coming back for her. As you know, she kept the baby, and her parents threw her out.”
I shook my head. “But he never came back.”
Julie chewed her lip. “But I think maybe he wanted to. For a while anyhow.” She hesitated then handed me the envelopes in her hand. There were three of them, and they were yellowed at the edges.
I stared at them for a moment. All three were from a return address in Barnoldswick, England. All three listed Peter A. Dahler as the sender. “He wrote to her,” I said softly. But what was he doing in England after the war?
“My grandma said there were more. She only kept three.” She hesitated. “I think maybe there was a part of her that felt bad, that wanted your grandma to know he’d cared after all. But it was too late.”
“So what about the letter my grandmother did receive?” I asked. “Jeremiah gave it to me. It was supposedly from Peter, and he said he was marrying someone else. He wasn’t coming back for her. Did your grandmother forge that or something?”
“No. It was the only letter they gave to Margaret, for obvious reasons. But it really did come from Peter Dahler, far as I know. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, my heart sinking again. Regardless of what promises he’d made in the letters I now held in my hands, he’d failed her in the end. Maybe it was better that my grandmother had never seen these, had never been allowed to hope.
“The thing is,” Julie said after a minute, “unless he’s just really good with words, I think he really loved your grandmother. It’s hard to believe that he fell out of love with her so quickly. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“None of it does,” I agreed, thinking of the note that had accompanied the painting last week. “Can I have these?” I held up the letters.
Julie nodded. “For what it’s worth, I think my grandma was real sorry about what she’d done. I think that in the end, she realized she just might have ruined her little sister’s life.”
I stood up and tucked the letters into my back pocket. “Her life wasn’t ruined,” I said. “But I also think that maybe it wasn’t complete. And I want to understand what happened.”
Julie stood too and walked me to the door. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, will you let me know? I owe you at least that. Considering what my grandma did.”
I nodded, thanked her, and leaned in for a quick hug. I wasn’t sure I’d ever consider Julie family, but she was a connection to a piece of my grandmother’s past I’d never known about, and that was something.
I pulled the letters out of my pocket and set them on the passenger seat before starting my car. I was dying to read them, but I didn’t want to do it in Julie’s driveway, for although this might have been where my grandmother’s story had begun, it was also the place where her heart had been broken. I wanted to put some distance between myself and this place before I opened that particular door to the past.
CHAPTER NINE
----
DECEMBER 1944
L ove was a funny thing, Peter thought. You grow up thinking you’ll have some control over it—when you’ll fall in love, who you’ll fall in love with. But then life surprises you out of nowhere, and you fall in love when the world is falling apart, with a person you never could have predicted, from the other side of the globe. Who would have thought Peter would be in America—falling in love with America—never mind falling in love with an American woman he was forbidden to talk to?
But it had happened. There was no denying it. Now Margaret was all he thought about, and he knew she thought of him too, which was all the more miraculous and unbelievable.
Margaret. Margaret Mae Evans. Peter wasn’t sure if a more beautiful name had ever existed, a more perfect woman.
Suddenly, the days no longer felt endless and arduous. Yes, every one of Peter’s limbs ached constantly, and sometimes he thought he’d simply collapse from dehydration in the
I shook my head. “But he never came back.”
Julie chewed her lip. “But I think maybe he wanted to. For a while anyhow.” She hesitated then handed me the envelopes in her hand. There were three of them, and they were yellowed at the edges.
I stared at them for a moment. All three were from a return address in Barnoldswick, England. All three listed Peter A. Dahler as the sender. “He wrote to her,” I said softly. But what was he doing in England after the war?
“My grandma said there were more. She only kept three.” She hesitated. “I think maybe there was a part of her that felt bad, that wanted your grandma to know he’d cared after all. But it was too late.”
“So what about the letter my grandmother did receive?” I asked. “Jeremiah gave it to me. It was supposedly from Peter, and he said he was marrying someone else. He wasn’t coming back for her. Did your grandmother forge that or something?”
“No. It was the only letter they gave to Margaret, for obvious reasons. But it really did come from Peter Dahler, far as I know. I’m sorry.”
I nodded, my heart sinking again. Regardless of what promises he’d made in the letters I now held in my hands, he’d failed her in the end. Maybe it was better that my grandmother had never seen these, had never been allowed to hope.
“The thing is,” Julie said after a minute, “unless he’s just really good with words, I think he really loved your grandmother. It’s hard to believe that he fell out of love with her so quickly. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“None of it does,” I agreed, thinking of the note that had accompanied the painting last week. “Can I have these?” I held up the letters.
Julie nodded. “For what it’s worth, I think my grandma was real sorry about what she’d done. I think that in the end, she realized she just might have ruined her little sister’s life.”
I stood up and tucked the letters into my back pocket. “Her life wasn’t ruined,” I said. “But I also think that maybe it wasn’t complete. And I want to understand what happened.”
Julie stood too and walked me to the door. “If there’s anything else I can do to help, will you let me know? I owe you at least that. Considering what my grandma did.”
I nodded, thanked her, and leaned in for a quick hug. I wasn’t sure I’d ever consider Julie family, but she was a connection to a piece of my grandmother’s past I’d never known about, and that was something.
I pulled the letters out of my pocket and set them on the passenger seat before starting my car. I was dying to read them, but I didn’t want to do it in Julie’s driveway, for although this might have been where my grandmother’s story had begun, it was also the place where her heart had been broken. I wanted to put some distance between myself and this place before I opened that particular door to the past.
CHAPTER NINE
----
DECEMBER 1944
L ove was a funny thing, Peter thought. You grow up thinking you’ll have some control over it—when you’ll fall in love, who you’ll fall in love with. But then life surprises you out of nowhere, and you fall in love when the world is falling apart, with a person you never could have predicted, from the other side of the globe. Who would have thought Peter would be in America—falling in love with America—never mind falling in love with an American woman he was forbidden to talk to?
But it had happened. There was no denying it. Now Margaret was all he thought about, and he knew she thought of him too, which was all the more miraculous and unbelievable.
Margaret. Margaret Mae Evans. Peter wasn’t sure if a more beautiful name had ever existed, a more perfect woman.
Suddenly, the days no longer felt endless and arduous. Yes, every one of Peter’s limbs ached constantly, and sometimes he thought he’d simply collapse from dehydration in the
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