Epilogue
St Louis, 2015Meredith moved the paper pieces from the old quilt around on the table, fitting them together as best she could, using a process of elimination, careful not to tear the thin paper. Slow work. Eventually she had the text of a letter in front of her. Someone had scrawled in a different hand across the top “Return to the sender”
St Louis, 1915
Dear Jack,
I am overcome with joy today. Amelia, my daughter, brought me some poetry books as she knows how much comfort I have drawn from poems since I lost my husband. As well as works of Mr Longfellow and Mr Wendell Holmes, imagine how I felt to pick up the third volume and find it was a collection of works by a contemporary English poet and that it was you! Oh Jack, I cannot tell you how it felt to know that you never gave
