girl. The picture of her mother, he was continually amazed that she was so courageous. Always the daredevil his Bronte was a leader in academics, sport and all activities she participated in. She was as strong in character and emotion as her mother and he had every confidence she would grow up to be just as beautiful.

“Can I put on my earphones?” Bronte asked, her voice sounding as if she was asking for an ice cream on a warm summer day.

Seeing her father nod his agreement Bronte took hold of her Walkman and slipped the headset over her ears. Pressing the button on the casing she watched as the cassette spindles twirled slowly, letting the music flow out to her ears.

Blocking out all but a dull buzz as she watched the strange man ranting about the length of the aisle she could see he was passionately speaking of something. Her eyes still lingering on him Bronte let the minutes pass more and more until the fevered perpetrator began plucking people from seats. His voice getting closer and closer she finally started to feel the twinges of fear palpitating through her limbs.

Not ordinarily a person who was afraid of anything, the fact that this man was about the pull her away from the only two people in her life that were important to her made her heart thunder in her chest. Flailing demurely as he pulled her towards the aisle she felt herself tripping over her mother’s knees as Josephine reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. Turning to face her mother as her fingers slowly slipped away Bronte heard her faintly profess her love.

Bronte soon found herself, amongst a larger group of children, standing calf deep in the snow staring into the rail car she had previously been occupying. Staring into her mother’s eyes as she pressed her hand against the window Bronte cried for the first time. The tears, they fell slowly at first but the instant the train began to move again she felt the warmth streaming down her face more swiftly. The bitter cold of the windy December air doing nothing to dry her liquefied cheeks Bronte gasped for air as the train moved further and further from sight. So far from sight all that was left was the smallest of dots on the horizon.

Dropping to her knees in the sand she shivered and cried, burying her face into her hands in the hopes that when she looked back up she would once again see the train looming above her. When she finally did dare to look up again only seconds later she was met not with the soothing sight of her mother and father looking down on her from the window, rather she experienced the horrifying sight of flames jumping sky high.

Screaming at the sound of the explosion booming from the direction she last saw the train traveling Bronte knew. She was alone in the world now, her parents, her happy carefree life was no longer.