Even the clickity-clack of keyboards seemed muted in the vast, open hall of the library as people searched industriously for the answers they were seeking. For Della Clarke, unfortunately, answers were hard to come by. But, today, today was different. Elation was rushing through her veins as she read and re-read the email from Margaret Pritcher, the genealogist that she’d hired. It read: Dear Ms. Clarke, after considerable efforts, I have managed to locate several of your DNA relatives, all of whom live in the town of Berwick-upon-Tweed, United Kingdom. I can’t give you names or addresses, unfortunately, given the legalities, but at least I can lead you to the general area, more or less. The rest is up to you. Perhaps you might consider a visit to Berwick-upon-Tweed, where you can access their records in more detail. Do let me know what you decide, and I sincerely hope you find the family connections you are searching for. Sincerely, Margaret Pritcher.

Della had known that her mother, Allison Clarke, had grown up in the north of England, and that she’d come to the States alone, and pregnant with her, but that was all that her mother been willing to share, and every time Della had asked for more, her mother had always quickly changed the subject, saying it wasn’t worth talking about.

She’d lost her mother two years ago, and during that time, her longing to reach out had only grown stronger. She was tired of being lonely. She wanted lunch dates and family reunions, family pictures and Christmas Eve dinners. She wanted a family.