Chapter Ten
Summer slipped away, the following autumn, winter and spring disappeared written in fuzzy memories. Another summer, the world had become a gruesome place, while in our tiny New England hamlet an insignificant society of s****l dilettantes dealt with sorrow by practicing a heinous brand of self-indulgent s****l theatrics. I had my moments in the limelight, moments in other husbands’ arms, moments of ungodly bliss—though none were ever pure. They were always stained by the poignant nightmares of marching soldiers, gunfire and death.
I knew my husband was in the thick of battle, young and willing to be sacrificed by a grateful country that knew winning came with price tags figured in human flesh. I hoped that my letters to him cheered his days. They would be nothing like the ne
