Somewhere Lies the Moon

by Kathryn Lynn Davis

• ISBN13: 9780671736064
• ISBN10: 067173606X
• Edition: Reprint
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2000-08-01
• Publisher: Pocket Star

Summary

In her New York Times bestseller Too Deep for Tears, Kathryn Lynn Davis launched an acclaimed saga brimming with evocative, deeply emotional portrayals. Now through the eyes of Eva Crawford, a student contemplating marriage, she shows us the unique bond between the Scottish Highland sanctuary Glen Affric and the generations of Rose women whose stories are Eva's legacy. Somewhere Lies The Moon For free spirit Ena Rose, the daughter of Ailsa Rose, growing up in Glen Affric has been idyllic. But womanhood looms; she faces tormenting questions of the heart -- and a love that can never be. Then there are the women whose destinies have unfolded over decades and eras; Mairi Rose, warm and wise, who binds the family together...Ailsa, who found boundless happiness in her daughter, Ena...Wan Lian, who after leaving China is driven by soul-consuming sorrow and anger at the death of her loved ones...and Genevra Townsend, who finds amongst the exotic dangers of India an inner serenity that will enable her to return at last to Glen Affric. Richly textured and life-affirming SOMEWHERE LIES THE MOON is a mesmerizing tale filled with timeless wisdom and unforgettable heroines who live on long after the final page is turned.

Author Biography

Kathryn Lynn Davis is the New York Times bestselling author of Too Deep for Tears and All We Hold Dear, both available from Pocket Books. She lives with her husband in Riverside, California. Readers can visit her Web site at www.kathrynlynndavis.com.

Excerpts

Chapter 1 Glen Affric, Scotland, 1879There were night sounds beyond the ring of lantern light that caught within it streams of rushing water, divided and fused again, tumbling over huge striped boulders in the swift summer burn. In the darkness beyond the circle, the nightingale sang, a white owl hooted, a wildcat called to her missing mate. The breeze ruffled the treetops -- a promise, a threat, a faint caress -- the cool summer child of the harsh winter wind. There was no mist, yet shapes and hues and textures blurred together -- a dark background for the luminous sphere of light.Mairi Rose Kittridge, Ailsa Rose Sinclair, Wan Lian, and Genevra Townsend reclined in the radiance on smooth flat rocks, contemplating low, stairstep waterfalls descending gently from level to level. Where the falls did not turn it to swirling foam, the water was clear golden, and lush ferns grew in hollows that followed the curve of the river.Ailsa, Lian and Genevra had stripped down to their shifts to luxuriate in the mild summer air. But Mairi Rose was fifty-six, and though she enjoyed seeing the young women take off their clothes and release their inhibitions, she remained fully dressed, regarding them with tenderness and concern. She had contented herself with removing her brogues and raising her skirts to wade in the large pool where the waterfalls dissolved into stillness. She'd unpinned her silver-streaked red hair, loosening the braid that blended with and altered the pattern of the red plaid she wore. It did not have to keep away the chill, for it was summer and the night, for once, was warm; she wore it because the plaid was old, comfortable and poignantly familiar.Ailsa raised her head, chestnut hair falling down her back to pool on the rock behind her, and stared up at the interlocking pattern of leaves. "Sometimes I wonder if my father dreamed it all, conjured up this night, the magic lantern that makes only this place real in all the world, and all of us here, together." She nodded toward Genevra and Lian, her newly discovered half-sisters, in amazement and affection.Lian was twenty-five, tall and lithe, with the thick black hair and bronze skin of the Chinese, while Genevra was eighteen, small and slender, with translucent skin and fine blond hair that refused to stay bound. At thirty-eight, Ailsa had the sturdy wholesome beauty of a woman of the glen, with her sun-browned skin and scattered freckles, her strong legs and callused feet, which had carried her over this very burn many times when she was younger.The single feature the half-sisters shared was the reflection of their father's light blue English eyes. Ailsa's were blue-violet, Lian's sky blue, Genevra's blue flecked with gray."I do not think Charles Kittridge has that kind of power," Lian offered, legs pulled close to her body. "To create this place and us as well." She kept her voice neutral, stifling a flash of the rage at her father that had shaped her childhood. He was a British diplomat who had traveled the Empire, leaving behind Ailsa in Scotland, Lian in China, Genevra in India. He had abandoned his daughters and their mothers, though it had not been his choice. Nevertheless, the result had been the same. He had left them helpless and far apart, from him and from each other, except for the invisible strands that bound them through their dreams. They might never have met, but he had called his three daughters to his bedside here in the Scottish Highlands, where it had all begun, where -- in the end -- he had chosen to die.Charles Kittridge's widow, Mairi, and the half-sisters had passed through the fire of the first violent rush of grief over his death nearly two months ago. Tonight they'd become restless, in need of grace and stimulation, rather than sorrow. So here they sat in the glow of the lantern, losing themselves in the songs of the river.Genevra, the youngest, looked up, eyes alight. "Of c