I wrote myaunt the following morning before Beatrice woke for our ride into town. My words were stilted. Guilt-ridden. But in the end, determined. I included a list of items I’d need. A few clothing items for the colder weather that was coming, money, the appropriate paperwork, and a list of contacts I might be able to check in with should I find myself in trouble.
“You’re quiet today,” Beatrice said when we arrived in town a couple hours later.
“I got a letter from home,” I said, keeping my voice light. “There was some news. A family member died.” I held up two envelopes in my hand. “Mind if we swing by the post office?”
“Not at all,” she said. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Someone you were close to?”
“Not at all,” I said.
As we moved from shop to shop, I was distracted by both thoughts of my sister, and of William. He was everywhere here, trying on hats, flipping through pages of books, smelling different cheeses, and picking out bouquets of flowers for me. Every so often one of the memories would be replaced with one of Catrin, jolting me from a place of wistfulness and making me feel as though I’d swallowed a stone, stealing the breath from my lungs, the weight of the news she was alive and I hadn’t known heavy in my belly.
I caught Beatrice watching me with concern and pasted a smile on my face, making a concerted effort to bring my mind back to the man I loved, rather than the pain that threatened to swallow me whole.
I remembered watching him as we rode through town. I had adored peeking at him as we walked, or staring down at our intertwined fingers between us. He’d always caught me looking and the delight on his face was like the sun on a cloudy day.
It was overwhelming when I found him doing the same to me. Studying me as I chose this apple over that one at the market, or watching me as I woke, and smiling in a way that was at once shy and sexy, leading me to slide my body toward his, my hands pulling him close.
After I’d written to my aunt this morning, I’d pulled out another piece of paper and written to William as well. I said nothing of the letter I’d received, the loss of my father, my mother’s illness, or the sister I’d long thought deceased. Instead, I told him about work, the girls at the house, and my upcoming trip into town with Beez.
“I’m sad to go without you,” I’d written. “To ride past our tree and see the many things we laughed at together. To glance up at the windows of our rented room...”
At the post office I dropped both letters in the mailbox, and then Beatrice and I rode around the corner and parked our bicycles next to a café to grab some breakfast before we wandered.
“You sure you’re okay?” Beatrice asked as I stirred my weak coffee and stared blindly out the window.
I put on a bright smile. “Never better.”
Two weeks later I received William’s and my aunt’s next letters within days of one another. His was full of news from the front. Most of it grim.
“Lost five men today,” he wrote. “One pushing me out of the way and taking a bullet meant for me. I’m not sure how any of us will come out of this okay.”
But there were bright spots mixed in among the harder musings.
“The guys in my unit are a bunch of cards. Playing pranks to keep morale up. There’s nothing like putting your boot on, only to find it filled with rocks. I thought for a minute I’d broken a toe.”
He asked how our tree looked, if the town felt different without him, and said he expected me to visit our favorite bookstore. “Pick me out a truly atrocious book of poetry.”
I grinned as I folded the letter and tucked it back into its envelope, pressing it to my chest before setting it aside and opening the one from my aunt.
I hadn’t paid attention to the writing on the envelope until I went to slice it open. There was no return address. No stamp. Just my name written across the front in her beautiful penmanship.
“That’s odd,” I murmured and got up from the window seat I’d been perched in.
I entered the kitchen with the letters in my hand and a frown.
“Does anyone know anything about this letter?” I asked.
I held it up and looked around the room where five of my roommates were making late-night snacks.
“I think Luella received it,” Edith said. “She said a man dropped it off.”
“A man? The postman?”
She shrugged. “She just said a man. You can ask her. She went upstairs a few minutes ago.”
“Thanks,” I said and hurried from the room.
Grabbing my duffel bag from where I’d left it when I’d come in, I hurried up the stairs to Luella’s room and knocked.
