A few years ago, I happened on to some winter scenes of Scotland. As I studied them, I could almost see this great baronial house peeping through the woods. There it was, Glengarrow, filled with memories and made sad by its lack of life.
I rarely begin a book with a place in mind. The characters normally come first. But Glengarrow called to me to end its misery – people it, make its inhabitants weep or shout or laugh. Something must happen to bring the great house back to itself.
The story of Glengarrow required a stubborn woman, one holding onto life with determination and resolve. Glengarrow’s master needed her as well, because some might say that the house reflected the master’s sorrow, even as far away as he was.
One day, however, Glengarrow’s master came home, and the woman began to wake up, and the great house almost sighed in joy and gratitude.