Chicago, Illinois, August 1952
Chicago, Illinois
Covered in so many stamps and markings, the envelope looked more like something Richie had practiced his writing upon than a returned letter.
Rose had sent Elsie many over the last two years, and all of them had reached her promptly and without incident (except the one a few months ago where Walter had pried off one of the stamps without her noticing).
The postage was intact on this one, but perhaps she had made some other silly mistake.
At least it came back just in time; by tomorrow they would no longer be living in Chicago.
They were headed to Washington, DC, where they were staying with a buddy of Dick’s from the army until they could find an apartment.
It was wonderful that her husband had been hired at George Washington University, but the logistics involved with the move itself were proving to be a bit of a test of their marriage.
She stared down at the envelope in her hands.
If only she could read through the bold red lines and faded black and maroon ink declaring this and that to determine which one held the explanation for why this letter hadn’t made it to Elsie.
At least she could focus better now with Richie and Walter finally asleep.
She stood in their living room among dozens of moving boxes, stacked three high in some places, trying to navigate the envelope’s cluttered markings.
Then finally, on the front, under the address and the several lines striking it out, she saw it—dark pinkish gray and worn from travel, the type blunt and offensively nonchalant in its message.
Verified Deceased
Rose fell to her knees, clutching the letter to her chest as if putting pressure on a mortal wound in a futile attempt to keep from bleeding out.
That’s how Dick found her when he arrived home half an hour later—kneeling on the carpet behind a tower of boxes, her eyes painfully swollen, the skin of her cheeks uncomfortably tight as her tears evaporated, her body reft of its moisture and left trembling.
“Rose? What’s happened? Are the boys all right?” he asked, dropping to the floor beside her.
“She’s gone. Elsie. She’s... she’s dead.”
Dick swept Rose into his arms and carried her to their bed as he had on their wedding night.
She sat on the edge of the mattress and allowed her husband to remove her shoes, her stockings, to unbutton the eleven buttons on the front of her dress and slide the fabric away.
Her underthings posed a slight challenge, but Dick coaxed his wife to cooperate enough to relieve her of the constricting brassiere and girdle.
He dressed her in one of his pajama shirts, since it was one of the few articles of bedclothes they hadn’t yet packed.
As he pulled the flannel over her arms and shoulders and buttoned the front, Rose felt like a small, helpless child.
Then Dick tucked her under the covers and slid into the bed beside her.
He pulled Rose against him, and for a split second she resented the sound of his heart, beating so strong inside his chest when Elsie’s was forever stilled.
The shame she felt at the thought managed to unbury some previously unknown store of tears, and she sobbed against her husband’s strong, warm chest.
“Shh,” he whispered into her hair. “I know, sweetheart. I know.”
Rose very much doubted that. How could he know what it was like to lose someone who felt like part of you when he didn’t even know that his wife had never been wholly his?
“Dick, I... I...” She couldn’t say she loved Elsie; it refused to come out after all these years of practice keeping it to herself. The shame washed over her again, this time because she suspected that Elsie knew all along that Rose wasn’t brave enough to love her aloud.
Dick adjusted Rose until he could cup her face in his hands. “Elsie was more than a friend to you, wasn’t she?” His voice was quiet, and his eyes glistened as if he too were on the verge of crying.
Rose managed to dip her chin, the smallest nod.
“You loved her,” Dick said. It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” Rose whispered, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to alleviate the ache settling into every crevice of her body. “So very much.”
“Oh, sweetheart. How I wish I could bring her back for you.”
Dick tucked Rose’s trembling body against him again and pressed his lips to her temple as she cried herself to sleep.