Weary from his night-long vigil, Jem sat down on his bed, rubbed his face with both hands, and let out a deep sigh. Although he knew he needed to sleep, he was simply too tired and too worried to do so. He walked over to the bureau, opened the top drawer, and took out a bundle of letters he had seen earlier when he retrieved the marriage license. The thick stack contained all the letters Faith had written him while he was overseas. Reading them always made him feel close to her, so he returned to the bed, propped himself up on the pillows, and began looking through the stack.

Was it possible that any one of these letters was his favorite? No, he didn't think so. Each had its own particular charm, evoked its own special memory, and contained its own trace of its author's personality. The one Jem finally chose to read was one Faith had written shortly before she left for London.

27 February, 1917
Kingsport

My darling Jem,

As I write to you, the sun is setting and I am looking out my bedroom window at the deep shades of orange illuminating the sky, casting playful shadows on the earth below as the almost-spring breeze gently sways the bare branches of the trees in Mr. McKenzie's small orchard next door. It is a peaceful and enchanting scene, uniquely its own, yet like so many others I have seen before. Moments like these make me wonder how the world around me can look so peaceful and beautiful after the events of the last three years.

I know you worry about me leaving these safe and familiar surroundings to go to London as a V.A.D. In fact, almost every argument you made in your last letter as to why I should stay here and continue my Red Cross work was perfectly reasonable, Jem. The only point on which you were mistaken is on what you perceive as my altruism, though I love that you see me that way. While it is true that I make an important contribution to both the war effort and the soldiers through my Red Cross work, I simply can't be satisfied with that when I know I could be of even greater help and comfort to our brave boys in uniform if I were in London. If not for my gender, I would have joined up with you and Jerry long ago and would now be fighting on the battlefield. Compared to that, going to London seems to entail little enough sacrifice and danger. It is merely what I can do to most help the cause, just as enlisting was what you could do.

As for your argument that the damage and wounds I'll see there are far more horrible and severe than the ones I've seen here, I know you are right. I see battered and maimed soldiers in the hospital every day, some of them the suffering from such severe shell shock that they can't speak, except to scream out in their sleep as they relive their terrifying experiences in their nightmares. I often wonder what ghastly sights could effect them so acutely, and all I know is what really happened to them can be no worse than what I have imagined. Just knowing that I might be able to comfort such men in London makes me want to go even more, not because I'm selfless, but because I can't stand to see people in so much pain and not do all in my power to relieve their suffering. So, you see, I'm really being selfish by going to London especially when you consider being there will allow me to see you on occasion and mean I'll be near enough to go to you should you ever need me.

Do you remember an afternoon in Rainbow Valley long ago, when Walter spoke of the Pied Piper coming one day and beckoning to each of us to follow him? He's beckoning to me now, Jem, and I must follow him, just as you and Walter and Jerry and Carl have done. Please understand that.

Let's hope the war will end soon, so we can begin planning and living our life together. Won't it be wonderful, Jem? Just think…

Two pages omitted

Well, my love, the sky is dark now, and the playful shadows have retired for the night, just as I must do. Remember that I love you more than the early morning loves the day's first ray of sunlight, more than the dark night sky loves the brilliant illumination of the twinkling stars, and even more, my dearest, that the weary, war-torn nations of the world love the thought of peace.
Yours always and forever,
Faith

As tears ran down his face, Jem let out a muffled sob and let the pages of the letter drop to rest on his chest. Re-reading Faith's letters usually had a calming effect on him, as seeing the words she had written almost mystically caused her love to jump off the page and envelop him, causing him to feel secure and happy. But not this time. Knowing that Faith was lying downstairs, her body fragile from the miscarriage and her soul consumed with grief for the baby she'd lost, Jem found the letter brought him no solace. Instead, it reminded him of the sacrifices she had made for him, of how the thought of returning to her had given him the determination to escape from the German prison camp, and of how her presence and nurture and love had facilitated his recovery. Silently cursing the fates that had taken their child away from such a loving woman, he vowed to do all he could to provide Faith with the same soothing support she always seemed to provide to him so naturally. Then, as he closed his heavy eyelids and succumbed to exhaustion, Jem said a quick prayer of thanks that his beloved wife had survived the heartbreaking ordeal.

Jem was jolted out of his slumber three hours later by the sound of his mother's frantic voice telling him that Faith was hemorrhaging again, and Gilbert feared she might need surgery. They needed to get her to the hospital in Charlottetown immediately.