Inconsolable
2 May 1919
Glen St. Mary PEI
Dear Di,
Jem has had a letter about Faith. She caught the flu working in the hospital in London and the Sister who wrote on her behalf says that she is very ill. She is alive, as far as we know, but we hear that she has double pneumonia and is not well enough to write or even to dictate a letter.
When the letter arrived, Jem and Dad shut themselves up in Dad's office for a long while. They didn't let any of the rest of us read it, so I don't know how much detail it gave about her condition. I did hear Dad say cyanosis and remembered that woman you told me about whose lungs had been injured in the fire. I could not hear whether Faith had it or not. But you know how bad it might be.
I went with Mother up to the manse to tell the Merediths. Mother told them very gently, and emphasized that the Sister said in the letter that she had real hope for Faith's recovery. But no one can pretend it isn't a bad sign that Faith could not write herself.
It was a bit strange — Mother asked Dad for the letter to take it up to the manse, but he wouldn't give it to her or even let her read it. There is something wrong there, and that scared me more than anything.
Dad has ordered Jem to bed. The truth is that he is not yet as strong as he would like everyone to think he is, and he has not slept nor eaten since that letter came into the house. He won't see anyone but Dad, and I heard Dad telling Mother that if he does not sleep soon, he will force him to sleep with a good strong dose of paraldehyde.
Perhaps it is childish, but I have the most urgent desire to bury my face in a pillow and scream. It is so unfair! After everything we've all been through these last four years! All the misery and waiting and the miracle of Jem coming back to us. And now it's influenza?
All we can do is pray for her. We thought we were done living in fear of telegrams when the Armistice was signed, but it seems that there is no safe place and no safe time and never will be again. Everyone is doing all they can — Miss Cornelia has been keeping the Merediths in food and even the Methodist prayer meeting said a special prayer for Faith's recovery. There have been so many callers that I've had to start turning them away because they're exhausting us all. I know that people just want to show that they care, and it is heartening to see that so many love Faith and Jem.
All my love, Di. Please write to Mother. It is hard having anyone away from home right now, and we've had no word at all from Shirley in such a very long time.
Love,
Nan
5 May 1919
Aster House, Kingsport, Nova Scotia
Dear Nan,
I have had a letter from Sylvia. She sends her apologies for not writing sooner about Faith, but it seems that she did not know, having only recently recovered from the fever herself. Her letter was dated the 23rd and she writes that Faith was still very ill then. Matron Marley allowed her to see Faith for a few minutes, and from her description, I think that we must just pray with everything we've got. Sylvia assures me that she will stay by her just as soon as they let her out of bed herself and write with any news, not trusting it to that old besom Marley. It's possible that Marley didn't phrase things exactly tactfully — she's always had a bee in her bonnet about the V.A.D.s. Maybe that's why Jem and Dad wouldn't share her letter with anybody else.
There is no vital news of Kingsport. I am in the thick of exams, but have every confidence that I will come out of them alright. Marie takes very good care of all of us. Emile and Claude spend evenings playing in the garden. The delivery company wouldn't take Emile back on, on account of his leg, but Dad called in a favor from a pharmacist friend of his and got Emile a job behind his new soda counter. He's getting along well there. I have assured them that they are welcome to stay as long as they like, but they aim to be in their own place by the time you all return for the start of term.
Aster House will be ready for you and Una and Sylvia and Faith. I don't mind sharing a room if we can all be together. Jerry and Jem will come for supper every night if you like — I hardly know how we would keep them away. Is Carl coming along? And Shirley, too, if he is home in time.
It will come out alright, Nan. Faith is strong.
Love,
Di
2 May 1919
Glen St. Mary, PEI
Shirley Blythe,
I had hoped that I would not have to write you. But as you have seen fit to disappoint the people who love you most, I cannot sit by any longer.
This is maddening, Shirley. I can't tell you how furious it makes me to watch you destroy something so incalculably precious. I think you will agree that I have never had a temper, but I am developing one now. There is so much death and misery in the world, and so many people who have lost their chance at love forever. To know that you are throwing yours away — I am trembling with rage as I write this.
Your parents and Susan are desperate to see you. You, Shirley. A dozen babies would never be enough for Susan when what she wants is you. You are irreplaceable.
It is a desperate season here. Probably you have not heard our news of Faith. She is in London, terribly ill with influenza that has become pneumonia, and Ingleside has gone as fearfully watchful as the manse. Faith ill and you missing; we are none of us strong enough to absorb so many terrible blows.
Leave all that aside, though. It is not the heart of the matter. There is one here who is inconsolable, however much I have tried. If you could only see what you are doing, as I do every day, you would not have the heart to continue.
You say that you cannot make your meaning plain in a letter, but I disagree. It isn't difficult. Just take your pen and say what you mean to say and say it plain. Is the RAF still censoring mail? If so, find an ordinary post office. They have them in France, don't they? If it makes it easier, you can write "Una Meredith" on the envelope. I'm not likely to run up to Ingleside and read your correspondence aloud there.
You owe an explanation. Pick up your pen and write it. Say plainly why you can't come home. Say plainly why it's better this way. I daresay I won't agree, but I am sick unto death of unspoken things that should never have been unspoken.
I will haunt the post office until I have your letter in my hand.
Do not disappoint me.
I send you all my love, and so much more than mine besides.
Una Meredith
*The influenza epidemic peaked in London in November of 1918, but had a second spike in the spring of 1919.
Two more chapters after this one, then three epilogues.
