Chapter 17 #2
I slip the letters back in their envelopes and shuffle them to the bottom of the pile, looking at the next one. It’s Roman’s grandmother’s writing again, and I have to reach further in to pull the paper out; it seems to have been shoved deep inside.
I’m surprised to find, however, that there’s only one letter here. I unfold it and begin to read.
My love, my Goddard, my dearest dream in the dark night of endless waiting,
I have been with you in my heart more as of late. Mama seems to be recovering to our immense joy, so I suppose the doctor’s fresh air must be lingering somewhere nearby. I dream always of coming to you, you know, I even have nearly enough saved for a ticket, only I worry about leaving for too long.
I suppose it would be impossible for you to visit, even for a short while?
It has been so long, even since your last letter though I know you are busy.
Still I am grateful you took the time to see Kitty, she returned in joyful spirits.
She is doing well, and the rest of my sisters too, only Kitty asks about you so frequently I think my heart might burst from missing you—
But I keep that longing in my heart and wait faithfully for your return and answer Kitty’s questions with as much cheer as I can muster and in the meantime try to think of a match for her, so that I may not hear your name on her lips so often.
It will not be difficult, as she is becoming the most beautiful of us all, only think that your children and mine will be the most beautiful things ever to grace this tired world!
Write quickly, my love, and if you’ve any inclination to return to me sooner, please heed that inclination, because I dream of you every day, you know, vivid and bright as my dreams at night.
Yours with most warm affection and love and adoration,
Your Elabeth (I rather worry you’ve forgotten my name).
“Elabeth,” I say with a nod. It’s good to have a name to put with these professions of love. “Is there not a reply?”
I check in the envelope again, but there’s nothing else, so I move on to the next—and last—envelope.
There are two letters here, both of them short, both in Elabeth’s writing.
My love,
I have saved enough for a ticket to visit you!
I cannot tell you how jubilant this makes me feel—a word I spoke aloud to Mama, and she was impressed, and she is even more impressed that I was so disciplined as to save for so long.
Please write as soon as possible with your available dates and I will be by your side again!
Yours always and always,
Your love.
The next letter is even shorter, and even though the people in these messages have already died, I feel a twinge of concern for them anyway.
My dear Goddard,
It’s been so long that I’m beginning to worry as much as Mama. I may try to find a way to ring you if I don’t hear soon. I spoke to Kitty, but she says you were perfectly fine when she visited, only she is not herself and I wonder if she is worried about you too.
Please write at once, even a few lines,
Your love.
I frown as I shuffle through the papers. “That’s it?” Is there nothing else?
But there’s not. Even when I look back at the other envelopes—
“Helping yourself to my personal belongings, I see.”
I will never ever ever in a million years admit that I squeak because of how startled I am by Roman’s voice.
I whirl around to find him striding toward me, a lazy grin on his face, his hair damp. He’s much more casual now, dressed in a dark t-shirt and jeans, and my gaze lingers longer than I’m proud of.
“I know,” he says. “I’m too handsome for my own good. But I can’t help it. I look great in whatever I wear.” Then he jerks his chin at the letters I’m holding. “So?”
My first instinct is to hide the evidence of my wrongdoing, but I resist the urge. Instead I clear my throat and hold the letters out to him. “I read the rest of them,” I say. “Sorry if I overstepped.”
“I wish you’d overstep even more,” he says as that smile grows, and I roll my eyes.
“Take them,” I say, waving the letters in his face. He accepts them once he’s close enough, and I hesitate only briefly before asking the question on my mind. “What happened?” I say, nodding at the bundle now in his hands.
When he just looks confused, I elaborate. “To Goddard. He never wrote back.”
“Oh.” Roman’s expression clears, and he shrugs. “I haven’t read them all yet. I don’t know. But he and my grandmother lived decently long lives, so things must have worked out.”
I hum and take a few steps back, mostly so that his crisp, fresh-from-the-shower scent won’t be so noticeable. I’d like to think I’m a strong woman, but something about the way he smells and his damp hair and the stretch of his t-shirt over his chest…I guess I have a few weaknesses in those areas.
He’s five years younger than you, I remind myself.
“Elabeth waited so long for him,” I say, glad to move on from my attraction to a much younger man.
“Hmm?” Roman is looking at the envelopes, shuffling through them.
“Your grandmother,” I say. “It sounds like she waited a long time for him.”
His brow furrows as he looks up at me, his usually smirking lips curling down into a frown. “My grandmother’s name was Kitty.”