Eliza Montgomery was born in 1865 to Thomas and Katherine Montgomery in a beautiful townhouse in New York City. Katherine Montgomery was a beautiful woman with porcelain skin, dark hair, emerald green eyes & the voice of an angle. She adored her two children and doted on them constantly. Katherine insisted Eliza have the best tudors and work hard at her studies, but also insisted the tudors were never harsh and allowed plenty of time for daily strolls through Central Park. Thomas Montgomery was more reserved, quiet with a serious disposition, but that serious demeanor could be broken by Katherine’s teasing. Though rare, when Thomas did laugh, it was a deep, boisterous laugh that filled the house. He typically deferred to his wife’s preferences and indulged his children’s whims, but the whole family knew his word was law and would not be changed when he cared enough to voice what he wanted. Eliza’s brother Lucas was 8 years her senior and was a loving older brother. He played with her, helped her with her studies, and loved to sneak her little treats from the kitchen. It was a happy home, filled with the sounds of laughter and music.

That is, until shortly after Eliza’s 8th birthday, when the house grew quiet. Her mother, Katherine, had fallen sick. The sounds of her mother’s singing and playing the piano were replaced by a wheezing, nagging cough. Her father’s reserved demeanor grew sullen and silent. Lucas tried to bring cheer to Eliza’s new, quieter world, but at 16, he had recently begun his studies outside the home and was rarely there.

After 20 agonizing months of doctors in and out of the house and her mother growing weaker and weaker, Katherine Montgomery passed away. And Eliza’s quiet world grew dark. Literally, black mourning cloths were draped around the house, over the dining chairs. The servants dawned mourning bands on their arms & the 3 surviving Montgomery’s were outfitted with new wardrobes of black for mourning. Eliza’s world had turn upside down and the months that followed her mother’s funeral were a fog of grief.

On nights she couldn’t sleep, which were most nights, Eliza had taken to sneaking down stairs and curling up on the couch of the music room. There she could almost still hear her mother’s voice, singing to her the way she had done almost every evening before she had fallen sick.