Isabelle was used to formality because of her experience with Cranbrook. But, as she put on her Matriculation attire, it seemed different.
As the ship docked in Faxafloi Bay, Isabelle stood on deck and looked out at the city streamlined before her dotted in bright red roofs on white buildings.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. She had never seen New York and began to wonder what it would have been like to come here with her father…or to take this, her first journey, across the Atlantic.
“I’m so sorry–he’s dead,” Mary said, looking down at the hallway carpet. Isabelle stood there as Mary touched her arm and then pulled her into a hug.
