Winter came in earnest and the days grew shorter than ever. It was dark when Juliet woke up in the mornings and dark by dinnertime in the afternoon. Yet everything seemed dark, and sinister to her all the time.

"I can't bear it," she whispered to herself.

But then the horrifying thought hit her: she could. And she probably would have to bear it, for the rest of her life. Her whole life without Blair. It was--unthinkable.

She wrote to him several times. She got his new address from Rachel King--who gave it to her with a grieved air, even after Juliet explained. She thought Juliet was lying. To Juliet, this was like a slap in the face. Well, why not? she thought wearily. The whole story about Bea and the letter--it sounded so complicated, so shrill, when she told it. It hurt Juliet to think that pretty, laughing Rachel King thought she was capable of such fickleness. But it was a small hurt--easily brushed off compared to the big hurt that occupied Juliet's whole heart.

* * *

13 November 1944

Dear Blair,

It's Friday the Thirteenth, and I've already broken two mirrors--that's fourteen years of bad luck, if you're counting. But the worst luck of all will be if you don't write back to me. If you still hate me.

I asked Rachel to write and explain what happened--did she? I didn't want to, dearest, because I thought it would sound so pithy and defensive. All I know, Blair, and all you really need to know is that I love you--and I never stopped loving you, not for one second. I didn't write that letter. I never would have dreamt of writing it.

Next week is Thanksgiving. Please, Blair, write me and tell me you forgive me, so I'll have something to be thankful for.

Love, Juliet.

* * *

Juliet found Joyce Meredith in the cloakroom, crying, after a Junior Reds meeting. She was sobbing--great, wet-sounding sobs--and the sound made Juliet's heart twist with pity. She never thought of strong, capable, bossy Joyce Meredith crying. She'd heard that Blythe, Joy's brother, had been injured overseas, but still--it was impossible to imagine such a great display of emotion coming from the usually-composed girl. Juliet sidled quietly to Joy's side and, on an impulse, put her arms around her.

"Oh!" said Joy, clinging fiercely to Juliet. "Oh, thank you--I'm glad it's you. I needed that. Thanks!"

"What's wrong?" Juliet said. She was comforted by the thought that someone else's grief could be as great as her own, but sorry for whatever caused the girl such anguish. "Is it--Blythe?"

Joy dabbed her eyes with the wadded up tissue in her hand. "No," she said shakily. "He's better. He's coming home. Mother fainted when she heard, she was so shocked and glad. And Cecilia--have you seen her? She goes around with a strange, triumphant light in her eyes. She's happy--so happy."

Juliet had noticed. Cecilia and Blythe would be married before the end of the New Year, she reckoned.

"It's Jake Penhallow," said Joy, crying again in earnest. "He's my sweetheart--oh, Juliet, he stepped on a mine and he's lost his leg. His right leg. I don't care--I love him, legs or no legs--but it's hard--so hard! He's in pain, far away, and I can't go to him--can't comfort him in any way."

Juliet felt tears spring to her own eyes. "That's not true. He loves you. And you love him! That must be a great comfort to him."

Joy nodded, and dried her tears. "Bella Priest told me what Bea Miller did to you," she said. "We all think it's reprehensible. We want to vote her out of the Reds."

Juliet gave a short laugh. "Don't. We need all the help we could get. And it wouldn't solve anything--would it make Blair come back to me? And to her credit, Bea didn't know how much he and I--really--loved each other. I never told her--I hid things from her for so long." Juliet gave a muffled cry. "Joy Meredith, you've got another hanky, I know you do. Give it over."

The two girls finished having a cry, and then put their hankies away and looked at one another. "I bet it all works out," Joy said. "With you and Blair."

Juliet gave the ghost of a smile. "Thanks. And when Jake comes home it will be just like it was before--better, because you'll know how much you mean to one another."

Joy nodded. "You're right. You know," she said shyly. "I always thought you were a stuck-up and sarcastic. In short, a snob. But I guess I was wrong."

"Well," Juliet retorted. "I always thought the same about you. Except you're far bossier than I'll ever be."

The girls laughed. "What's your opinion of me, now?" asked Joy.

"I think you could be a friend," said Juliet simply.

"I think you could, too," said Joy, and the two embraced.

Juliet heaved a sigh on her way home. The terrible, heavy feeling was still there. No Blair--and no Bea. It was surprising how much Juliet missed Bea, despite everything. She'd been missing her for some time. But there was Allan. And Joy--a new friend. Out of the ashes of despair--a new friend. That lightened the heaviness somewhat.

* * *

7 December 1943

Dear Allan,

It's so strange to think that only two years ago today Pearl Harbor was bombed--at times it seems like only weeks have passed, other times, centuries! I remember that night--do you? I was upstairs with Bea, and we were talking about how the war would surely be over before you were old enough to enlist. And now--you've enlisted. You're so very far away from us all. I do hope you are well.

And no, I don't happen to be engaged to Blair King, in response to your question. And that happens to be a bit of a sore spot right now, so don't go probing. And yes, I still wear your ring--but it is still on my right hand where it's likely to remain forevermore. Alas.

We're getting together a Christmas parcel for you. I tried my hand at knitting and I'm sending you a sweater and some socks. But if there is anything you especially want, let me know. (And no, I can't mail myself overseas in it. So don't ask!)

With love, your friend, Juliet.

* * *

7 December 1943

Blair,

I haven't heard anything from youit's making me nervous! Please write--so I know nothing dreadful has happened to you. Did you get my last letter? Darling, forgive me, so that we can go back to how it was. I love you. Please!

You know I'm part Murray, and the Murrays are famous for their stubbornness. So I'm going to keep writing until you answer me.

Yours (forever, darling, and ever!)

Juliet

* * *

A letter came from Blair on Christmas Eve.

Juliet sat for a long while with it on her lap, staring out her window at the snow, which had been falling since morning. The first snowfall of the year--this had been a remarkably warm winter. The first snowfall of the year was always magical.

She said a little prayer--closed her eyes and thought about that night on the shore--and then opened it.

Juliet, she read.

Please don't write to me again.

Blair.

That was all, then? Juliet folded the letter carefully and put it with the others. Then she went and stared back out at the snow. A part of her brain was clamoring, with plans and ideas for getting him back, but she quelled it. It was over. For good. That was all.