Spring 1938

Newport, Rhode Island

Cora set her plate on the dark rattan glass topped table, leaned back in the matching cushioned rattan lounge chair and looked out the arched floor-to-ceiling windows towards the Atlantic Ocean. She remembered when this had been a covered terrace before Harold had installed glass panels converting the terrace into a sun room and a place to sit and admire the view year round. And what a view it was with the wide expanse of green lawn, bordered by oddly shaped flower beds, stretching out before seemingly dropping off into the ocean where today several yachts were visible with their starched white sails whipping in the breeze. Cora felt an unexpected tear on a her cheek remembering that not quite two months ago Harold had lost his life when his boat, one very much like those she saw now gliding idyllically across barely rippling water, had been hit by a rogue wave sending him and two others into the cold dark February water.

She had last been at this house some three years ago when her mother had become ill and chose to live her remaining few months here surrounded by green lawns, air tinged with the sweet scent of roses, and views of the Atlantic Ocean rather than in her New York City apartment. Cora had sat here in this very room with her watching the ocean sparkle in the rays of a rising sun, watching the blue of the water darken as the sky turned glorious shades of reds and pinks in a fall sunset, watching a cold grey afternoon turn dark with a pelting rain that lashed against the tall windows obscuring the roiling sea.

Wiping away a tear, Cora took a deep breath. This room, this house, wasn't a place just of sadness for there had been some happy times here too and none more so than that first visit here shortly after her mother had bought the house when she and Robert and the girls had come for a visit. While Robert and her sisters played croquet or badminton, Sybil, who was barely two years old, had spent hours happily chasing butterflies and running barefoot on the thick grass of the lawn. There had been walks in to town to the ice cream parlor where Mary and Edith were determined to try every flavor by the end of their holiday and Sybil somehow managed to get as much ice cream on her face and clothes as she ate and would walk home trying to lick the remains from her dress.

There were morning walks on the beach looking for seashells and dodging the incoming waves washing ashore. There had been plenty of fun spending hours on the beach building sand castles. There had been afternoon picnics on the lawn and evenings spent chasing lighting bugs and sitting around a fire roasting marshmallows.

It wasn't all idyllic of course. Walking the beach combing for seashells often erupted into Mary and Edith fighting over who got the prettiest or biggest shell. There were plenty of tears when Sybil decided it was much more fun to smash her hands on the sandy turrets that is if the waves rushing onshore didn't cause their sand castles to suddenly crumble. There had been plenty of skinned knees in chasing after those lightening bugs and plenty of tears when Sybil ate most of the marshmallows instead of waiting for them to roast over the open coals. So often those croquet games on the lawn ended in screams and harsh words with Mary and Edith accusing each other of cheating that is when their anger wasn't directed at their baby sister who found it amusing to run after a finely hit croquet ball and toss it away or run off with it.

Yet all in all Cora thought it had been a wonderful time and she had reveled in every moment of it. How nice it had been to be away from the formality of Downton and to give her daughters a small taste of the childhood she had had. Even Robert who had been dragged along was sorry to leave.

Lost in her memories of those times long past she smiled as she thought of the two or three other times they had come here when the girls were still young and America seemed exciting to them.

"Is there anything else you want?" The Irish lilt of Harold's housekeeper, Mrs. O'Meara, woke Cora from her reminisces.

As she slightly shook her head Cora said "that was delicious." Smiling she looked up at the woman maybe just a few years younger than herself who had worked for her brother for years. "I think I'll have dinner on a tray out here."

Mrs. O'Meara looked towards the wall of windows and nodded. "It is beautiful here. Mr. Levinson liked to sit out here and eat his meals too. I think he enclosed this terrace just so he could enjoy" her voice began to quiver "the view even in the winter." She gave Cora a faint smile as she quickly collected the tray with the remains of Cora's lunch and left the room.

Cora had been touched how much Mrs. O'Meara and her husband, who had the roles of butler, footman, and jack of all trades, seemed to care for Harold. Their sorrow at his passing was quite genuine and he must have cared for them too for he had been quite generous to them in his will.

That Harold had loved this view was no surprise to Cora after all he had turned his hobby of yacht racing into a business designing and building yachts. But it was the room itself that was surprising to Cora for she would describe it as light and airy which certainly didn't come to mind when she thought of her quirky older brother. Had it been one of his parade of female companions, something else surprising but Cora wouldn't dwell on that, who had actually decorated the room in what Cora thought was a tasteful representation of what one would find in the houses of the upper crust in Bermuda a place Harold often sailed to.

It was a beautiful room so different from what she had grown accustomed to. There was none of the stuffiness of Downton in this house even in the rooms of marble fireplaces and carved oak paneling. She sighed thinking how she could be happy here in a place not bound by years of tradition.

Cora busied herself in the afternoon tackling the last few rooms determining what objects she wanted sent to Downton, what objects would be given to the small staff or close friends of Harold, leaving the rest to be sold at auction. She left Mr. O'Meara to sort through Harold's clothing taking whatever he wanted and donating the rest. She had spent five days doing this for it hadn't gone as fast as she had thought it would since so many objects reminded her of something and she'd linger over her memories. There were items from her childhood such as porcelain dolls and china tea sets that her mother had brought here from her New York apartment. There was a surprising amount of closets and drawers still filled with her mother's clothes that Harold had never given away. She had received her mother's most valuable jewelry when Martha had passed away but there were still numerous small wooden boxes filled with cheaper baubles.

This house was so filled with reminders of that passion Harold had for boats and the ocean. Lining shelves and mantels and numerous glass fronted cabinets were miniature wooden or crystal boats and boats in bottles, racing trophies, a slew of nautical maps and charts, and a collection of antique brass sextants and marine compasses. Most rooms seemed to have watercolors, drawings or oil paintings, not of long dead relatives or hunting scenes like those dominating the walls of Downton, but mostly of boats or seascapes.

It was almost sunset when she finally retreated to the sun room for a cold supper. Sinking into what had become her favorite lounge chair, feeling every bit her almost seventy years, she was glad to prop her feet up on the cushioned ottoman. It wasn't one of those glorious sunsets of vibrant pinks and oranges but one where the dusk slowly drained into shades of gray. She lingered over a second cup of hot tea and watched as a few stars rose shining bright in the darkened sky.

With her brother's death she had inherited the Levinson family fortune. Harold had made wise financial investments particularly in shipping companies. He had bought not only houses but also farms generating not only rental income but also farming income. She was amazed at the variety of his land holdings. A walnut farm as well as an avocado farm in California, a half interest in a Texas ranch, an apple farm in upstate New York, a sugar cane farm in the West Indies! His boating business was lucrative and if it had suffered during the recent depression had certainly bounced backed. His partners had already offered in an astounding sum for his share of the business. There was no doubt that now she was a very wealthy woman.

Her warm memories of those long ago holidays here caused her to think again about her decision to sell this house. The house certainly wasn't as ostentatious as The Breakers or Chateau-sur-Mer or most of the other Gilded Age Newport mansions but still at twenty rooms and prime views of the Atlantic is would sell for quite a bit. Yet now as she sat here she thought of how much she enjoyed sitting in this room watching the world beyond these tall panes of glass. In the warmer weather, the windows could be raised letting sea breezes cool the room. Her grandchildren could play games of croquet or horseshoes on the lawn or picnic on the stone patio. Lawn chairs could be positioned just right to capture the fading light of a sunset or to watch the stars.

She took a deep breath. It was folly to think Robert or the girls would come here for holidays; he'd think it too far away and too much bother while Mary and Edith would think it too American … maybe if … if… her smile faded. Looking out those windows she saw not the darkened lawn but bright sunlight and a six year old Sybil, her face beaming with joy, jumping up and down, her hands clapping as her croquet ball sailed through a wicket. Once again, unexpectedly, Cora's eyes filled with unshed tears.