Elizabeth lied awake that evening in her childhood bed, staring up at the ceiling illuminated blue and deep by the moon. Her mind drifting to Egypt and to Ardeth. Not anything particularly specific but just the feeling of them—the emotional blanket that warmed her heart and cradled her fears was now…gone. It was real now.

Elizabeth did not know how she felt about this, about her position and her gifted life, other than frustration. But she knew she would not come to a resolution within herself tonight. So for now, sleep.

It would be several hours before Elizabeth would get any sleep and even then it would be only a hour long rest before a crying baby roused her from bed. The baby in question, Charlie and Camilla's four month old. Elizabeth rushed to throw her robe on and toed her way through the dark hallway, following the high pitched wailing that bounced off the walls like a chamber.

She had a room all to herself, the baby, at the end of the hall farthest from everyone except Elizabeth. She pushed the door open and strode to the crib. Hesitantly she picked up the baby, holding her like she had seen so many women hold children in their arms.

"Shh," Elizabeth whispered and rocked and bounced her in her arms softly. Still the baby, baby Charlotte cried. Elizabeth chuckled to herself remembering the event just a few hours ago—the introduction to her niece, little Charlotte.

"Charlotte? Are you kidding, you actually named her Charlotte?" Elizabeth had laughed.

"What? What's wrong with the name?" Charlie had questioned.

"The name Charlotte is the female version of Charlie—you literally named your daughter Charlie."

"Oh for bloody sake—I didn't realize that."

Elizabeth shushed the child again, "Hey, little Charlotte—there's no need to cry. You are safe, well fed, and loved."

Charlotte's cries slowed with the rhythm Elizabeth rocked her to, and she wondered if this little baby could understand her. If she had thought just then that, oh yes—I am safe and loved, thank you for reminding me.

Elizabeth smiled at the thought, if there was ever to be a baby with a practical perception it'd be Charlie's daughter—her niece. Still, she couldn't believe she was here. Alive herself and holding a tiny little thing that represented all of its own future life ahead of it.

"You've a lot of life to live, little Charlotte. Rest well for tomorrow will bring bounties of love and excitement. The whole world will turn with you." Elizabeth hummed to the baby until she fell asleep in her arms. Gently Elizabeth laid her back in her crib. A yawn over took her and she shifted to the rocking chair next to the bed. Within the minute she fell asleep listening to Charlotte's soft, ubiquitous breaths.


Several difficult weeks would pass and Elizabeth would fill her days writing at her windowsill, watching the sunrises and sunsets. She would come out for meals and tea, or the brief conversation with her father or her brother, sometimes her sister-in-law who was more often than not silent as a mouse.

When she was alone Elizabeth wrote everything down, every patient she had treated, every bone mended, every cut sewn, every death thwarted, and every life lost. There was no rhyme nor reason to her writing, but Elizabeth felt the need to get it all out. To distract herself from the reality she was in.

She wrote in chronological order from her teen years helping her mother and hoped to get to the present. But as she wrote the name Abdal, her hand could not continue and her mind went blank—both full and empty simultaneously.

Elizabeth looked up with a sigh. The sun had not shown out from the clouds in days, it drizzled a mist throughout London, dulling the city even more than already was.

Elizabeth slipped her coat and boots on. A nice stroll around town might clear her mind. Sneaking out the back door, Elizabeth let her feet take her where ever they felt like going.

It wasn't too long before Elizabeth breached the entrance of a cemetery, with both old and new gravestones littering and lining the bright green, dewy grass. Slowly Elizabeth walked along the stones, reading the names of the newly planted. Eventually she paused in front of one, not very old—just three years in the Earth; Daniel Elliot.

A choked sigh exited her lips as she bit down on her lip to swallow a sob. It was jarring to see the grave stone of someone you knew—someone you cared about, even for such a short period of time. She imagined that her family must have felt the same with hers.

Elizabeth knelt down into the wet grass and traced the date on the stone, the year the war ended; 1918.

"Hey Danny Boy," she smiled softly to herself, almost immediately after speaking she felt comfortable and welcome in the space. Part of her wondered if it was because she too had died and returned, so a little of that death still in her spoke to him. Most of her though, just wanted to continue without question, "A lot has happened since you've been gone. The war has ended and Britain claimed victory. I started my own clinic in Cairo, it was an absolute dream. I thought I fell in love there for a bit as well but…"

Elizabeth paused and looked around, she was alone.

"I got really sick and…died from it. But somehow I was able to come back," she continued, "Which is all sorts of confusing and strange and as awful as you'd imagine. I don't know what to do with myself most days now, everything seems trivial—even life. I feel like I am a tree whose roots have been chopped off…If I'm honest I feel a bit lost, Danny."

She wished he was actually there, sitting across from her in the grass, crossed-legged and listening intently. She imagined he would nod thoughtfully, taking her hands in his and assuring her that she was strong enough to move on.

But he wasn't there and Elizabeth didn't know if she was strong enough to move past death and heart break. Which one felt worse?

"Did you know him?" A voice from behind broke her focus.

"I'm sorry?" Elizabeth turned her head and looked up to a man, a few years older than her, knit jumper under a navy peacoat and a kind smile.

"I just—" he hesitated, smiling to himself, "I'm sorry, I was just curious if you knew him?" He gestured to the stone and Elizabeth held her coat around her body as she stood.

"Um, you could say that…" She blinked away mist from her eye, "We served together in Ghana."

The man raised his eyebrows, "Really? Were you a nurse?"

"Field surgeon, actually."

"Huh." The man hummed gently, that smile still on his face, eyes fixated on Elizabeth.

"Did you?" Elizabeth asked.

"Did I what?" He asked, distracted.

Elizabeth chuckled at the hasty and awkward communication, "Did you know him?"

"Ah." The man nodded briefly and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "A bit, I'd like to think. My kid brother, actually. I'm Mackenzie Elliot."

Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and shook his hand, "Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't realize." The more Elizabeth looked at him she could see the subtle features the siblings shared; dark ember eyes, sharp jaw line, messy mop of brown hair, wonder in his smile.

"And you are?" Mackenzie still shook her hand and Elizabeth felt herself blush.

"Elizabeth Bender-Whitmore."

"Doctor Elizabeth, I presume?"

"Yes, well, not right now but yes, I used to have a practice."

"And what do you do now?"

"Well, not much actually. I had a bit of a rough year and decided to close my clinic." Elizabeth scolded herself for getting too private but Mackenzie seemed to respect her answer. He continued to gaze at her for several moments before shaking himself out of whatever trance he had been in, then he laughed at the brief, but stiff silence.

"I'm sorry, it's just you are…would you—" Mackenzie paused for a moment, bashful even, and continued, "would you like to join me for a drink?"

Elizabeth felt taken aback and her mind went blank. A drink? With her? It wasn't as though she immediately suspected his intentions, but she could not help it. Why her?

He doubled back, "It's okay, if you have plans. I just would like to know a little bit about my brother, you know—before he died."

Elizabeth visibly sighed, "Oh yes, of course."


They sat at a table by the window and Mackenzie fetched two pints of beer from the bar.

"So, how did you know my brother, exactly?" Mackenzie asked and Elizabeth tried not to blush. How could she tell this man that her and his brother had a short-lived but fairly passionate fling without sounding completely lovesick?

"We became very close friends after he was transferred to our unit. I couldn't help but notice this kid that kept showing up in the med tent with random bumps and bruises and burns, hurting himself on purpose so he could talk to me."

Mackenzie laughed heartily, clapping his hands, "Now that sounds like Danny, that little bastard."

Elizabeth would go on to tell him all the stories she had stocked away that she hadn't recalled in years. Happy memories, some hard and scary, but happy. While she didn't love Daniel she cared a great deal for him, and had to admit to herself that his death impacted her more than she realized.

Eventually their conversation drifted from the war to their lives. Elizabeth discovered that Mackenzie was a tailor, like his father, and he loved tea and reading her father's books—a point he was almost too shy to admit. After nearly two hours and three pints later Elizabeth was almost too shy to admit that she was enjoying herself more than expected.

But eventually she decided that it was smart to make her way home.

"Well, let me at least walk you?"

Elizabeth nodded and fell in step next to the shy and goofy man she had just met. Their pace was slow, they both seemed to be subconsciously taking their time.

"Do you have a favorite spot in London?" Mackenzie mused, with lilting wonder in his voice.

Elizabeth thought for several moments, "If I had to pick, I would say my dad's garden."

"Oh that doesn't count."

"Well it is! Everywhere else is so sterile and gray to me here. Where is your favorite spot in London?" Elizabeth mused and Mackenzie feigned offense.

"I'll have you know that my favorite spot embodies the very sterility and grayness of London itself: the cemetery."

"The cemetery? Why the cemetery?"

Mackenzie shrugged, "It's quiet there, and everyone who enters becomes inherently empathetic to each other's feelings. There's an understanding within a cemetery that you just don't see anywhere else."

Elizabeth smiled to herself, "You haven't been outside of Europe have you?"

"How could you tell?"

"Just a guess."

"Well, Miss World Traveler, if you do not have a favorite spot in London, where is it?"

"The desert." Elizabeth answered without hesitation. Mackenzie eyes widened.

"The desert?" He asked in mild amusement.

"It embodies something quite similar to your cemetery. Peace, understanding, empathy, but ruthless also."

Mackenzie smiled, his hands stuffed in his pockets and Elizabeth felt a churn in her stomach. A churn? A flutter?

Quickly they approached the Whitmore townhome and slowed to a calm stop.

"This is it." Elizabeth said and Mackenzie walked her up to the door.

"I must say it was very nice to meet you Doctor Bender-Whitmore."

"You can call me Elizabeth, if you'd like."

"Well, it was a pleasure to meet you—Elizabeth." He said her name softly, that Northern London swift air in his voice that hit Elizabeth in all the right places. "And you can call me Mack, if you'd like."

"It was a pleasure to meet you as well, Mack." Elizabeth said and braced herself as he bent to kiss her cheek softly. He lingered, not longer than what was appropriate, but just right. When he straightened he cleared his throat.

"I'll see you around, Elizabeth." He winked and watched her walk into the house and close the door.

When Elizabeth closed the foyer door she closed her eyes and leaned back against it. She tried to work out her feelings through this sudden burst of emotion. In a rather frustrating grunt she felt that now her mind was even more unfocused than before. Was that a bad thing?

Mack seemed fairly kind, and if anything at all might offer her a decent friendship in her transitional period of…whatever she was going to do next.

"Who was that?" Her father's voice suggested. She opened her eyes to see him leaning against the hall wall with a glass of wine in his hand.

"No one." Elizabeth took the glass from his hand and took a swift swig.

"You smell like you had fun." Her father commented on the more than likely recognizable scent of alcohol on her breath, she placed the empty glass back in his hand with pointed instinct. Then she made her way to the stairs.

"And if I did?" Elizabeth finally responded.

"I'd say it's about time!" He called after Elizabeth as she strode up the stairs. The second the bedroom door was shut and she spotted the work she had left abandoned on the desk, tears fell from her eyes and she crumpled to the floor clutching her chest.

Thoughts of Ardeth, of the love she had for him sputtered—fluctuated and dimmed in her heart. Was this a curse? To love a man hundreds of miles away, who no longer loved her? Was this what true heart break was?

In that late afternoon haze, Elizabeth felt now more alone than ever before.


Oh boy has it really been nearly a year since I've posted? I entered a point last year where life was so busy and it was hard to focus, much like Elizabeth right now. But over the past couple of weeks I found myself desperately needing Elizabeth's voice back in my life. I needed her struggle and her honesty, her goodness and her innocence. I hope to stick with her to the end-I've had this ending stewing in my mind for months now, I hope I may do this story justice by continuing again. Please let me know what you think, I'm eager to engage with you all once again.