James sisters carry their luggage from the house. It was a terrible morning. Although the sun was rising on the horizon and normally the sky would have been littered with rich, beautiful colors, a blanket of gray clouds blocked most of the sun from view. As should be expected since winter was rapidly approaching, the temperatures had dropped below freezing during the night and weren't too eager on rising again. Brook, Emy, and Gail, therefore, were dressed in their warmest. Layers of wool socks covered their feet; thick scarves protected their necks, chins, and mouths from the wind; and each wore several sweaters as well as their biggest coat over their normal garments. And even with that, their bodies still shivered and their teeth still chattered. One truly couldn't escape the cold. Once all the trunks were stored away and the portmanteaux were at hand, once Betsy had shoved a basket of food into Brook's hands and goodbyes had been said, Brook, Emy, and Gail stepped into the carriage and the wheels began to roll off into the countryside. Brook sat on one side of the carriage with the basket of food beside him, beckoning him with heavenly scents, and across from him was Emy, sitting quite demurely without words and her hands lying flat upon her lap, and Gail, lounging on most of the seat with her back against the side of the cabin and her knees pulled up towards her chest.
