Through the Darkness: Of Love and Loss Series Book One

17

Wednesday, July 9, 1919

My Dearest Darling,

While I applaud you for your kindness to Francine, and honestly, I wouldn't expect anything less from you—you are a noble and good woman, of that I have no doubt—Captain Rattlesnake was distraught to learn the distance between us must remain for a while longer. (Is it as worrisome to you as it is to me that I've referred to Captain Rattlesnake as an individual separate from myself?)

I shall try to be patient; however, it's never been a strong suit of mine.

How was your 4th of July holiday? Mine was quite eventful. Aunt Mable and Uncle Edgar arrived with their two rambunctious boys, Timothy (as tall as me, and he's only 16) and Thomas (nearly just as tall as his brother, and he's only 13), on the 2nd.

Thankfully, they are managing to divert me from being too overcome with disappointment at not being able to see you sooner. Speaking of them, the boys and I went swimming the day after their arrival and ran afoul with a skunk.

We've been sleeping outside since and bathing three times a day in a noxious concoction of Aunt Mable's, which seems to have helped (or so she says. Personally, I think we now smell twice as repellent.)

Aside from the overwhelming stench that turned my stomach and made eating difficult the first several days, it proved to be quite helpful in gaining an unobstructed view of the 4th of July parade. The whole town attended. Not an exaggeration in a town as small as Malad. Either they were participating in the spectacle itself or gathered on the sidelines of Main Street.

All in all, we enjoyed a fun-filled day of activities, socializing (from afar, in my case), and food, followed by fireworks later that night.

Would you think less of me if I admitted that after the first shot into the sky and exploded, I suddenly found myself ducking for cover and shaking like a leaf? The only thing that made it tolerable was looking around and seeing I wasn't alone in my reaction.

I don't think Aunt Mable was surprised when I (along with several other men) excused myself and walked home, not even caring my leg burned in agony.

Looking back, whoever was in charge of the festivities should have rethought the use of fireworks so soon after the war.

Just thinking about that night, or my failed attempt to sleep in the root cellar to muffle the noise, makes me break out in a cold sweat.

In any event, I've enjoyed having my family here with me and seeing how much the boys have grown and changed since I last saw them upon leaving the hospital.

I know this letter will arrive while you are gone, but I wonder if you'll still write to me while on your retreat. I sincerely hope so, for I don't know how I'll survive a week—let alone two—without a word from you.

To answer your question in your last letter, school begins after Labor Day on Wednesday the 3rd. I'd love to meet with you before then. Perhaps the exact moment you are returned from Watertown?

I must go for now. Aunt Mable wants me to take them for a drive in the countryside before they leave tomorrow.

I miss you.

With love,

Everett

~~~~

July 9, 1919

Beloved Everett,

It's close to four o'clock in the morning, and all I can think about is how much I shall miss receiving word from you over the next two weeks. I hope they pass by quickly, for I know my mind and heart shall be focused on you as usual.