Preface
“Where do you find real beauty in this world?” Seventeen year old Sarah Williams had asked herself that question many times throughout her life and never had found the answer. It was not to be found on the beautiful tree lined banks of the Kanawah River in the house she grew up in. It was a beautiful house, stately and of the finest quality but it lacked what Sarah needed the most. It did not fill her heart and soul like a home should, there was always something missing.
The house on the Kanawah River was the constant in Sarah’s life and it possessed a personality that was as big as any person who ever called it home. The house was built in 1836 by Norris Whittaker for Sarah’s grandfather, Adam Griffith, a salt maker by trade who amassed a small fortune during the boom days of salt production in Charleston. The house was surrounded by tree-shaded grounds facing the great Kanawha River.
From the portico of the house you could see all of the high wooded hills south of the Kanawha suggesting little of the urban setting in the heart of Charleston, the fast growing capital of West Virginia.
The house was classical revival in design. It was nearly a square two-story and brick with a gabled roof running east and west. Twin interior end brick chimneys were at each end of the house. Beneath the two-story portico, the side hall was reached through an elaborate mullioned doorway flanked by three-quarter length sidelights and surmounted by a rectangular over light. The two additional front elevation bays of the ground floor were centered with French doors. Sarah was born in this house in the worst of times.
The site of the house was but a short distance east of the site of Fort Lee where pioneers made their first permanent settlement of the Charleston area in 1788. The selection of the house site was influenced by its height above the Kanawha River. This would prove to be a prudent choice in 1861 when the house escaped the devastating sixty feet of water that inundated the valley. The house had been heavily damaged during the Civil War and the occupation of Charleston when Sarah was just a baby.
Sarah grew up lonely in that house. Her mother Elizabeth, called Lizzie by her family, had died when Sarah was only four years old, leaving her devastated father Layton to raise the girl and her brother Frank, just one year older. She was only thirty years old when she died and Layton would not talk to his children about how she died, he would just tell his children that she loved them very much. Sarah remembered her as the most beautiful woman in the world, at least in her world. She remembered her mother with the same coal black hair and soft brown eyes that she passed on to her daughter. She remembered her mother’s gentle nature and soft voice. She remembered her mother’s sadness and melancholy. When she died, an ache started deep in the four year old’s heart that would never go away. Sarah knew her father well and loved him for all his good qualities and was tolerant of the parts of him she considered to be weak.
Layton Williams was a carpenter and worked hard to provide for his family. After Lizzie died, Layton tried his best to give his children what he could but it was hard to make a happy life when your heart will not heal. He was left so heartbroken when she died that he felt he would never recover. It hurt him just to move sometimes. He had of course been through this before.
As a very young man, Layton was married for twelve years to Margaret, and had a family with her. Her death was not unexpected. Her health had been deteriorating for five years before she died. Layton felt ashamed to admit that her death was a relief, not just for her but for him as well. Even thinking that way made him hate himself; she was a good woman and the first woman he loved. She deserved better than to be remembered that way. She died in 1850 and every time he looked into the eyes of his ten year old daughter Cynthean, he saw Margaret or Maggie as she was called. Cynthean and the boys, John aged eight and Lucian just six years old, reeled from the loss and he could offer very little relief to their sorrow.
It was different when Lizzie died. It was too soon, too sad and too sudden. Layton felt nothing inside but deep regret and helplessness at not being able to save her. He often wondered why she was even with him. He was thirty-four years old, a widower with three young children when he first saw her.
