Winfred

103

Official Report

British Intelligence

Code: 3986                                                                                                                                    

Kathleen Winfred

Dear Ilsa,

The time has come. Christof, who has become quite a friend of mine, has allowed me to write to you one final time. You’ll meet him, I suppose, afterwards. He’s promised me that he will deliver the letter to you in person. If you haven’t figured it out by now, he’s the contact that Von Steubon knows here. They’re friends, apparently. In the time I’ve been here, Christof has been my friend.

However, enough on the trivial things. I have important things to say in this letter.

If I had family, I would ask you to send word to them. I might ask you to tell them how I went. I might request that you return my few personal effects to them.

But I don’t. You already know I was an orphan. I have no one to return anything to, save you and Jessica. The two of you became, in the time I’ve known you, more of a family to me than anyone else ever has been.

It’s strange, how the people I knew at the prison were almost like some sort of big dysfunctional family. You and Jessica were kind of like my sisters. Von Steubon was almost like some kind of big brother to me; someone who watched out for me, but from a distance, not necessarily making his concerns known. Pirot, who I will always remember, for her kindnesses to us, as well as for helping me play the prank of the century on Schwab. And of course, I will never forget that she helped to save my life once. I think I’m even going to miss Schwab, in a strange, somewhat mental, way…

Growing up with nothing and no one is hard, Ilsa. I had to work very hard to stay positive and cheerful and it didn’t always work. Life is hard, by nature. It isn’t easy. Even if it wasn’t wartime, we’re humans and, by human nature, we all have our own problems. However, when you grow up the way I did, you grow up learning to treasure the things you have…the people you have…all the more dearly.

I want you to know that I may be going to my death (I’ll be gone, of course, by the time you get this), I am happy. I am happier than I ever have been. You and Jessica, especially, made me feel so happy. So wanted. That was something I’d never truly felt before. The simple feeling of just being wanted. I’ll never forget that.

Knowing Jessica and you to be somewhat emotional types (something I remember fondly about both of you), I know you’ll probably take the news of my death with difficulty. You will grieve, and you will be sad.

But know this. I died happily. And I’m in a better place now. There won’t be war where I’m going. Focus on doing what you need to to protect and care for yourselves. It is no good worrying over things you cannot change.

Know that you should not dwell over the fact that I am gone. The past is in the past, and cannot be changed.

Live your life. Tell Jessica to live hers. Know that I did not face death with fear.

And most importantly, remember what I said at the end of one of my letters to you: It’s been my personal philosophy throughout my life, ever since one of the orphanage workers when I was growing up said it to me in passing.

Remember to stay brave, darling.

By the time you read this, I will be happy.

You will be the ones who need to be brave.

While I would have liked more than anything to somehow survive and return to you, death kind of renders that impossible. I would have liked to be alright…I would have liked to have made it through the war and have been able to get to know both you and Jessica, and even Pirot and Von Steubon (also Matthew, whom you’ve mentioned in past letters on a few occasions).

I can’t, however. So I need you to make it through the war for me.

I suppose I must go now. Christof has just warned me that time for me to write is fast wearing thin.

Don’t grieve too much, Ilsa. Stay brave.

-Virginia

 I was crying by the end, but I felt much better, as if Virginia, in her carefully thought out words, had already known how I would feel and had gifted me with a comfort that she could no longer give in person.

I curled up in a ball, the letter clasped in one hand, and hugged Schubert, letting my tears come.

These were not of pure grief, however. Certainly, I was still sad. But these tears were almost cleansing, letting me know that it was alright to grieve, but you eventually had to move on in your own life.

One thing remains true: I will never, never, forget Virginia Douglas.