“Dear Marjorie,”Nora began. “After enduring nearly a month in an Italian field hospital, I finally find myself back on Scottish soil at the Craigleith Military Hospital in Edinburgh.
“Yesterday marked a small victory as I attempted to bear weight on my wounded leg without assistance for the first time—progress, indeed, through the support of crutchesremains my constant companion. Regrettably, my ability to get around is still limited, and I am largely confined to the hospital bed.
“Boredom is consuming me and with this pesky concussion, I won’t be able to read for quite some time. My mate Tim is penning this letter for me, as I cannot write at the moment. However, I still carry our family’s book with me and plan to continue reading it as soon as I am able. I am on the mend, getting decent care, and aiming to be back home before the new year.
“With Love, Colin.”
Nora sat quietly for a moment. He mentioned his family’s book—was he referring to the same little red book that sat on her nightstand? Was it a treasured heirloom passed down through generations, or perhaps a written account by another member of his family? Questions flooded her mind, leaving her uncertain if she would ever uncover the answers to all of them. She looked out the window, her mind racing as the wind whipped around the deck in a mini gale, peppering the windows with a smattering of snow.
Alistair picked up the next letter. The penmanship was different on this one, not the messy hand of the first few letters but a neat scrolling script. Colin must have taken over writing the letters from his mate Tim. It was postmarked 25/12/1943. Alistair began reading aloud, pulling Nora from her thoughts.
“Dear Marjorie,
Merry Christmas! I trust this letter finds you cozy by the old stone fireplace, enjoying a generous helping of mince pie. Thank you for your recent letter. Hearing from you always lifts my spirits, and the information about Mary’s note was helpful. I am pleased to report that I am now backon my own two feet without any assistance, and I am able to write my own letters.
I must admit to you that I have fallen quite hard for Edith, and I believe she fancies me just as much. We have grown close over the past few weeks as she has cared for me. You know how they say love can mend the deepest wounds. In my case, I am inclined to believe it, as my leg is almost completely healed. She is the sunshine on even the cloudiest of days, Marjorie. I believe you will adore her as much as I do, and I can’t wait to introduce you soon.
Tomorrow, I am to be discharged from the hospital—a Christmas miracle, indeed! Edith is being transferred to a London hospital come the start of the new year and has been granted a week off. We have decided to use this time to journey up north to visit you. It will be a joyous reunion, I am certain.
We shall be with you in a mere few days, my dear sister. Until then, stay well, and know that you are always in my thoughts.
With Love,
Colin
PS Edith finished reading the book to me this past week, and I’ve been attempting to decipher the curse. It’s challenging to determine if it was transcribed exactly as spoken. Even a small change in a word could mean we may never unravel how to reverse it. Nonetheless, I’m working diligently on it. We will discuss it further when I arrive home.”
Chapter Forty
Letters
“Curse?” Nora said, looking at Alistair, who had folded the letter and was slipping it back into the worn envelope.
“Yeah, weird. Maybe the hit to his head knocked a few marbles loose?” he suggested, placing the letter back on the small stack.
“You’re probably right. It does seem a bit unhinged,” Nora said, looking down at the pile and then up toward the bedroom where the book sat. Unhinged perhaps, but impossible? She wasn’t sure of anything now. So many strange and unbelievable things had happened to her in the past four days that a curse didn’t seem all that far-fetched.
“The trip he talks about must be the one from the photos,” Alistair surmised.
Nora stood and walked into the living room, retrieved the photo album from the coffee table, and came back with it tucked under her arm.
“I have a feeling this might just follow the timeline of the letters,” Nora said, flipping to the picture she had recreated on the Royal Mile. She peeled the clear plastic away from the photo and turned it around, revealing a date on the back—December 26, 1943.
“They were celebrating,” she said under her breath, smiling.
“What?”
“This picture has always felt special; now I know why. They were celebrating Colin’s discharge from the hospital.”
She looked down at it with new eyes and saw her grandmother’s excitement. She imagined how she must have felt in the moment. They were about to spend a week together for the first time. Amidst the war’s daily deaths and losses, this celebration must have felt like the highest of highs. The man she had cared for and fallen in love with was finally well enough to leave the hospital.
As Alistair opened the next letter, Nora flipped through the old photographs, seeing each one in a new light. After the picture on the Royal Mile, a few images of the Scottish landscape followed, places they had stopped on the way to Letterfearn, Nora assumed.
“I know that place. It’s close to Glencoe. And that car is an MG TB. Bloody brilliant car. Worth a fortune these days,” Alistair said, pointing to the photo of a long glen with an old-fashioned car parked on the side of the road in the distance.
“You don’t strike me as a car guy.”
“Got it from my grandad. He was into vintage cars. Took meto shows when I was younger. He loved the MG T-series,” he said with a boyish smile.
