Craftingthe letterGwas giving Ivy fits. She'd cut the shape from emerald-green felt the night before, stitching the edges and stuffing the insides by lamplight. As she worked, she imagined theGjoining the other letters on the shelf Torin had hammered into Jewel’s bedroom wall—a gallery of the alphabet-in-progress—a new letter learned each day.
But in the daylight, theGlooked more like aCwith dyspepsia, and no amount of pinching the fabric could persuade its curved jaw to jut forward properly. The misshapenGhadbothered Ivy enough to unpick a seam and try to repack the insides, although the letter didn’t turn out much better. Frowning, Ivy flipped it over in her hands and sighed.
Lifting her head to stretch her neck, she glanced around the kitchen. A few days ago, she’d persuaded Torin to let them work in here instead of heating the dining room when the kitchen was already toasty. After her father’s Spartan household, the warmth felt like a luxury.
Across the kitchen table, Jewel watched with bright, expectant eyes, her fingers already reaching. She’d been patient while Ivy sewed, learning to verbalize Gee and then making the sound of Guh.
“Patience, sweetheart. I need another moment.”
“Guh,” Jewel said helpfully. “Guh-guh-guh.”
The sound was perfect—round and guttural, exactly the way Ivy had taught her. A swell of pride loosened the knot of frustration in Ivy’s chest.Who cares if the letter is lopsided?
Jewel wouldn't. Her pupil would squeeze the shape, trace the edges with a chubby finger, press the G to her cheek, and sayguhwith the same fierce delight she'd shown each day, for every new letter fromAthroughF.
“All right.” After sewing the last stitch, Ivy set the imperfectGon the table. “Here.Gfor?—"
“Guh!” Jewel snatched the letter up and hugged it against her pinafore. “Geen Gee, guh!”
“That's right. GreenG.” Ivy's throat tightened even as her heart swelled as it always did when Jewel made a connection—color and letter and sound all woven together. “Can you think of aGword?”
Her pupil had gotten the concept that the sounds she was learning attached to the beginnings of words.
Jewel's brow furrowed, her tongue poked out. She looked around the kitchen—at the stove, the shelves of tinned goods,the window where sunlight pooled on the sill. Then her face split into a grin so wide her eyes nearly disappeared.
“Guh-een tee!” The child pointed toward the window at an evergreen. “Guh-een tee!” she repeated proudly.
Ivy laughed and clapped her hands. “Brilliant girl. Green tree! Now let’s learn how to write a G.” She slid the slate closer to them and slowly sketched out several Gs, explaining as she went. Then she turned the slate and chalk over to Jewel.
While the girl was engaged with her project, Ivy pulled a sheet of writing paper from her apron pocket. Today, she carried a few folded sheets and a pencil for moments like these and began a letter to Cora.
Dearest Cora,
I’m writing from the kitchen, with Jewel practicing her letters next to me and Brave curled up on a cushion on the chair on her other side. While it might appear an ordinary room, I call this space the happiest (and warmest) classroom I've ever known.
Jewel is making wonderful progress. She’s learned her letters through G now and can count to twenty reliably. You should see her face when she grasps something new. She lights up, which never fails to fill my heart with joy.
Torin has thawed somewhat from his wary stance in the beginning. He still is far too solemn, which would be fine if that was his natural personality. I have the feeling he once was a lighthearted, young man.
I will say that I’ve never seen a father who loves his daughter more than he does. It’s amazing to watch how he cherishes her. Although his doting does make me wish I my father had displayed more affection.
I confess to you, dear friend, that I am sometimes lonely. Not unhappy—please don't mistake me. I love this work, and I am growing to love this place with its wild, heartbreakingbeauty. But I miss female companionship. I miss you, and I miss Katie, and I miss the feeling of being surrounded by women, even strangers on the street. Is that foolish? I chose this isolation, and I chose it gladly. Perhaps the choosing doesn't prevent the missing.
She paused, pencil hovering, and considered what else to say about Torin. There were more details she wanted to write—about the way the house felt different in the evenings when Jewel was in bed. How the parlor shrank to two warm circles of lamplight, with him on the couch with with a book while she sat in a wingchair, crafting the alphabet letters, reading, or playing the harp.
She wanted to describe the peculiar intimacy of shared silence between two people who were not family, not friends exactly, not anything she had a word for. About the way her pulse quickened when he glanced up from his reading, and their eyes met across the room before they looked away.
Cora experienced many such evenings while nursing Brian back to health. Surely, she’d understand.
But those experiences with Torin felt too fragile and private to express on paper.
Stop feeling sorry for yourself.Ivy straightened her spine and looked at Jewel, who was carefully drawing the letterGon her slate, her tongue between her teeth.You have work that matters. You have a child who needs you. That is enough.
But is it?
The question troubled Ivy more than she liked to admit. Quickly, she finished the letter.
Can’t you do anything to hasten the arrival of that baby?
