April 24, 2000
Hardwick, Vermont
“The postman just came, Em. Run out and see what we have today, would you? I can’t leave off stirring this fudge yet.”
Aunt Faith’s cheerful voice cut through Emily’s gloomy thoughts.
Leaving the window, which looked out into the rainy afternoon, she moved to obey. Her heart wasn’t in the small task, nor in anything she could imagine doing. Pausing on the back porch to tug on overshoes and a mackinaw, Emily grabbed an old umbrella and forged out toward the mailbox that stood beside the highway some fifty yards from the house. Driven by a biting wind, icy raindrops stung her cheeks, as if nature wept with her. Six months, and so little has changed. It almost feels as if time is standing still.
Although most of the mail seemed to be addressed to Faith De
