Sealed With Ink

Twenty-eight

Arabella, let me take you away from that place for a while...
9 August 1945

You can't imagine how wonderful it was to finally receive a reply from you; it took you long enough.

I will listen to your request to tell you of my family and Whilton, but before I do there's just one thing. Do not reveal yourself to Williams. I was lucky, so lucky that the only punishment I got was being separated from you and a hefty fine.

I had a look if there were others like us, women pretending to be men. I wanted to see if it was safe to bring you here because, trust me, Arabella, I want you to leave that place as much as you want to.

I only found one. Her name was Linda Howard, in 1942 she joined the military to protect her sick father. She took cover under the name of Paul Howard. She managed to stay undiscovered for 5 months. The article didn't specify how exactly they figured out her secret but when they did, let's just say the results weren't pleasant for her. The paper made her out to be a spy for foreign forces. It wasn't an easy, quick death.

As surprising as it sounds, Williams was lenient-- merciful, even -- with what he did to me. So don't reveal yourself. He trusts you, believes you to be one of his, if he finds out that he has been tricked again. I don't want to think about what might happen to you. Stay, we'll figure out another way to get you back to me.

Now, let me take your mind off of things for a bit. Let me tell you what's been happening here.

Stella and Aderyn didn't stop squealing for hours after I had walked through the door. Levi, bless him, fell apart in my arms. He hasn't stopped thanking me since I got back. Stella has cut her hair to her shoulders and insists that I am the one to braid it every night so that it can be wavy in the morning. She told me that my hair is scruffy and far too short. "Celestia, you look worse than a dog." I wonder where the sass comes from.

Aderyn has been having a harder time. She's still not entirely accepting of the fact that our parents aren't coming back. Though my return has seemed to bring back some light to her eyes.

Levi, well, he's just a typical teenage boy. He has a girlfriend. Her name is Camilla, they've been together for two months and they are happily engaged. Arabella, I nearly lost it when I found one of the poems that he wrote for her. It seems that writing romantic letters doesn't come as easily to him as it does to me. I didn't get to finish the original one I found before it was ripped out of my hands and Levi screamed at me to get the bloody hell out of his room. I got this one, though. Enjoy.

Camilla is so sweet that even the bees cannot resist her nectar,

They try to steal her from me.

But I am her protector and I will not let my sunshine be taken away,

Because without Camilla the days will be darker than coal.

Love, Levi.

Lovely isn't it?

Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I had a tiny hope that maybe, just maybe, my parents would be back home. After all, we never got an official record of their deaths. Mrs. Chipper, after squeezing me till I heard my ribs crack under the pressure of her arms, only gave me a sorry look when I asked about them.

I don't know how to repay her for how well she's cared for my siblings when I was gone. She didn't have to, she had no obligation to do so, but she did with so much as one complaint regardless.

The house is pretty much the same as it once was. Mrs. Chipper has moved into the guest room. Her husband passed away two months ago. She says her house felt empty and I don't mind her staying so it's five of us in the house now. I realized that I never described it to you, so here you go.

The house stands just on the outskirts of Whilton. It looks just like any other farmhouse really, red bricks, small white windows, flower beds lining the bottom half of the house, a cobblestone short path leading up to the front door. On the left side of the house, there's a small, fenced off, area where the chickens run about. I forgot how badly it smells in a chicken coop. I forgot how badly it smells on a farm actually.

Guess I'm the spoiled one now.

The only thing that might separate it from other houses is the flowers that cover every square inch of the front garden. I had planted them a year before I left, and they've bloomed beautifully. Any description I could give to you would do them no justice. It's fantastical, it looks like it belongs in a fairytale picture book. I'm laying in the flowers right now in hope that their perfume will rub off on the parchment and bring some of me to you.

I'm trying so hard to be grateful for being back home. I really am Arabella. I just suppose it's hard to be happy when only half of you is present. I haven't told them about you yet, not because I'm ashamed, God I couldn't be prouder of being your lover, but because it hurts too much.

I don't think it would be physically possible for me to talk about you without breaking. I don't want to disappoint them with a broken, retched version of their sister.

I want them to meet you in person because just like the flowers around me, any lousy description wouldn't do justice to the reality of my angel.

Write as soon as you can and stay safe, for me.

I love you above all heavens, Arabella, let that give you strength.

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