That evening, Mama handed me a letter. I stared at the envelope, not certain of the handwriting. I noticed the postmark; Cracow. A plain envelope made of coarse paper. I looked at the elegant hand, the delicate loops and suddenly knew. I ran up to my room.
“Mordecai?”
Eagerly, I tore the envelope open feeling the thick pages between my fingers.
“…My Dearest Mordecai. Have you forgotten me? I pray you haven"t. I hope you aren"t too upset about my leaving but it happened very quickly. My parents didn"t give me a chance to say goodbye to you. I"m attending a girl"s school that"s run by the nuns. They"re very strict here. No visitors are allowed and we may write letters only twice a month. We say prayers three times a day. I don"t mind that so much except that I pray to leave this place. I
