nineteen
By the time the doctor proclaimed the wounded man’s life to be out of danger, in early November, it no longer mattered.
It was Justin’s life that was now in danger: he had decided to go to war. England had long been embroiled in the Peninsular War, that protracted struggle against Napoleon’s armies in Spain and Portugal, stretching now into its bitterest years. It was there that Justin decided to run away to.
And he would not come back for the rest of the year. At least, Laurie did not follow him to the Iberian Peninsula, which was a relief. Still, Jo had no way of knowing where Laurie was. Even if she wanted to write to him now, she couldn’t.
She had lost them both.
She resigned herself to waiting, even though waiting without any hope could hardly be called ‘waiting’. They would have to invent an entirely new word for it.
Existing, that was the word.
She existed.
Dear Beth,
It has lasted. The peace has lasted.
Now that I am no longer alone, that Meg and her Sir John are here, I am as content as I had been before—there has been no real difference in my inner world, even though the outward one has changed very much indeed. I enjoy going for long walks with our sister and reading out loud to Sir John by the fire in the evening. But I have discovered this—
I did not need anyone but myself.
And that has made all the difference.
And yet, I observe how they are together. And even though I am at peace with myself for the first time in my life, I have decided that I can no longer stay behind with my beloved ghosts.
Is this existence ever going to be enough for me? Reading, writing, riding, and taking care of other people’s homes? I have been reading Lavinia’s latest mermaid romance, and I have to say, I never could see how she would untangle that mess of a plot in order to give her heroine her happily ever after. But she did. Who will give me mine?
No one but myself.
I cannot merely exist; I have to live.
Love. I need love.
Eternally,
Your sister