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Gustavia Browne
Stunning, dark-eyed Gustavia, who says she was born in the wrong century, embarks on a dual a seemingly hopeless search for Freddie Finch, her childhood orphan friend, and a wrenching search for family. Both searches take her into the past--from the orphanages of Hull and Hessle in the county of Yorkshire to the teeming metropolis of early 20th century London. Her voyage is fraught with mystery, tragedy, adventure, and enduring love--building to a climax that spans three centuries to unite the threads of five families and four generations.
- GenresLds Fiction
368 pages, Paperback
First published March 1, 2004
17 people want to read
About the author
Alene Roberts
12 books10 followersI can swing higher than the chicken coop. The fun of picking and chewing pine gum. Or every kid ought to have a cow like Blossom. I wish I could tell you all about these and dozens of other stories about my life, but I’ll try to pick out the highlights.
I was born in a small community in the Four Corners country of the American southwest. My father was a sheepman, cattleman, rancher, and owner of a real western mercantile store that supplied goods to the inhabitants of a wide area including members of the Pauite and Navaho Indian tribes. Whatever anyone needed they could find it at the mercantile, or Dad would get it for them. Groceries, clothing, and western gear and supplies were staples, but they could also obtain cloth, toys, coffins, stove pipe, draw off their own vinegar from the large wooden vinegar barrel, or even order a new automobile. Before I was born men could even get a free haircut.
As a child, I explored the wonders of that marvelous store almost everyday. The candy counter was my favorite. But when I began reading I liked it better than eating candy.
I had an idyllic childhood. The outdoors was as familiar to me as the inside of the dwelling that was home to me, my parents, three brothers, and a sister. In the summer I rode my horse, Toby, with my friend Patsy, up the Blue Mountain that towered next to our community. Sometimes we hiked to the lower levels and waded in the streams, or hiked to the “big hill” north of town that was covered with scrub oak and sagebrush. The smell of sagebrush was delicious to me.
Our orchard was my haven. I climbed the fruit trees daily, watching and waiting for the fruit to ripen. It seemed to take an eternity. My favorite place was sitting behind the gooseberry patch eating the green sour gooseberries. My brother, Mason and I had contests to see which one of us could chew a mouthful of these without pulling a face..
When I was ten my life took a drastic turn. I contracted polio and spent a year on my back in a hospital three hundred miles away from my home and family. It was in the isolation and homesickness of the hospital ward that I discovered the need and joy of writing, putting my thoughts in letters to my family, friends, relatives, and even my beloved dentist.
The medical prognosis was that I would never walk without braces or crutches. With the faith that often comes to children and through my prayers and the prayers of my family I was able to leave the hospital, walking unaided, a living miracle. Though I could never run or jump because of atrophied limbs, I was determined to outdo my contemporaries in hiking, arm wrestling, handling a gun, and riding a horse. I began helping my father herd cattle from the winter range to the summer range in Colorado, reversing the process as winter approached.
For quite some time I was forced to wear high-topped shoes to strengthen my weakened ankles. I went to a school dance in junior high wearing these awful shoes.. Guess who was the “wallflower” of the evening. I walked home that night crying.
Later on, in order to gain more strength. I had to undergo muscle transplants on my right foot, and on my left hand.
I adored my father. He was like the morning sun to me. Even as a small child I would sneak into the living room, hide behind a chair, and listen to him talk to or give advice to people from every station of life. I’m sure those conversations helped spark an interest in the way that people speak to each other, and the differences between men and women.
My mother was quiet, gentle, and loving.. She was totally selfless in her service to her husband, family, and others of the community. She taught us spiritual values and lived what she taught.
It was when I went to college that I felt a new sense of of my own ability. I always wanted to write. Though I began with a truncated love story at age twelve, I never really thought I could until my advanced creative writing professor called me i
I was born in a small community in the Four Corners country of the American southwest. My father was a sheepman, cattleman, rancher, and owner of a real western mercantile store that supplied goods to the inhabitants of a wide area including members of the Pauite and Navaho Indian tribes. Whatever anyone needed they could find it at the mercantile, or Dad would get it for them. Groceries, clothing, and western gear and supplies were staples, but they could also obtain cloth, toys, coffins, stove pipe, draw off their own vinegar from the large wooden vinegar barrel, or even order a new automobile. Before I was born men could even get a free haircut.
As a child, I explored the wonders of that marvelous store almost everyday. The candy counter was my favorite. But when I began reading I liked it better than eating candy.
I had an idyllic childhood. The outdoors was as familiar to me as the inside of the dwelling that was home to me, my parents, three brothers, and a sister. In the summer I rode my horse, Toby, with my friend Patsy, up the Blue Mountain that towered next to our community. Sometimes we hiked to the lower levels and waded in the streams, or hiked to the “big hill” north of town that was covered with scrub oak and sagebrush. The smell of sagebrush was delicious to me.
Our orchard was my haven. I climbed the fruit trees daily, watching and waiting for the fruit to ripen. It seemed to take an eternity. My favorite place was sitting behind the gooseberry patch eating the green sour gooseberries. My brother, Mason and I had contests to see which one of us could chew a mouthful of these without pulling a face..
When I was ten my life took a drastic turn. I contracted polio and spent a year on my back in a hospital three hundred miles away from my home and family. It was in the isolation and homesickness of the hospital ward that I discovered the need and joy of writing, putting my thoughts in letters to my family, friends, relatives, and even my beloved dentist.
The medical prognosis was that I would never walk without braces or crutches. With the faith that often comes to children and through my prayers and the prayers of my family I was able to leave the hospital, walking unaided, a living miracle. Though I could never run or jump because of atrophied limbs, I was determined to outdo my contemporaries in hiking, arm wrestling, handling a gun, and riding a horse. I began helping my father herd cattle from the winter range to the summer range in Colorado, reversing the process as winter approached.
For quite some time I was forced to wear high-topped shoes to strengthen my weakened ankles. I went to a school dance in junior high wearing these awful shoes.. Guess who was the “wallflower” of the evening. I walked home that night crying.
Later on, in order to gain more strength. I had to undergo muscle transplants on my right foot, and on my left hand.
I adored my father. He was like the morning sun to me. Even as a small child I would sneak into the living room, hide behind a chair, and listen to him talk to or give advice to people from every station of life. I’m sure those conversations helped spark an interest in the way that people speak to each other, and the differences between men and women.
My mother was quiet, gentle, and loving.. She was totally selfless in her service to her husband, family, and others of the community. She taught us spiritual values and lived what she taught.
It was when I went to college that I felt a new sense of of my own ability. I always wanted to write. Though I began with a truncated love story at age twelve, I never really thought I could until my advanced creative writing professor called me i
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Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews
February 19, 2008
Alene Robert's also writes romance novels. And like I said I'm a hopeless romantic and of course I love her books. I have two more left to read and will be sad to finish them. I hope she continues to put out her sweet mystery romance stories. They allow me to escape to a different place and wish that romance was that way in real life.
February 20, 2009
This book, signed by the author and given to me by my son-in-law, is a great book, full of mystery and romance, with a very involved plot with tragedy and journeys from Maine to London leading from an orphanage to reunion of childhood friends to a delightful ending. I felt as if I'd journeyed through time and history.
February 15, 2013
It was a pretty great LDS fiction book. Sometimes it got a little long, there were essentially 3 stories going on at once. It was full of coincidences. I KNEW it was Paul and I was hoping for him the whole time. A very lovely read though.
August 28, 2008
This is a fun romance, but the mystery included in it ends just a little too nicely. Everything that happens in the entire book is connected in the most unlikely ways.
September 22, 2008
This was a bit comfusing at times until you figured out the story was talking about 3 different time periods - going back and forth. It was OK but not as good as some of her other's.
February 20, 2009
Alene Roberts is my friend's mother! She didn't start writing until she was in her 60s (I think). Since then she has written many LDS romance novels. This is one of my favorites.
March 9, 2009
This is a great book for the family history enthusiast.
September 15, 2009
This is a smiple romantic read. It made me remember that I have friends forever.
May 24, 2011
Not one of my favorites of Alene Roberts, but it was okay to read. I just had a hard time with the story line. I still think it's a good book to read once.
March 28, 2012
2.5 stars. no big complaints really, but nothing really to praise about it either.It seemed a little too forced with all of these amazing things falling into place to make the story happen.
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November 16, 2015I have a close relationship with the author of this book, so I think that, like a judge does with a case that involves him/herself, I must recuse myself from doing a review.
April 20, 2009
Very good book
Displaying 1 - 12 of 12 reviews