Long-Suffering Edith
Long-Suffering EdithThe early August morning was quiet at Les Cheneaux. No cars sped down M-134. No boat whistles sounded as the sailors tightened the hatches and left the Carmeuse quarry in Cedarville and glided east on Lake Huron heading for Lake Michigan and Burns Harbor in Indiana. Even the owls made no sound, and the crickets were silent. The peaceful night passed, broken only by my daughter’s cries that became whimpers as they drifted through her wall into our bedroom. Phil slept on, but I couldn’t. I waited, hoping Connie’s nightmare would pass, but it didn’t. I wish there was something I could do to ease whatever is tormenting her, but I haven’t been able to help. I can’t reach her and let her know how much we love her. If only she were more like her sister, N
