Crow sat slouched at the desk, writing, as the rain beat against the window like falling pebbles. He was thinking about the letter he had received from Mary and the one his father-in-law had sent. She had written about their new son, how he was healthy, and “Growing like a weed.” The other children were fine but missed their father. She prayed for him, loved him, and she missed him.
Crow picked up his pen, dipped its tip in the inkpot, and then set its gold tip to the paper. In broad strokes, he wrote:
“My Dearest Mary, How pleased I am to receive your Letter. I"m happy to know that you, my love, and the children are well. I am excited about our son Charles and can hardly wait to see him. Things are quiet here, although we are busy. The weather…”
And on he wrote.
Crow looked up from hi
