February 18, 1920

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Dear Ian,

I promised that my last letter would indeed be the last, but I can't help sitting down and telling you what's going on, even if I can never send it and you'll never read these words. It makes me feel good and there is no harm in it I suppose.

My name isn't Dorothy Gaston anymore. It's Dorothy Monroe. Robbie is alive and he came looking for me. I got married two days before Christmas at Port Williams, where we live now. He wired his mother in British Columbia and she came right away, along with Helena, and she brought her old wedding dress for me to wear. It didn't fit, but I was able to wear the veil.

I'm still not sure if she even wanted me to marry Robbie, but if she had any thoughts about it she kept the peace.

You would have had a good laugh. No sooner did the minister start talking when Hercules -- Robbie's pug -- started making a fuss because no one was paying attention to him. Robbie had to pick him up and scratch his belly to keep him quiet while we were married.

Charlie has gone back to Port Croft. He's still in the same house, but he is sharing it with another fellow who works at the railway. Fiona Green does his housework for him. It's only a matter of time before she's there permanently as Mrs. Charlie Gaston.

I'm still getting used to being a married woman, especially in a place like this. Things were quiet in Port Croft, but they are really quiet here. I live in the woods! We have a housekeeper. I put up a bit of a fight when it came to that. I could keep this house by myself, but Robbie refuses to listen. I guess he is as stubborn as I am.

This time next year we won't be so alone. I still have to see the doctor, but it would seem as though I'm going to have a baby. I haven't said anything to Robbie yet, but I know he suspects. We were going to visit his mother in Victoria this summer, but we might have to go earlier or not at all. Not that I would be complaining. Even after what we went through together, I'm still not very comfortable with her.

One thing we did do was go back to Halifax after all. I always said I wouldn't, but one day it just struck me that I wanted to see what it looked like now. We took the train in the morning and stayed overnight in a hotel, and then next day we went for a walk through town. There is a new building where I used to live. It's a big brick place with a pharmacy on the bottom and offices on the top. I found out that Mrs. MacGibbon died. The houses they built all through Richmond are made of stone and are supposed to be fireproof. They look nice, but I can tell you that if the house decides to come down on top of you, it won't make much of a difference. Just about everyone looks like they came back from war. Even the little children. They all have scars like we have.

I won't be going back. I've quenched my curiosity and that's that. I'll miss going to Mum's grave, but I know she would understand.

I still miss you and I always will, but it's finally getting easier. I think about where you are buried, surrounded by all those beautiful green fields you talked about, and I think that you would be at peace.

Maybe one day, Robbie and I will go to France and visit. I'm going to have a little stone made up to put in the garden. Not a headstone, but just a little stone with your name on it so I can feel like I'm visiting your grave. You would have liked it here too. You would have liked Robbie very much.

It's still hard some days, but I can think about you and Mum, and even Dad, and not feel angry any more. Wherever you are, if you are worrying about me you don't need to do it any more.

I'm all right now, Ian.

And I will write to you again, even if I say I won't. I'll write a letter and put it in the cigar box in the kitchen, and maybe one day when we meet again you can read them all.

All my love,

Dorothy

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