Creating a table of contents which keeps track of your progress
Have a lot of content and want to guide your visitors easily through the different states. Let's create a table of content that highlights the area you are currently at.
Chapter 1
April 9, 1995
The Oregon Coast
If I have learned anything in this long life of mine, it is this: In love we find out who we want to be; in war we find out who we are. Today’s young people want to know everything about everything. They think talking about a problem will solve it. I come from a quieter generation. We understand the value of forgetting, the lure of reinvention.
Lately, my mind has been wandering back to my first love. That’s natural, I suppose, when you’re watching your own daughter embark on her first romance. Her name is Viann, and she’s just sixteen—a beautiful, headstrong girl just beginning to discover her own power. Watching her, I can’t help but think of myself at that age—of the woman I was before I surrendered to a life of duty and expectation.
The year was 1939. The world was teetering on the brink of war, but at that moment, I was blissfully unaware of such things. I lived in a small village in the Loire Valley, in a place of stone and beauty called Carriveau. My father was a master stonemason, and my mother taught school. I had one younger sister, Isabelle, and we were best friends, despite our differences.
I was the serious one, always striving to please, while Isabelle was the rebellious one, doing anything to spite our parents. When we were young, she used to steal apples from the orchard, and I would take the blame. She’d go swimming in the river, even though it was forbidden, and I would stay on the shore, watching for trouble. Isabelle was forever being sent home from school for talking back to the nuns, and I would spend hours with her, helping her with her homework.
Looking back on it now, I realize that Isabelle was the brave one, the daring one. She was the one who taught me how to live. She was the one who dared me to do things, who challenged me to see the world in a different way.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. This story really begins with my father, who was a master stonemason, just like his father before him. My father was a quiet man, but he had a kind heart, and he loved his family deeply. He was the one who taught me the importance of hard work, the value of doing things right. He was the one who built the fireplace in our home, the one who carved the statue of Saint Catherine that stands in the village square. He was a man of few words, but his love for us was evident in everything he did.
One day, when I was fifteen years old, my father came home from a job in Paris with a surprise: a Nightingale.
Chapter 2
April 9, 1995
The Oregon Coast
Viann woke up to the sound of the ocean, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. It was a soft, rhythmic sound that filled her ears, soothing her into a half-dream state. Then she remembered: She was in the beach house with her mother. They had arrived the night before, after a long drive down from Seattle.
She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. It was a beautiful day, and Viann felt a sudden surge of happiness. She loved the beach—the feel of sand between her toes, the salty smell of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
She got out of bed and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains. The beach stretched out before her, a wide expanse of sand and water. In the distance, she could see a few people walking along the shoreline, their silhouettes dark against the brightening sky.
Viann’s thoughts turned to the night before. She and her mother had stayed up late, talking and laughing over glasses of wine. It had been a long time since they had spent a night alone together, just the two of them. Viann was grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with her mother, to rediscover the bond they had shared when she was younger.
She glanced at the clock and realized it was already nine o’clock. Her mother would be up soon, and they could start their day together. Viann quickly dressed and went downstairs to make coffee.
As she waited for the coffee to brew, Viann looked around the beach house. It was a small, cozy place, with white walls and hardwood floors. The furniture was simple but elegant, with blue and white cushions that matched the colors of the ocean outside. It was the perfect place for a getaway, a place to escape the stresses of everyday life.
Viann’s thoughts turned to her own life. She was sixteen years old, a junior in high school, and she was at a crossroads. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew she didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Her mother was a nurse, a caring and compassionate woman who had dedicated her life to helping others. Viann admired her mother’s work, but she knew it wasn’t for her. She wanted something more, something that would allow her to express herself, to be creative.
The coffee finished brewing, and Viann poured herself a cup. She took a sip, savoring the rich, bold flavor. As she sat at the kitchen table, watching the ocean, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. For the first time in a long time, she felt like everything was going to be okay.
Chapter 3
August 1939
Carriveau, France
Isabelle stood at the edge of the village square, watching the young men march off to war. They were all so brave, so determined, so foolish. She wondered if any of them would come back alive.
She knew she should feel proud of them, should feel grateful for their sacrifice. After all, they were fighting for their country, for their families, for their way of life. But she couldn’t help feeling angry too. Angry that they had been forced to fight, angry that their leaders had let things get so out of hand. Was war really the answer to everything?
Isabelle turned away from the parade and walked down the street, her head down, lost in thought. She had always been a dreamer, a girl who looked beyond the present to a future filled with hope and possibility. But lately, she had found it hard to dream. Lately, all she could see was darkness.
She walked past her parents’ house, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t want to see them, didn’t want to hear their worries and fears. She loved them, of course, but sometimes it was hard to be around them. They were so focused on doing the right thing, on following the rules, that they had forgotten how to live.
Isabelle walked down to the river, a place where she often went to think. The water was calm and cool, and she sat down on a rock, watching the ripples as they spread out from her feet. She knew she should be home, helping her mother with the cooking and cleaning, but she couldn’t bring herself to go back yet.
She thought about her sister, Vianne, and how different they were. Vianne was the good daughter, the one who always did what was expected of her. Isabelle loved her sister, but sometimes she felt like Vianne was a stranger to her, someone she couldn’t quite understand.
Isabelle sighed and stood up, brushing off her skirt. She knew she couldn’t stay here forever, lost in her thoughts. She had to do something, anything, to make a difference.
As she walked back to the village, she noticed a group of people gathered outside the town hall. They were shouting and waving their arms, and Isabelle could hear the sound of breaking glass. She walked closer, trying to see what was going on.
She saw a group of men in black uniforms, with swastikas on their arms. They were smashing the windows of the town hall, laughing and shouting as they did it.
Isabelle felt a surge of anger rise up in her. These men had no right to be here, no right to destroy her village. She looked around, and she saw that no one was doing anything to stop them.
And that’s when she knew what she had to do. She had to fight back, to resist the enemy, to protect her village and her way of life. She had to be brave, like the soldiers who marched off to war. She had to find her own way to make a difference.
Chapter 4
April 9, 1995
The Oregon Coast
Viann woke up to the sound of the ocean, and for a moment, she forgot where she was. It was a soft, rhythmic sound that filled her ears, soothing her into a half-dream state. Then she remembered: She was in the beach house with her mother. They had arrived the night before, after a long drive down from Seattle.
She sat up in bed, rubbing her eyes. The sun was just starting to peek through the curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. It was a beautiful day, and Viann felt a sudden surge of happiness. She loved the beach—the feel of sand between her toes, the salty smell of the ocean, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.
She got out of bed and walked over to the window, pulling back the curtains. The beach stretched out before her, a wide expanse of sand and water. In the distance, she could see a few people walking along the shoreline, their silhouettes dark against the brightening sky.
Viann’s thoughts turned to the night before. She and her mother had stayed up late, talking and laughing over glasses of wine. It had been a long time since they had spent a night alone together, just the two of them. Viann was grateful for the opportunity to reconnect with her mother, to rediscover the bond they had shared when she was younger.
She glanced at the clock and realized it was already nine o’clock. Her mother would be up soon, and they could start their day together. Viann quickly dressed and went downstairs to make coffee.
As she waited for the coffee to brew, Viann looked around the beach house. It was a small, cozy place, with white walls and hardwood floors. The furniture was simple but elegant, with blue and white cushions that matched the colors of the ocean outside. It was the perfect place for a getaway, a place to escape the stresses of everyday life.
Viann’s thoughts turned to her own life. She was sixteen years old, a junior in high school, and she was at a crossroads. She didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life, but she knew she didn’t want to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Her mother was a nurse, a caring and compassionate woman who had dedicated her life to helping others. Viann admired her mother’s work, but she knew it wasn’t for her. She wanted something more, something that would allow her to express herself, to be creative.
The coffee finished brewing, and Viann poured herself a cup. She took a sip, savoring the rich, bold flavor. As she sat at the kitchen table, watching the ocean, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. For the first time in a long time, she felt like everything was going to be okay.