London, England 11/19/44
To my beloved Nate,
You're right. What even is there to say? How do you make it through the darkness with no light to guide you?
I watched many of my commrades die. Some in horrific ways but I haven't lost someone close before. Given that in the SOE, we tend to stay a little detached. I'm glad that isn't the case with you and me, Nate.
This war keeps taking and taking, never giving anything good back. Just keeps giving death and misery. On the home front, people are excited and cheering for the Allie's progress. I don't see anything worthy of cheering about. Not until Hitler's head is on a bloody pike.
I'm so sorry about Turner. He seemed like a good man when we met in France. I know, I probably don't even know the half of it. I don't expect you to think I understand what you're going through because I don't. And I hate it. I hate not being able to say anything remotely helpful to you and it hurts my heart to get heartbroken letters from you.
Here I am, back in London with an actual bed while you sleep in the cold, wet mud. I would give everything to sleep in the mud beside you, Nate.
In the box, this is coming in, I assume you already tore off your old socks and put the new ones on. It isn't much but socks definitely count for something. Right?
I'm also assuming you're drunk now, considering the wine bottle I put in there. It's that very expensive red wine that we both found most enjoyable in Paris. I'm sure you remember, darling.
I got one of those French newspapers and I saw one of our pictures in the paper! It was the one of when we were leaving and you kissed me. I have it cut out of the newspaper and now it's in a picture frame by my bed. I know you have the original.
This last part has taken me a long time because I just didn't know what to write. Didn't know what to say. What am I supposed to tell you when your protector was killed. It's like being blessed by Christ only to be sent down to the devil. Fuck, I'm so sorry, Nate. Words are almost meaningless when they can't convey what I want them to. They don't hold as much meaning as action.
I'm sorry, Nate. Truly I am. The King will be fine, but God save you boys over their. You will come back to me. I just know you will. Even in your deepest moments of doubt an pain, just think on that promise. You will come back to me. I forbid you from not fulfilling that promise, do you understand, Corporal?
"Yes ma'am."
God I can just imagine your southern draw.
Come back to me, love, when the war is done.
Forever yours,
Vivian Harris