April 2nd, 1937

Dearest Unicorn,

Mother has almost completely forgotten about gentlemen callers, but she still has hope that some "nice young man" will come and save us from our "unfortunate" situation. She will leave me notes on the dining room table after she leaves for work in the mornings too. They will say things like:

"I will talk to Jonathan again today during our lunch hour – I know that his schedule will clear up one day!" or "I think Kenneth likes smoked halibut…could you check what prices they have at the market today? I think he's free Thursday!" I'm actually not sure if any of these men really exist, because none of her supposed "plans" ever come though. I have learned to not fuss over these schemes and let mother have this feeling of some control over the matter…because I fear that she is slowly realizing how out of hand our financial situation has really become. I have never seen mother accept defeat, even when the truth is painfully evident.

I feel terribly guilty for abandoning my schooling at Rubicam's. I was so weak and nervous…I should have tried harder to get over my shyness…but, the past is the past…right? Mother has had to sell her favorite outfit – you know, the yellow frock with the blue silk sash? She cried the entire night after that…then the most disturbing thing happened the next day. I was polishing my other glass animals while mother was dusting the mantle place when all of a sudden she froze in an almost trance-like manner and began sobbing uncontrollably. Before I could say anything she yanked father's portrait off the mantle and ripped it clear in half …I wish you where there my dear friend, I could not sleep for days…I can't help but feel this is entirely my fault.

Love,

Laura