I pray that you receive this letter and God had mercy on me and you'll still be alive when this arrives. I've read the papers every day and no one with the last name Schofield has appeared and neither has Vera Williams, so I believe that your family is safe. I hope the same can be said for you. I don't even know who to contact for your information. Joseph said that he would contact some of his friends that he knew if you do not respond to this letter. So, I beg of you William, please respond. Joseph said that you would make it. If not for yourself, then you'd make it for me, but I beg of you to write to me, at least once more. Please tell me that you're alright.
Your first letter worried me so much that I barely ate or slept for three days, hoping that you'd write a second time. Then I received your second letter and it brought me no comfort. If you barely were able to eat or drink and they've chosen to send you out. You're in no state to travel, especially alone. They surely know that, do they not? I hope you are safe and that you write soon, I'm worried sick. I know this letter will arrive after you leave, you'll probably not receive it until you arrive back, but I pray that you take care of yourself. Make sure that you're well fed, and you take the path that will protect you the most.
Joseph is going back to France. I tried to persuade him to stay. I even asked his fiance if she would speak with him and persuade him, but he's set on going back. Nothing, not even my mother's tears, will keep Joseph from going back to the war. He said that if he ever lays eyes on you, he's going to kill you himself for putting me through all this worry, but I just want him to lay eyes on you so that I know that you're safe. He said that if his regiment is placed with yours, he will keep an eye on you because you obviously are too kind to other soldiers to even begin to take care of yourself. I've sent some socks. I know they won't do you much good after the trip, but you said that after your last one, the army never gave you a new pair, so I asked my mother to knit some more and they're included with the letter.
You once told me that when I wrote to you about my life, it was a comfort, knowing that life was going on outside of war and the trenches. It said that it gave you a few minutes of escape from the war and the men. From the smell of gunpowder and death. So, William Schofield, for the rest of this letter, the war is not allowed to be mentioned, nor are you allowed to think about where you are. I will try to make you forget the hell that you are in for the few minutes you have reading this letter.
The cherry trees needed harvesting the past weekend. It was the first time I had to actually harvest them and my god I understand why Joe and Tom always complained about the pain in their arms. But they were gorgeous, it was like snow was on the ground, but in June. It's always gorgeous, but I suppose now that I know how short life could actually be, f All day my arms were above my head as I collected the berries. But, we had a good harvest, enough that I was able to go into town with my father and sell them to our local shops. It was the first time I went to town in months. My mother tried to stop me, but I begged my father to bring me until he had it in his mind that I was coming. It was always Tom's job to sell the excess of cherries we had, but I'm going to assume that it will fall to me now. Joseph will be married soon and I supposed I am the last Blake left.
My birthday is soon as well. My mother said that she would bake something for me, but all I want is my family with me. It's a silly request, but we always used to wander the orchards together, all of us, Tom, Joseph, and I pestering my parents to let us run ahead enough so that we could get into trouble without my parents seeing. The past year, Joseph was away at university and Tom had work that day, so it was just my parents and I. It was the loneliest birthday I thought I'd ever have. My friends said that they would come and take me to dinner if I'd like, but I'd like to do anything but that. It is their way of saying that they have a date set up for me and they seem to never understand that I want a way out of this town, not a reason to stay.
I keep your photo on my desk. I'm constantly there, either writing letters or reading and it's far enough away from the light where it won't spoil so quickly. Come back, William Schofield. Come back to me.
