You can almost feel the grasses tickling your calves from the very first page of Mary Alice Monroe's long-anticipated Where the Rivers Merge. The first of two sweeping epic novels, this one follows a young and headstrong Eliza starting in 1908, as she grows up on the forefront of a changing society in Lowcountry South Carolina. On the grand Mayfield estate, she weathers the Great War and storms both natural and familial. Fast forward to 1988 and Eliza is 88 and the matriarch of the family — not to mention the fierce protector of Mayfield. As her own horizon approaches, she must decide how to assure the future of both the land and her family, without destroying both. Below, step into Eliza's world in an exclusive excerpt from Where the Rivers Merge. Prologue1908 The child stood in the enclosed garden as the sun lowered into a crimson sky. The moss-draped oaks stood watch and the countless white camellias seemed to shimmer in the twilight as the world held its breath. From the distance came the first, faint, nasal calls of ducks. She imagined them coming in as a great cloud, their dark wings flapping against the sky, from the river to roost in the rice fields. Fly away, her heart cried out. In the next breath she heard the five-note artificial duck calls from her daddy and his friends sitting in the blinds, enticing the ducks closer, their guns poised. In counterpoint, a burst of high-pitched laughter rang from the house behind her. Looking over her shoulder, as great shafts of light shone from the tall windows, she could see her mother and friends standing in long gowns, their red lips moving. The girl shivered in the twilight air. She hated these parties and the way her mama acted when she drank from those long-stemmed glasses. As the sky darkened and duck calls filled the sky, their number appeared as a shadowed cloud approaching the rice fields. Suddenly the evening’s peace was rent by explosive shots. Songbirds cried in the surrounding trees, and the girl’s heart fluttered with unspeakable sadness. She started to run, her bare feet pattering over the brick walkway, escaping the confined garden walls to sprint across the manicured lawn that stretched far out toward the ancient rice ponds, surging now with the rising tide. With each pump of her arms her mind called out, Fly away . . . She darted into the deep woods, farther from the dull cracking noises in the sky and the frenzied laughter. Lightning flashed, urging her to push through the thick shrubs at the lawn’s border into the woods. Branches scratched her face and arms and twigs tugged at her hair, pulling dark strands from the ribbon’s hold. An inner voice scolded that she shouldn’t wander so far off the path. Still, she ran as the night thickened and familiar signposts disappeared. Never had she run so far. When the sounds of guns changed to the soft rumble of thunder, the child stopped to listen, as still as a fawn, her ears cocked. Once her breathing calmed, she heard the wind rustle the leaves and rattle palmetto fronds, heralding a storm. A moment later came the soft thuds of a slow rain falling on the thick tree canopy overhead. Then one drop hit her forehead, fat and wet. She ran again, her bare feet skittering over the matted leaves of the forest floor. She burst into a large clearing and stopped, hands on her chest, panting. The meadow was unexpected and vast. A field of wild grasses swayed in the wind like waves across the ocean. Standing in the middle of the meadow, like some regal queen, was a giant live oak tree. The biggest she had ever seen. The enormous outline was silhouetted against the purpling sky like a mountain. She couldn’t count all the thick, muscled boughs that spread far out over the grass before gracefully drooping to the earth. The limbs snaked along the ground and narrowed at the tips, where they curled like cragged fingers, beckoning. At the great tree’s base, she spotted a large hollow. The PEOPLE App is now available in the Apple App Store! Download it now for the most binge-worthy celeb content, exclusive video clips, astrology updates and more! A fierce crack of thunder spurred her on, instinct guiding her across the meadow toward the tree’s shelter. Yet when she reached the hollow, she didn’t rush in. She paused, as hesitant as any wild animal before entering the cavernous darkness. “Shoo!” she shouted and clapped her hands. Silence from within. The brown resurrection fern that grew thick along the jagged edges of the hollow was changing to a bright green right before her eyes. She took a step closer then paused again, poised for flight. Suddenly a cloudburst dumped a torrent of rain. Its iciness stung her tender skin, sending her scurrying inside the belly of the majestic tree. The darkness smelled of moldy leaves and mushrooms and earth. The girl breathed deeply and was comforted. Chilled to the bone, she curled her legs to her chest and wrapped her thin, scratched arms around her bony knees. She tugged the hem of her wet nightgown to blanket her bare legs, but it offered scant warmth. Inside the hollow, she heard the rain as the beating of a drum. Gradually, her eyes acclimated to the dark and she could see the long, rough folds of the inner hollow. She smiled as it dawned on her that she was sitting inside a tree. The ridges of wood reached skyward like the arches of the church her mama brought her to on Sundays in Charleston. In the corner a cluster of daddy longlegs were racing around in a panic. “I won’t hurt you,” she told them. Her voice echoed in the cavernous space. A sudden tickling across her toes caused her to start, then giggling, she brushed away a shiny green beetle. There was nothing inside this old tree but a few bugs, she thought. The girl yawned, feeling the pace of her run, then stretched out on the mossy ground, which was as soft as a feather bed. She rested her head on her arm and breathed in the heavy fragrance of petrichor. She was safe. The rain had slowed to the gentle pattering of a lullaby. Closing her eyes, the young girl fell into a deep sleep of a lullaby. Closing her eyes, the young girl fell into a deep sleep. Chapter One EAST BAY STREET is an iconic street in Charleston created nearly 350 years ago. The fabled Rainbow Row of pastel-colored, historic mansions is located on East Bay along the Battery, across from the seawall of Charleston Harbor. I dreamed again that I was nestled inside the hollow of a great tree. I could smell the green earth. Feel the fuzzy moss. Hear the rain battering the ancient oak’s trunk. Someone was calling my name. “Miss Eliza. Wake up!” I blinked, my senses sharpening. “Rise and shine! It’s your birthday,” the determinedly pleasant voice persisted. “Eighty-eight!” I sighed as the last vestige of the dream faded. I wanted to stay in the dream. “Go away.” A small hand tentatively nudged my shoulders. “Good morning, Miss Eliza!” Never miss a story — sign up for PEOPLE's free daily newsletter to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer , from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories. Prying open an eye, I saw the slight figure of my assistant, Hana Nakamura. She was dressed in gray baggy pants and a shapeless brown shirt, her tiny hands clasping a clipboard. Her dark hair with a single wide streak of white was pulled neatly back in a bun, making her look like a sparrow tilting its head in curiosity. I dug deeper into my pillow. “What’s so happy about being another year older? Everyone I knew and loved is already pushing up daisies. Yet here I am, persisting aboveground for another year.” “Celebrate that you woke up, Miss Eliza. God gave you another day. Each day is a gift.” “A gift I never asked for,” I mumbled as I folded back my blanket. Hana quickly moved to assist but I brushed her hands away. “I may be old but I’m perfectly capable of rising from my own bed, thank you very much.” I swung my legs over the bed’s edge as Hana pulled open the heavily fringed silk curtains from the expanse of windows, revealing a rainy Charleston morning. A gust of wind rattled the windows, and from a dreary sky, drops of rain streaked the glass with a pattering noise. I thought again of my dream. I rose and slid into the silken fabric of my robe. “It seems to me if it’s my birthday, I should be able to stay in bed on this rainy morning. And dream . . .” I sighed and tightened the sash. “It was such a lovely dream. Of a place I knew as a child. I’ve had it often of late.” “The best way to make your dreams come true is to wake up and make it so.” I chuckled quietly at Hana’s unswayable optimism. “Today I have to make my dreams come true, don’t I?” “Yes ma’am.” The lingering dream discarded, I focused on the day ahead. “What’s my schedule?” Hana heard my tone shift, squared her shoulders, then lifted her clipboard. The petite woman had a backbone of steel. “At nine o’clock you meet in the morning room with your lawyer. The shareholders meeting begins at eleven in the ballroom, followed immediately by the family luncheon at the Yacht Club. You approved the menu and wine selection.” “That dreadful affair,” I muttered as I walked to the bathroom. Every year on the seventeenth of June my family swarmed in from all over the country to roost at my home, gawk at the historic house, enjoy my wine, and natter at one another, each deeply suspicious that someone else was getting more money from dividends they did nothing to earn. “You’ll have everything ready for my departure to Mayfield? I don’t want any delays.” “Of course. You are already all packed.” “Good,” I said, feeling relief at the prospect of leaving Charleston for my home in the countryside. At the door I turned and asked, “Is my son here?” Hana’s smile fell and she nodded. “Arthur is in the dining room. With his family.” “Counting the silver, no doubt.” Hana had the grace not to smile. From Where the Rivers Merge by Mary Alice Monroe. Copyright © 2025 by Mary Alice Monroe LTD. Reprinted by permission of William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers. Where the Rivers Merge is on sale May 13 from William Morrow and is available now for preorder, wherever books are sold.