Sharing Corrie

Chapter Thirty Nine

Winter 1917

    "Aunt Elisabet, will you send this letter?" Corrie asked, slipping a sealed envelope onto her aunt's countertop.

    "Another letter, Corrie?" her aunt inquired, wiping flour from her hands onto a dishrag and examining the letter. "Mrs. Bertrum?"

    "Yes," Corrie answered, hesitating. "She's an old friend from New York."

Amelia Bertrum was an old friend from New York, but she was also a governess for some of the most elite families in the city. Luckily, she had not been put off by the sepulchral end to Corrie and Edwin's engagement and had proffered her help as Corrie recovered from the shame their demise cast on her. Amelia was currently searching for a job for Corrie as a governess in New York, and Corrie had written her a letter inquiring about her progress in finding such employment.

    "I see."

    "Any mail for Christina?" Corrie inquired as Aunt Elisabet brushed stray strands of red hair behind her ears.

    Elisabet Browning, Oliver's sister, was as humble and understanding as her brother was pretentious and judgmental. She was a petite, broad shouldered woman with thick red hair, the same shade as Corrie's, that she kept in a chignon at the base of her neck as she labored about the house all day long.

    Ever since Corrie, Jack, and Christina had arrived three weeks ago, Aunt Elisabet had welcomed them without reserve, giving them each their own rooms in the upper story of her beachside home. Christina spent everyday on the widow's walk with a book or a newspaper though typically she just sat and listened to the waves crashing against the rocks. Corrie and Jack were as unoccupied as she was, taking turns sitting with her or walking on the beach and retrieving beautiful seashells. It was quiet and restful though sometimes so quiet that Corrie could not escape her own thoughts.

    "No letters today, though there is one for you. Another one." Aunt Elisabet raised an eyebrow and winked. "Dr. Benjamin?"

Corrie felt her face burn; though she had kept up her correspondence with Dr. Benjamin, her messages were brief and succinct. She merely relayed Christina's progress and shared nothing about herself. Dr. Benjamin's letters, however, were detailed. He wrote of the happenings in the practice, of Hannah's antics and of the rumors that spread through the town. Each letter made Corrie laugh, no small feat with the events of the past year. Though he crossed no boundaries and confessed no feelings of his own, the letters were so kind and warm that Corrie only allowed herself to read each letter once before hiding them in a box under her bed.

    "Thank you," Corrie murmured, snatching the letter from her aunt's hand before she could inquire further.

    Elisabet chuckled as Corrie rushed off to the widow's walk. Christina sat on a bench on the balcony overlooking the sea with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders. The wind came harsh and bitter off the ocean as December passed, and though Corrie sometimes worried that the cold would worsen her pneumonia, Christina seemed to crave it. The salt air had cleared out her lungs and the cold brought color into her skin. But perhaps most healing of all, a letter had arrived from David a few days after they settled into their aunt and uncle's home. He admitted that he'd been in some danger and thus unable to send word like Wes, the injured soldier, had suggested. David told Christina that he'd had some shrapnel stuck in his arm but was nearly recovered now. Though Christina fretted for him, she was relieved to receive his regular missives again.

    "Any letters?" Christina asked, sitting up eagerly when she saw her sister.

    Corrie leaned against the balcony, the wind tossing strands of hair into her face as she faced Christina. "Not today. What news of the war?" Corrie asked, gesturing to the newspaper in Christina's hand.