Yours Truly

March, 1918

AN: This chapter touches lightly on child abuse and sexual abuse. Tread lightly if you need to.

~*~*~

'Tommy,

You can't be that surprised that a girl might propose to her man. I mean, I had us engaged and didn't even think you were real. I say good on her. Maybe he can get special leave to get married. I've known a few girls who did it that way. Too short a visit for a wedding, but I suppose I can understand it. Rather be married than not in case... Well, that's beside the point. I wish the best to the happy couple, at any rate.

Now, to your other bit of news...'

-

'Lizzie,

How are the typing lessons? You haven't mentioned it in a while. Did you complete the course? Wouldn't surprise me if you had. Polly writes all the time about how smart you are, as if I don't know it. Speaking of smart, I've read the book you sent. It took a while, but I did like it. The main character was a bit thick, but his girl... she was the true mind in that business.

Did you let Ada read it? It's a bit slow, but I think she'd like...'

-

'Thomas,

I'm sorry to tell you, but Lizzie's fallen ill. Influenza. I wouldn't have known, either, except she missed work. So I sent Ada to check in on her. The doctor's been, but there's not much he can do for her. We've to wait it out. Now, I don't want you worrying. We're looking after her (me, Ada, and Martha) in shifts. And she's gonna be fine, soon.

Now, tell me, how are you? I didn't like the tone of that last...'

-

'Polly,

You can't tell me Lizzie has influenza and then tell me not to worry. Is it the new one, out of Spain? There's been a good bit of our boys here got it. A few died, and with nothing wrong with them except the influenza. And all the ones who had it have done poorly. You'll keep me informed, yes? And tell her I say to get well.

As for me, I'm fine. Still here and still muddling along. Don't know what you...'

~*~*~

Lizzie blinked.

Polly was there, hand brushing her hair from her face. "Where'd you go, love? White as a sheet." Pol was good. Pol was safe. "Lizzie? You hear me?" A nod. Made her head spin. Made everything heavy and strange. She frowned. "You're alright, love. Thought you'd got over this part, but we'll have it sorted quick enough." A hand touching her forehead, felt cold. She didn't like cold. "Just a bit of fever come back, is all. You just lie down and have a rest." Hands, Polly's hands, guiding her. Gentle, so gentle. Not like-

"He's not here is he?"

Polly glanced at her, brows furrowed lightly. "Who, love? Tommy?"

She remembered then. He was dead. Mother did it- to make it stop.

"Lizzie?"

She looked at Polly. She was supposed to be lying down. That's what Pol wanted. So she did. She laid down.

"Nothing, Pol. Nothing."

~*~*~

She could smell it.

Scotch whiskey. Never Irish.

'Where you been, girl?' Slurred. Angry.

Can't run. No time.