Isabella sat in the brown leather wing chair, her legs tucked under her, a book open in her lap.  Such a big house often had a chilling draft running through it, and she dressed warmly, black slacks that tapered to her ankles and a long-sleeved, shimmery silver top with a low-scooped neckline that showed off her assets without being vulgar.  The back of her neck felt stiff and she leaned her head back a moment, partially staring at the ceiling.  She had been reading the better part of two hours, and it was time to get up and let her sore joints stretch.  Laying her book on the leather stand beside her, she stood and stretched her legs, arms reaching toward the ceiling.<br/><br/>Walking to the windows, which spanned an entire wall from two feet above the floor to the ceiling, she looked out on the west lawn.  In the distance there was a grove of trees, where a tree house still stood.  She smiled as she remembered her father telling her she could have one, then sending his hired men to build it.  It was so strange that he could create microscopic wonders, but could not handle a hammer and nails.  The day was picture perfectm wutg a cloudless sky and beautiful trees that had just started to turn with the seasons.<br/><br/>A sound near the door made her turn, then grin.  “Hello, daddy,” she said as she went to him and wrapped her arms around him.  “How is your day going?”<br/><br/><br/><br/>