Ten

That was the last time I saw him, from that day to this. From then on, I only had infrequent notes from him. This started the very next morning with an envelope under my door for me to find when I woke up. My parents had one as well.

Theirs read:

My Dear Vince and Camilla,

I want to thank you both for your gracious hospitality in putting up with me for the past week and a half. The company was delightful as always — as, of course, was the food! Please tender my compliments to Mrs Linden.

Niecie and I had a wonderful time at the theater, etc, last night, and I want to thank you both for allowing your little girl to accompany an old codger like me. She's a lovely little girl, and I wouldn't change a thing about her.

Camilla, regarding the harsh things that passed between us during my stay — what can I say? Only that you cannot imagine how sorry I am to have had occasion to say them.

My apologies for disappearing so suddenly, but urgent business calls me elsewhere. My love to you all; I'll write when I am able.

Affectionately,
Artemus

Mother read the note aloud at the breakfast table, nodded happily, and said, "I'm so glad Artemus apologized for those horrible things he said to me!" Then she swept from the room to begin her day.

Papa, with a dubious look on his face, took up the letter and read it through to himself, and began to chuckle.

"What is it, Papa?"

Pointing to the third paragraph, he said, "Look how he phrased this! Your mother's thinking he apologized, but that's not what he said. He didn't apologize at all! What he said was that he was sorry occasions came up in which he had to tell her off. It's the occasions he regrets, not the harsh words!" He folded the note, tucked it back into its envelope, and shook his head admiringly. "Oh, that's Artie, all right! Trust him to word it so ambiguously that your mother completely missed his real meaning!"

My own note from Uncle Artie I didn't show to my parents or even mention it to them. It said:

Niecie Sunshine,

I just wrote a note for your parents, and thought I would write you as well. I hope you enjoyed our evening out together as much as I did. And I hope you remember everything we said.

As for your mother, I do not understand her. Granted, men throughout history have tried to understand women and found themselves baffled. But in the case of your mother, I do not understand why it is that the mere fact of you turning thirteen seems to have altered her into a matchmaker. Not to mention all this matter of putting you into adult fashions, adult make-up, adult coiffures.

Do not let her buffalo you, Niecie. Of course you must grow up, but do so on your own schedule. Do not let her push you into anything with which you are uncomfortable. And for Heaven's sake, do not let her talk you into marrying someone you do not want to! I know it is strange, me speaking to you of marriage, my little girl, but given that your mother has already tried to foist Abner off onto you…!

Always keep in mind that whom you marry is your choice, not hers, because she will not have to live with the fellow; you will! Or at least, I hope when you are married, you will not have your mother living with you and your husband; it is from such situations that mother-in-law jokes are born.

I only meant to write you a short note, Niecie. Mostly what I wanted to tell you is this: if your mother becomes overbearing to you about any matter, go to your papa. He is a good ally.

Fondly,
Your loving uncle,
Artie

Time passed. The elections came that November, and over the course of the following months, everything Uncle Artie had predicted came to pass. Before April was half over the next spring, the nation was two nations, and those two nations were at war.

I think what upset Mother the most about the war was the fact that, with so many young men going off to join the army, she was hard-pressed to find anyone with whom to shove me into a match! This was fine with me, of course — the lack of matchmaking, not the war, that is. I did worry, though, and pray for the young men I knew who had left to go to war: two of Papa's law clerks, a number of our young neighbors, and several others from my family's circle of acquaintances.

But chiefly it was Uncle Artie I worried about and prayed for. I had finally figured out how that sentence about letting a spy have a final smoke would have ended — in an execution. I worried about him a lot.

And then the letters began. Uncle Artie had an address again, with the Union army! He told us precious little about what his work was, but filled the letters instead with anecdotes of army life, and frequently with pen or pencil sketches he had drawn as well. One thing he found amazing were the photographers. Mathew Brady had hired a number of men, fitted them out with traveling darkrooms, and sent them out to document the war in photographs. They had permission from President Lincoln himself to travel to the battle sites to make their photos. Not only that, but various newspapers and magazines had reporters and sketch artists assigned to follow the army as well. Simply amazing!

For the four years of the war the letters flew back and forth between Uncle Artie and Mother, with me enclosing a note in her letters to him, and him enclosing separate notes for me in his letters to her. Often the notes for me would include a feather or leaf or pressed flower for my enjoyment.

Finally, at long last, the war was over! But in the midst of our relief and rejoicing came the horror of the news of Mr Lincoln's assassination — the final casualty, I thought of him, of that terrible Civil War. In the wake of that came another letter from Uncle Artie, with a note for me saying:

War has changed everything, Niecie. It has certainly changed me. I know your mother will be disappointed, but the thought of going back on the stage, or on the showboat — no, that life has lost its appeal for me, or at least for now.

Your mother would be appalled at some of the skills I have acquired, often from necessity, in my years of army life. As an example, your ol' Uncle Artie has become a fairly accomplished pickpocket! Yes, picture me grinning proudly. I have also become something of a chemist, mixing up interesting things that go fizz or whoosh or boom.

Some of these new skills I developed in the interest of acquiring intelligence, as we call it. In other words, spying, just as I had told you beforehand. But sometimes the pick pocketing and other such "life skills" were performed merely in the interest of keeping body and soul together, especially so when I was undercover behind enemy lines. Especially towards the end.

Let me tell you, Niecie: never hate the former Confederates, only pity them. By the end, they had hardly any food or anything else; so many of their farm fields had become battlefields.

I am not yet sure what I plan to do with myself. I may simply bum around for a bit. I have always lived life on the road, so that is no problem for me. Once I have mustered out of the army, though, I am afraid I may be without address for some time. I will write when I can.

Do you remember, Niecie, the ant lions and the lacewings? This war has been terrible, my little girl, terrible beyond imagining, far worse than I expected. And yet — I have hope that perhaps, perhaps this time of great death will, like the ant lion's pupa, culminate in our nation's transforming from a thing of the earth to a thing of the air.

It is a lovely thought, and I believe I will hang onto it.

All my love, Sunshine,
Your philosophically-minded uncle,
Artie

Silence followed for some time. Then, shortly after Gen Grant took office as president, there was a new letter from Uncle Artie from a permanent address in Washington City! As he explained in his letter to us:

Not that I will often be in Washington itself, but I will be able to pick up my correspondence whenever I get back into town. So feel free to write me to your hearts' content.

You may remember my old army friend whom I have mentioned in previous letters, Jim West. Strange to refer to such a young man as an "old" friend, but friendships made during war tend to feel as if they stretch back into Eternity Past. Jim and I will be working together in this new job of mine. I cannot tell you much about the job itself. It is law enforcement on the Federal level to counteract any sort of threat to national security. And it will mean life on the road, as usual. Some things never change!

All my love to you all: Camilla, Vince, and of course my little Niecie. Hard for me to imagine, but she is turning — what? twenty-two this June? I have missed out on so much, haven't I?

I wrote him back to inform him of the great many things in my life that he had missed out on. His next letter to me ran:

Niecie Sunshine,

I hope there will be no jealousy in your ol' Uncle Artie continuing to address you in that fashion. You will always be my little girl, my little Sunshine.

But to think of you as all grown up, and married, and soon to be a mother! I am simply and utterly thunderstruck!

Your Craig sounds like a fine young man, someone I would be proud to consider my nephew-in-law. If in the course of my job I get the chance to swing by Chicago, I will try to drop in and meet him, and see you (and the baby!). I probably will not even recognize you anymore, will I?

I would have loved to have attended your wedding, Niecie, if only I had known. But of course, that was my fault for not having an address at the time. I will have to content myself with imagining a dance at the reception with you, the beautiful blushing bride.

All my love to you, Mrs Sparrow, and to your Craig, and to the little one being knit in secret,
Your nomadic uncle,
Artie

Mother had to write him the next letter; I was too devastated. A month and a half passed before I received his reply:

Dearest Niecie,

I have no words. If only I could be there, Sunshine, to hold you and let you soak both my handkerchief and my shirt. (Yes, I am trying to make you laugh.)

With the war over, it has been easy to forget that young men still die, and young widows still grieve. I have always wanted to shelter you, Sunshine, from the harsh realities of life. But in this I could not and cannot. And I am so very sorry, my sweet little girl, that I cannot.

I love you with all my heart, Niecie. Poor comfort that is, I know, for a precious young woman with empty arms. If there is anything I can do that is within my power to do, please do not hesitate to let me know.

Ever yours,
Your sorrowing uncle,
Artie

Mother wrote him the next letter as well, during my confinement. This time it took two months to receive his reply, which consisted this time of a small package along with a note:

Niecie Sunshine,

I am thunderstruck anew! What an honor you have bestowed upon me, my little girl, to have named your little girl for me! I doubt if I will quit smiling like an idiot for the next three weeks — at least!

Enclosed is a small gift for my little namesake, even if her spelling must differ slightly from mine. Just assure me that her nickname will not be Artie. It sounds fine on me, but somehow it just does not transfer well to the fairer sex.

Hugs and kisses to you, Sunshine, and to your precious little angel.

Lovingly,
Your enraptured uncle,
Artie

And in the package was a tiny gold bracelet, sized for a baby's wrist, strung with dainty letters spelling out her name: ARTEMIS.

…

Missie's nearly three now and has never yet gotten to meet Uncle Artie. Not yet. I hope for that to change soon.

I should write him, I know, to inform him of my latest change in status, of the offer from Craig's cousin Aloysius Morgan to move to Georgetown and become governess to his three daughters. Well, perhaps I've picked up a bit of Uncle Artie's flair for the dramatic, for the appeal of showing up on his doorstop unannounced, out of the blue, is so very strong.

I know the name of his train is the Wanderer. I know whenever he's in Washington City at all, his train will be at the railroad yards. So once we're settled in at the Morgan home in Georgetown, once I have my first half-day as governess, I plan to take Missie with me to go look for his train. How wonderful it will be to find him, to see his face again, and to see his face when he sees me — and especially when he sees Missie!

Of course it has been a dozen years. He said before he might not recognize me, and it's very likely he won't know me at first. What then?

Ah, if that is the case, I believe I shall give my own meager acting skills a try, by taking on the role of a young admirer from his former days on the stage, to see how long it takes him to twig to me for once. No need for make-up or a disguise. Just a small amount of pretending to be a stranger.

Oh, I'm looking forward to this! I can hardly wait! Uncle Artie was always my special treasure, and I want my Missie to have that special treasure too!

Because every little girl ought to have an Uncle Artie, right?

FIN