Dear Sister Bernadette,
I am guessing by now, you will have received Timothy's butterfly. I am no expert in performing postmortems on butterflies but I am so glad he has an inquiring mind. He reminds me a lot of myself at that age.
I do not know if you read my letters or not but as you have not returned them, or responded, I will continue to write so that you might know I still care for you and hope very much you can care for me a little.
A few nights ago, it was raining and I just parked the car and stared out the window, thinking about you and wondering what you were doing. I was also thinking that you may not care for me at all and it may all be in my own head. Maybe I am asking too much of you. I do not ask you to give up your faith but to be with me, you would have to give up the habit. Is it too much? While contemplating that, Timothy suddenly spoke. I do not know how long I was in that state. I had forgotten where I was and that he was with me. I was quite surprised to be jolted out of my mind-wanderings.
I love you so much, Sister Bernadette. I hope, one day, it would not be so inappropriate for me to ask you to be my wife. I cannot imagine anyone else could possibly be lovelier than you.
Affectionately,
Dr P. Turner