Disclaimer:

The story below is written by S.S.S and K.H., and is based on an idea implemented by Patricia C. Wrede and Caroline Stevermer, which involves writing letters to one another under assumed characters, and, essentially, seeing where written make-believe can take you. Outside of the general format, and a few similar phrases penned in mechanically, this story is entirely original, and the characters are unique. Since they have never been written about anywhere else, S.S.S and K.H. implore that their characters remain within the parameters of this page. That being said, please read and review!

Thank you,

S.S.S., K.H.

We are afraid that due to a lack of reviews that no new chapters will be posted for some time. Ideally, we would prefer that at least four reviews go up before the next chapter is posted.

Best,

S.S.S., K.H.

Because of your reviews FlamingQuill, we have decided to continue posting. Knowing that we have captured the attention of even one reader is enough for us. Thank you! For anyone else who may be reading this story, we would really appreciate your response as well. The next chapter will probably be available next week.

Regards,

S.S.S., K.H.

Summers & Sacala

Letters from Abroad

Written by Adamine Rus and Gwendolyn Summers,

Transmitted by S.S.S. and K.H.

V, May

Dear Gwen,

Now, what shall I say? It was your suggestion that we write to each other this summer, so that no tale of our exploits goes unaccounted for. And I was quite in agreement with you at the time. Although, I must say it was rather daft of you to put a memory charm on my brass-tipped quill pen. Now it screeches a reminder every time I go a day or two without touching it to scroll. How am I to explain to Grandmama why there is a constant want for paper in the house? Heaven forbid it, but I'll be using the privy's supply next, just to meet the demands of your hefty curse.

Now that I am quite done complaining—well, at least about my first point—I am compelled to tell you that nothing stirring, against all your assurances, has occurred since I've arrived in Sacala. Grandmama is still on her dustbed and Sanders—in spite of having added a fair amount to his height—has not grown out of his boyish tomfoolery, and promises to be as unbearable as ever.

Dearest Gwen, Grandmama has not bothered to rise from her dustbed once this entire week. Though, really, why should she inconvenience herself when she has a granddaughter, born into life for to wait on her every whim? But not to worry! What she lacks in physical movement, she more than makes up for in vocal expression—much of what begins with "Adamine" and ends with yet another meticulous task that I am to fuss over in her place. I am beginning to fear that her only objective this summer will be to order me about, and without any existing engagements of my own, I must grudgingly assume the role of personal servant—which would be quite alright, if only Grandmama would add a bit more to the conversation.

If only the matter of Grandmama's sour disposition were my sole concern. Regrettably, as I am the only one of our group to summer in Sacala this year, I will be alone in dealing with the other nuisance I mentioned earlier.

Until last week, Gwen, I was sure that you and I had secured the title of town hooligans, but Sanders is determined to give us a run for our money. Just last Thursday, he managed to steal three of Mrs. Ogden's prized chickens right from under her glaring eye—though, considering that her mouth was probably busily delivering hearsay at the time, I can see how the mission mayn't have been too hard for even Sanders to manage. If only he had stopped there, I may have decided there is hope for him yet—but he soon made it clear that our antagonism is to continue for yet another summer.

So—what do you suppose the scut decided to do with his newly stolen conquests when Mrs. Ogden's three burly sons hustled through town looking for the culprit? Why, dump them on Grandmama's front porch—where they could leave quite a few unwanted presents—of course! Unfortunately, I happened to arrive on site just in time to be the only one to witness Sanders' quick departure into Codomarc—and was left having to spend the entire morning explaining to Paul, Raul, and Saul how the chickens had happened to stride along the dirt-paved road, across the skinny bridge leading to the natural spring, and through the huge fence Grandmama insisted on having built last summer, to roam happily on our stoned steps ("well—perhaps they fancied a stroll," I ventured a joke). Luckily, those three were never very smart. The difficult part came later when I had to explain it all over again to Grandmama. She wasn't as content with buying my "load of hogwash"…though she wouldn't have taken kindly to the truth, either, being a one to hastily identify—and oftentimes misidentify—a falsehood. Between Her Excellency and Sanders, I may just have to retreat into the Black Forest if I want any peace from the insanity I'm sure to experience this summer.

So I now have an extra week of wish-it-were-anything-but-this rounds of taking the contents of our overfilled privy to become fertilizer for Grandmama's vegetable garden. Your letters may just be my only consolation to a summer of pure slavery and boredom. Thus, I must thank you for your suggestion to exchange written words and admit that you are once again in the right, though I could have done without the memory charm.

I implore you to describe to me all that you are seeing on your journey, to the smallest detail, so that I may be able to live the experience through your words. I also beseech you to tell me all about Cassie's condition. I know that you will watch over my sister as your father's Healers attend to her. But do not feel that you have to give up your entire holiday on her behalf. You deserve to enjoy yourself, and Cassie will have your young cousins to keep her company when she is up to it.

Send my greetings to your family, and my love to Cassie. And try not to let York's nobility fluster you.

I await your response.

Your friend,

Addie

VII, May

Dear Addie,

I amsorry about having to put the memory charm on your quill, but you don't understand how desperately lonely I would feel without hearing from you for such a long time. I was so glad to get your letter because I'm afraid that traveling with Great Aunt Beatrice would try the patience of a saint! – and one thing I have hardly achieved is sainthood.

My initial excitement of taking the hundred-mile journey to York has quickly faded under a barrage of commands, all related my hat or shade. I feel like a ship, raising and lowering sails, being told to put up a shade or take down an umbrella. I expect to hear "Hard to the starboard" any day now. And, for once I wish Margaret were here. Though an older sister is an inconvenience, it is one preferred to my aunt. Instead, her presentation this season has spared her these ordeals. I keep thinking to myself, if she had waited just a month more, Mama could have been chaperone for the trip instead.

Thankfully, I am still having lessons, though I feel for Mr. Chalmers. He now must to teach me Latin on top of French and Romanian (yet there is no time for magic) under Aunt's glaring eye. However, as Papa always said, it's an ill wind that blows no good. All of Aunt Beatrice's fussing does mean that Cassie is well cared for, and not overly tired out, as the party moves according to Aunt's whims, which would make a three-legged turtle appear fast.

Yet, I should move on to a more cheerful topic. The fresh air does seem to be doing Cassie some good (maybe all of the smoke and dust in London were part of what ailed her). Her cheeks are not as pale and she does have a slightly better appetite than she did before. As you already know, once we arrive at Papa's estates, the healers will have time to take a look at her. Hopefully, their new perspective and the change in scenery will help her condition.

But, I doubt that the change in scenery will help my health very much at all, as I've just learned that the dreadful Hardbottle brothers will be visiting their neighboring estates for the whole summer (along with their mother)! Perhaps now would be the time to begin looking into hexes…

As for your adventures…well, for Sanders being the town hooligan - banish the thought from your mind! We most certainly were the most dreadful pair when we visited last summer - Sanders is the town idiot, though the Harbottle brothers might be even denser (if possible).

Addie - I must go. Aunt Beatrice calls (eight o'clock and time for bed!). If I hurry, I'll be able to give the letter to Lightning. Please let him rest for a day or so with you and remember to anoint his wings with a speed potion or he'll take weeks getting back to me. Don't let your grandmother get you down - you've been in many more trying situations and have always managed to persevere. Hopefully, by the time you get this letter, she will have decided to get out of bed for the summer festival, as you know her desire to play matchmaker will overcome her "serious condition." Oh, and could you send me the recipe for your charm for sunburn? Cassie and I have both become a little burnt and Aunt Beatrice's lotion is not helping. Also, please tell me when the charm on you quill wears off, as I want to see how long it lasts. I'm anxiously awaiting your next letter.

Your friend,

Gwen