April 14, 1943
Dear Mrs. Holbrook:
It it with deepest regret and sincere condolences that I must write to inform you of the passing of Miss Mabel Watson on this very same day at approximately two thirty in the afternoon after a short but tumultuous battle with pancreatic cancer. I understand that you and your sister were estranged for a long number of years, therefore I know not how this letter may find you.
It was Miss Watson's wish to be laid to rest alongside your father, and in gratitude for her work of over thirty years for both my mother and myself, I shall ensure that these final wishes of hers are seen to properly.
I'm sure you will soon be contacted by a solicitor regarding any legal matters, but until then please find enclosed a letter addressed to you from Miss Watson, as well as the possessions she asked for and kept close when she passed. You should also know that your sister went peacefully as I held her hand. She spoke of no regrets, was not in pain, was not frightened.
Respectfully,
Lady Georgiana Clark
My Dear Libby:
I do believe my time is drawing to a close, and when you receive this letter it will have done so. Can two sisters truly hold such deep-seated bitterness and resentment for the rest of their lives for things that have happened so long in the past? I certainly can't find myself able to do so. Please know that on my end, it is gone. All has been forgiven.
Wherever this finds you, I hope you are well, and that you've gotten all out of life that you possibly could.
Lastly, I leave you with my final will. There is a small house in Reading, presently let, that was left to me many years ago by someone very special. I ask only that you care for this house, as I have for the past thirty years, and hope that it can help ease any burdens you might face.
My love always,
Mabel
She set the creased piece of creamy paper in a tent on top the other on the table. With a deep breath and pursed lips, Libby gently unwrapped the small parcel that had arrived with the letter from Lady Clark. As the paper fell away, her heart clenched in recognition of the book. Aesop's Fables. Their father had given Mabel that book on her twelfth Christmas, and Libby knew that her sister had cherished it ever since.
She ran her palm up the gold lettering on its face, allowing a small memory of that time so long ago to flit through her mind's eye. Her fingers curled around the top of the book, but stopped when a piece of paper jutting out from the pages poked against her skin.
She eased open the hardcover and thumbed to the page marked by the paper. As it fell into view, she found what she had thought a bit of spare paper to be a yellowed envelope with its corners beat down to little wrinkled stubs. Before examining the letter, she skimmed the page of the book it kept marked. There didn't seem to be anything of importance on it, only the faint line from the top to the middle of the page towards the binding that suggested the page had been mended at some point.
Turning her attention back to the yellowed envelope, she slipped open the piece of paper inside to find a short, hastily written letter. Her eyes moved to the header at the stationary, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth to suppress a soft gasp as she read the words stamped boldly in black ink,
On board RMS "Titanic"
She couldn't quite tell at which point while reading the few, heartfelt words on the little piece of paper she started crying, but she couldn't stop. And after finishing the letter and tucking it gingerly back into its book, she sunk to her knees and sobbed. With her face on the floor and her fingers embedded in her hair, she wept until the burden of her heartache felt light enough to bear.