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“I need to check in at the store,” he told me. “But I’ll be back by noon and I’ll bring supplies for cleaning. You’ll be okay until then?”
“Yeah,” I said, doubting seriously whether I’d be okay if I stayed here alone. I already knew I’d be right behind him. I’d return Mom’s car and probably spend my morning at Mom’s shop until he came back. Enduring an inquisition, but it’d still be better than being here alone. “Um, Michael?”
He straightened and turned to face me. “Yeah?”
“I’m really sorry about barging in here last night. It won’t happen again. Just...I got scared. Sorry.”
His face rearranged itself into an expression I expected he must’ve used with Daniel when he was small—his eyes were soft and his lips turned up at the corners. “It’s no problem. Although,” he cleared his throat, his face hardening a bit. “Daniel will be joining us tomorrow. He might think...”
“Oh, no,” I interrupted. “He won’t need to think a thing. I’ll be fine. I’m going to get my own air mattress thingy today, and maybe some ear plugs or something, and I’ll be just fine in the other room.”
Michael looked a bit skeptical, his half-smile sliding sideways, but he said, “Okay. Great.”
As he pulled on a T-shirt and picked up a few other things from his bag, he spoke again. “Oh, hey. I forgot to show this to you.” He turned and crossed the room, handing me a box. It was dusty and faded, and looked like a shoebox.
“What’s this?”
“When I first got in here, I looked inside the chest there before I dropped my bag on it. This was in there. There’s a bunch of letters inside.”
“Letters?” My conversational skills were not finely tuned in the morning. Lack of sleep would do that to a person.
“Yeah.” He was looking at me as if he thought I might regain my power of comprehension if he just waited long enough. “I don’t know who from or to, I didn’t have time to look. But if you wanted to look at them while I’m at work—there could be something in there.”
“Sure,” I said, lifting the lid to find the box tightly packed with paper. It would actually give me something to focus on besides the ghosts when I got back from Mom’s place.
“I’m gonna see if I can grab a quick shower,” he said, and headed out of the room.
I used the opportunity to go back to my own room and dress, and then ventured down the wide staircase and to the kitchen, seeking the house’s second bathroom, and then coffee. There was a Keurig machine on the counter I hadn’t noticed the previous night, and I realized Michael must’ve brought it with him. A quick search through the cupboards revealed a few mismatched mugs too. I put two out and made myself a cup of coffee, and then turned to the box of old letters I’d brought down with me.
I pulled one from the box, scanning the address, which was written in swooping cursive and addressed to Private Robert Tucker, AEF, 29thDivision, 58thBrigade, 115thRegiment, France. The letter was dated September 1918.
Robert Tucker? I didn’t know anything about Filene Easter’s family history, so I wasn’t sure who this particular Tucker would be to her. But a glance at the return address added a bit of insight.
Miss Lucille Tanner, Number Three, Canterbury Lane, Singletree, Maryland, USA.
I felt like I’d heard the name Lucille a few times before. Mom had some old family documents—had this been in there? Could these have been Filene’s parents? The lawyer had said that she was born a Tucker and that she was descended from both families.
Feeling like I was breaking some kind of law, or at the very least violating someone’s privacy in a big way, I pulled the thin sheets from the envelope, letting my greedy eyes devour the missive within.
My Dearest Robert:
Thank you for your last. I never know when your letters will arrive, and though my heart burns during the long waits between receiving them, each one is celebrated and cherished.
Life here continues as ever. Mother goes on about the way your father stole her birthright and Uncle Lester continues to plot and scheme—for he is even more fixated than Mother. They are both relieved you are gone, since they clearly think distance will lead me to forget about the love we share, or allow me to become distracted with someone else. Though, honestly, all the boys are with you over there and the town feels sad and empty. I miss you, and hope you know I will never love another. I am waiting for you. We will deal with our parents when you return.
We are doing well otherwise, though as the fall sets in again I find my mind always on you, on your location, your duties. I bide my time until you return to me, my love, and eagerly await the day when I might be held in your arms once again.
Stay safe and come home soon to me.
Yours ever,
Lucille
“What’s that?One of the letters?” Michael asked, striding into the kitchen, his hair damp and his skin freshly shaven. He smelled clean as he came to stand beside me, like soap and spring and fresh laundry. I wanted to lean into him, breathe deeply, relax.
“Yeah. They’re love letters.”
He chuckled. “Really? Whose?”
