A heavy sense of foreboding hung over Izzy as she left the post office. Still no letters from Felix. He'd gone longer than this before without being able to get letters through, but she couldn't shake the sense that something was different this time.
Maybe she was just feeling overworked. She had entered teacher's college in September and her course load was surprisingly heavy for the first year, especially as exams were fast approaching.
In addition, she was volunteering at the hospital every chance she could, rolling bandages and assembling care packages for returning soldiers. It had only been a few months, and wounded soldiers were already arriving at the hospital in Halifax. Most of the volunteers were there for the same reason she was—one day, one of the returning soldiers might belong to one of them. They threw their energies into caring for the soldiers in front of them, trying not to think about the possibility that the next to lose an arm, or an eye, might be....
She shook her head sharply. Brooding didn't help anybody, least of all herself. Better to work, do something useful. Felix's letters were probably just running late, that's all. Any number of fairly innocuous things could delay letters coming all the way from France. Maybe the ship the letters were on hit a storm and was held up for a few days. Maybe the convoy that brought the mail had to find another route because a road was blocked. Maybe Felix was finally taking her advice and writing letters over several days instead of one a day. Any number of things.
Her coursework seemed harder than usual that evening, even though she was alone in the house and usually the quiet would have helped her study. She read the same pages in her history textbook over three times before she felt she had grasped the basic idea, and her history class was one of her favorites. She cast a doubtful glance at her biology text, wondering whether it was even worth opening it tonight.
The phone rang, and she leapt to answer it, glad of the diversion.
"Pettibone residence."
"Izzy?" came the voice on the other line, vaguely familiar but distorted, somehow.
"This is she. Who is this?"
"Izzy, it's Cecily."
Cecily called fairly often, but she had never sounded like this. Izzy's heart turned over. She grabbed the phone and sank to the floor with it, to be ready for anything.
"Felix?" Izzy asked.
A little sob escaped on the other end of the line, and Cecily said, "I heard at the telegraph office today. He's listed as missing in action. Him and Elbert Werts both."
Elbert Werts? Who cared about Elbert Werts? Who cared about anything? She thought she should sit down, then realized she already had.
"Izzy?"
"I'm here," she choked out.
"I'm so sorry to call you like this. But I knew you'd want to know."
Izzy held back a semi-hysterical laugh. "Want" was not exactly the word. "Yes," she said hollowly. "Thank you."
"Oh, Izzy, I wish you were here. It's absolutely miserable."
She did laugh then. She couldn't help it. Cecily must have realized what she had just said, because soon she was laughing, too.
"I feel better," Cecily said when they stopped, breathless from laughing and crying together. "I don't see how Felix could have been really hurt if I can still laugh that hard."
"He's coming back," Izzy said, with the air of one who had made an unshakable decision.
"Yes." Cecily's voice grew muffled, as though she were speaking to someone behind her. "I have to go. Mother is very upset. I have to see if I can help her somehow."
"Give her a hug from me."
"I will. Give yourself one from me. I'll talk to you later, Izzy."
Izzy didn't bother moving from the floor after she hung up. She hugged her knees to her chest and waited for someone—anyone—to come home.