“Yes?”
“I read through all your letters when I was well enough. They helped me get better. I know that probably sounds ridiculous.”
“No, not ridiculous.” She watched me, carefully, as if I were an oddity she wanted to figure out but couldn’t quite. “Sweet, actually. Reading letters from a girl you didn’t know seems a romantic thing to do.”
“They gave me joy when I needed it most. Like a good book.”
“I can imagine doing the same in your situation. You were lonely and scared and needed a distraction.” Josephine took in a deep breath and looked up at the rafters. “There were parts meant just for Walter. I’m slightly mortified to think what I put in there. I must have sounded like a lovesick girl.”
“You made me long for someone to feel that way about me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “I’m not that good a writer.”
“I beg to differ.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I was taken aback when you said he’d read parts of the letters to the other men. I imagined him reading them as I did his. Savoring every bit. Reading them over and over and keeping them to myself. Holding them close. Like a secret love.”
“We needed your stories of family doing ordinary things. You can’t imagine how much. There were days…when things were really bad and I felt certain none of us would ever make it home.” I paused, thinking about how much I wanted to tell her. How truthful did I want to be? “They hinted at the possibilities of life. If I could just make it out alive, there might be a girl who would love me as you had Walter. Then later, when I was sick, they held the idea of promise. Of better things to come.”
“I’m glad they gave you something to hold on to. After your letter that Walter had died, I was lost in that way, too. Looking for anything that would lead me into the future. That they gave you all something to look forward to and enjoy during such a hard time gives my life meaning.” Her voice wavered. “I struggle to understand why certain things have happened and what my place is supposed to be now. Is it just my work at the library? Should that be enough?”
“You could love again, couldn’t you?” I asked. “Someone worthy?”
“My father did. After Mother died, he was able to fall in love. But me? I don’t know. There’s never been anyone else I felt that way for.”
Bitter jealousy churned my stomach. If she only knew how undeserving my friend had been.
“What about you, Phillip Baker? You must not have a girl back in New York or you would’ve brought her with you.”
“Right, there’s no one.”
“Do you want someone?” Josephine asked.
“I want a wife and family more than anything in the world.”
Her eyes softened. “Oh, that’s nice. You’ll get it. A wonderful, very lucky girl will come to you soon.”
“I don’t have much to offer a woman. Not yet.”
“You’re enough just as you are.” She smiled and brushed the collar of my coat with her fingertips. “I have a feeling the young ladies of Emerson Pass will be tripping over one another to meet our new handsome bachelor. I’ll be sure to tell you who to stay away from and who is good.”
I knew the girl I wanted. She was standing right in front of me. Now I just had to win her heart.
Josephine
The night of Phillip’s arrival, we dined with my parents. The little girls had already eaten and been tucked into bed, but Fiona and Cymbeline were allowed to join the adults. My brothers had stayed in town to eat at the café before working from Papa’s office.
The chandelier shed soft light over the dining room table. Mama and Papa always sat on either end with my siblings and me on either side. Tonight, Cymbeline and Fiona sat across from each other on the end nearest Papa. Phillip and I were opposite, near Mama.
Phillip had dressed for dinner in a dark suit and white shirt with a bow tie. I hadn’t expected him to be quite so nice-looking. I’m not sure why, but it had never crossed my mind what he looked like one way or the other, only that he’d been Walter’s friend. He’d been through a lot, and I have must seemed like a spoiled rich girl. What did he think of me? I was surprised to realize I hoped I’d lived up to my letters and that I wanted very much for him to like me.
Before the first course of squash soup, Papa raised his glass. “To Phillip. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m pleased to be here.”
We all lifted our glasses to toast. My sisters looked fetching in their dinner dresses. Fiona was in a soft blue and Cymbeline in gold with small beads sewn into a lovely pattern. This was her first formal dress as a young woman of sixteen. She’d been the same height for several years and most likely wouldn’t grow taller. She was curvier than Fiona and me and strong as an ox. One day a few years ago, I’d caught her standing in front of the mirror, crying over the fact that her breasts had seemed to arrive out of nowhere. “I don’t want them,” she’d said. “They’re pulling me forward when I skate or run.” I’d had to bite the inside of my lip to keep from laughing. Only Cymbeline would be dismayed by her chest, whereas I wished I had much of anything at all in that area. My sister was not your ordinary girl.
“Papa, please tell us about the slope,” Cymbeline said. “I can hardly wait to try skiing.”