25
Dear William,
Writing to her husband still felt stilted. They’d been around each other constantly from the time they’d met, so letter writing hadn’t been a major feature of their relationship.
William’s first letter had arrived at midday, full of flowery descriptions of the island, amusing notes on the accommodation and congregation, and humorous accounts of his jaunts. It was a letter worthy of publication, but all froth and bubble. Nothing beneath the sunny surface.
Disappointment settled in her gut. Would William ever grieve as she’d been grieving, with tears and moans and never-ending heartache?
Sorting boxes and sewing the memory quilt had helped, but didn’t stop her almost calling out to dark-haired strangers who walked as Esther had, or storing up amusing incidents at work t
