4
Roses
Pietermaritzburg
4 November 1942
Somewhere in Italy.
OPEN ONLY ON YOUR BIRTHDAY and NO earlier, Iris!
Iris had received the letter a week ago. She’d torn open the envelope and read the opening line. It took every ounce of restraint not to gobble up the rest, but she managed, only because this letter would be her only gift.
My Beloved Sunshine,
Happy, happy birthday. May all your dreams come true. Thinking of you every day. but especially today. Close your eyes, and you’ll hear me sing to you. “Happy Birthday to you...”
Iris closed her eyes. But she heard nothing.
I bet this finds you lying in the hammock strung between the fruit trees in the farthest corner of the yard. I know Buffer’s nestling his nose between you and the twine. He’s nine now, isn’t he? Sixty-three dog y
