Chapter 31
Chapter thirty-one
Ed
Dear Bess, this is a letter you may never see, but I'm writing it anyway, because there may be a time when it's necessary and I don't imagine me ever being brave enough to tell you this to your face.
Everything that matters I've already put in letter form anyway, so this seems appropriate if I am, as I suspect I will be, to remain a complete coward.
First, let me make one thing clear. I never wanted any of this to happen. Please believe me when I write that all I've ever wanted was for you to be the woman you have set out to be. Fierce. Fiercely independent.
But I made the glorious mistake of writing my feelings for you down in a letter resembling that first one of the soldier in the African desert. I did it for two reasons.
One: For my writing ego. I wanted to see if I had the skill to convincingly continue his journey as a soldier and a person in love.
Two: Because in the year and a bit we have known each other, I've never allowed myself the opportunity to express how I feel about you.
The letter was discovered and things got out of hand from there.
I had plenty of opportunities to put a stop to it and didn't take any of them.
Why? There are no excuses. Not really. It was because I didn't want that twonk, Theodore Pinkerton, to win.
Nobody deserves to be held over a barrel.
Least of all you, brilliant, clever, fearless Bess.
I should have known you didn't need someone to rescue you, but it's so hard to resist the desire to fight for you.
There's nothing left to say except how sorry I am, but I think you know that already.
Yours,
Ed