Hi. I hope you enjoy this installment. I am sorry my chapters are so short.
It is just that it takes me so long to write. I am also trying to make Una,
a little less timid.
Una had just finished reading her last letter from Walter. She never brought Walter's letters with her when she and Faith went to Rainbow Valley. They were too private. They meant too much for her. She felt a strange twinge in her heart admitting that the letters of her neighbor, of her sister's fiancee's brother meant more to her than those of her own brother.
This letter though had been so full of sadness and bitterness that it literally wafted off the pages. She could imagine him writing it, sense the pain in his eyes, in his strokes. She did not want him to enlist, any more than he did. But in his letters, his torment was evident. The war between his head and his heart, the war in his heart itself. She wished she could talk to Shirley. She was sure that he would know what to do. But Shirley was not one for writing letters. And there was no way for her to see him now. Despite Walter's protestations to the fact that he did not want to enlist. That he could not bear the ugliness, the brutality, and the cruelty of war, she knew it was only part of him that felt that way. She knew that if he did not enlist, he would eventually tear himself apart. If he did not enlist the guilt would eat him alive. His letters of late had been full of so much self-doubt and self-recriminations, that she could barely find the Walter she so knew and loved. But what could she tell him. He was so far away. She wondered if her words would carry any weight with him. She was just Una, his sister's chum, the sister of his ideal. But she needed to help him find himself. She needed to be understanding; she needed to be encouraging; she needed to be there for him.
Dear Walter, How are you? Life here continues much as it always has. Except instead of the small town gossip that we used to hate, we speak of diplomacy, of politics, of armies a world away. I would give anything to go back to the days of Saturday afternoon tea's and sewing and gossip. Who would ever have thought that I, Una, would wish for a return to tea parties? Do you ever long for those days of yester year? Rilla and I went to town together a few days ago. And she found 'the most divine' hat (to quote her. Can't you imagine her?). I felt as though it was the first time I had seen her so. I don't know what the word is. I guess so much like the old Rilla. Of course, after what seemed like hours of staring, she purchased the hat. And somehow, I do not even know how. I fear, I must blame it on your sister's skills of flattery and persuasion. I too was convinced to purchase a hat. The milliner must have been especially pleased considering sales have been so slow lately. But do not think badly of me. I have hidden the hat in the back of my closet, away from Faith's prying eyes. I do not doubt that she would give me a lecture on economy. And I already feel immensely guilty for buying it when I should be supporting the war effort. So I am vowing not to wear this hat until the war is over. and not to buy another hat until it is over. This is my penance, as childish as it may seem. I have been loathe to bring it up. I do not want to add to that which is already weighing on your mind. In your last letter, you spoke of so many things. But even in your laughter, I could detect a sadness. You must know that war brings out the best along with the worst in people. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of, if you can rise above it, as I know you will. It was the person who sent you the feather that was the coward. A nameless, faceless individual without the courage to stand before you and before everyone. Without the courage to state his opinions openly and forcefully. I have faith in you. Rilla has faith in you. When the time comes, your fear will melt away, and we will still be here.
Una was ready to crumple up the letter. Could she really send it to him? Were her feelings too transparent? Tucking the letter into her book, she decided to sleep on it.
Una had just finished reading her last letter from Walter. She never brought Walter's letters with her when she and Faith went to Rainbow Valley. They were too private. They meant too much for her. She felt a strange twinge in her heart admitting that the letters of her neighbor, of her sister's fiancee's brother meant more to her than those of her own brother.
This letter though had been so full of sadness and bitterness that it literally wafted off the pages. She could imagine him writing it, sense the pain in his eyes, in his strokes. She did not want him to enlist, any more than he did. But in his letters, his torment was evident. The war between his head and his heart, the war in his heart itself. She wished she could talk to Shirley. She was sure that he would know what to do. But Shirley was not one for writing letters. And there was no way for her to see him now. Despite Walter's protestations to the fact that he did not want to enlist. That he could not bear the ugliness, the brutality, and the cruelty of war, she knew it was only part of him that felt that way. She knew that if he did not enlist, he would eventually tear himself apart. If he did not enlist the guilt would eat him alive. His letters of late had been full of so much self-doubt and self-recriminations, that she could barely find the Walter she so knew and loved. But what could she tell him. He was so far away. She wondered if her words would carry any weight with him. She was just Una, his sister's chum, the sister of his ideal. But she needed to help him find himself. She needed to be understanding; she needed to be encouraging; she needed to be there for him.
Dear Walter, How are you? Life here continues much as it always has. Except instead of the small town gossip that we used to hate, we speak of diplomacy, of politics, of armies a world away. I would give anything to go back to the days of Saturday afternoon tea's and sewing and gossip. Who would ever have thought that I, Una, would wish for a return to tea parties? Do you ever long for those days of yester year? Rilla and I went to town together a few days ago. And she found 'the most divine' hat (to quote her. Can't you imagine her?). I felt as though it was the first time I had seen her so. I don't know what the word is. I guess so much like the old Rilla. Of course, after what seemed like hours of staring, she purchased the hat. And somehow, I do not even know how. I fear, I must blame it on your sister's skills of flattery and persuasion. I too was convinced to purchase a hat. The milliner must have been especially pleased considering sales have been so slow lately. But do not think badly of me. I have hidden the hat in the back of my closet, away from Faith's prying eyes. I do not doubt that she would give me a lecture on economy. And I already feel immensely guilty for buying it when I should be supporting the war effort. So I am vowing not to wear this hat until the war is over. and not to buy another hat until it is over. This is my penance, as childish as it may seem. I have been loathe to bring it up. I do not want to add to that which is already weighing on your mind. In your last letter, you spoke of so many things. But even in your laughter, I could detect a sadness. You must know that war brings out the best along with the worst in people. Fear is nothing to be ashamed of, if you can rise above it, as I know you will. It was the person who sent you the feather that was the coward. A nameless, faceless individual without the courage to stand before you and before everyone. Without the courage to state his opinions openly and forcefully. I have faith in you. Rilla has faith in you. When the time comes, your fear will melt away, and we will still be here.
Una was ready to crumple up the letter. Could she really send it to him? Were her feelings too transparent? Tucking the letter into her book, she decided to sleep on it.