She wore a loose-fitting nightdress that had once been her mother’s, and had been carefully stored in the cellar since her death. The cool breezes blowing in from the mountains to the shore tugged at the edges of the nightdress, making it billow around her. It was well after midnight, and the ghostly silver moon of the Jamaican night rode low in the sky, its light lending a faint illumination to the mountains in the south. It was a peaceful scene, and helped calm her after waking from a troubling dream. As tired as Elyse had been, she had found sleep an impossible feat. After a wonderful dinner shared with Ann and Charles, she had retired to the bedroom she had chosen for her own. In bed, she stared up at the ceiling, wondering if she were here, or if it was a delusion born of her desperate needs while the scents of salty air and tropical trees told her she was in Jamaica. Closing her eyes, Elyse tried to ease her mind and let sleep claim her, but her thoughts would not set her free.
