Glass of Roses
an excerpt

Prologue

Atlantic Ocean
A few hours away from the shore of England
1814

Fingering the thin gold chain around her neck, Rose Hunter breathed in deeply. Her ship, the Edwardian—though in truth it was actually called the Washington–was close to the shore of England.
The fact that the ship she traveled on had to have its name changed, thanks to the little war that was going on between England and the United States, didn’t help to make her feel any better.
She had left Boston a month ago. No, maybe it was two? She couldn’t remember any more, and had stopped counting the weeks after the third. The more she counted, the more she realized how far she was traveling away from her homeland.
She wrapped the gold chain around her finger, anxiously. If her father hadn't died in the war, and her mother hadn’t rotted away from a broken heart, she wouldn’t be traveling all the way to England to live with her Aunt Abigail.
Rose didn’t know much about her aunt. She did know, however, that she was married to an Englishman called John Walker. Aunt Abigail had left America when Rose was five-years-old. She barely remembered what the lady looked like.
All she could hope for was a welcoming embrace when she got to England. She hadn't had one in months. Rose flattened the crumpled letter she had received from her aunt.

Dear Rose,
I’m very sorry to hear about my brother’s death, as well my sister through marriage. I’d like to personally hurt the English, but since my husband is one, I’ve decided to hold back the urge...for now. You are always welcome here, my dear niece. Actually I expect you to come to England, to live with my husband, John and I. I have placed enough money in this envelope to get you a ticket on the next ship to England. Write me back to let me know which ship you have boarded, that way we can meet you at the port. I cannot wait to see you Rose.
Sincerely,
Your Aunt Abigail

Rose stared down at the letter. So now she was traveling to England, alone, since she had no family that was willing to take her in, in Boston.
Touching the gold chain once more, she opened up the gold locket, and looked at the two pictures. On one side, was her papa, and the other, her mother. Oh, how she wished they were alive.
Dropping the chain, the cold metal fell to her chest where it hung between her breasts. She stared out onto the horizon. In the distance she saw England, she fancied that if she looked behind her, she could see America.