Dear Scout and Atticus,

I wanted so badly for my first letter to you both to be a happy one. I can honestly say that I just can't do that. This feels like hell that the two of you already knew it would be. It's not even the training and the nerves of upcoming battle that get to me; it's the fact that nothing in "Great" Britain feels great. I miss Maycomb County's hot humid summers with never-ending sunshine. You wouldn't believe how miserable the summers are here! June here is pretty much December in Maycomb and it rains all the time. I don't know if it's from England's horrible climate or stress from my daily routine or both but I have never felt so tired in my whole life. I live for the limited amount of coffee I get to have. Everything in moderation goes for everything because everything has been rationed down to nothing.

I hope everything is okay in Maycomb. Dill should be there by now and I know you must be happy, Scout. You deserve to be and so don't you, Atticus. Please don't let this letter make you feel sad. I'm sure I'm just having a hard time adjusting to what's going to be my new routine. Nobody said war was easy and nice. Hopefully I can cheer up for my next letter.

I love you and miss you both,

Jeremy Finch

P.S- Tell Calpurnia I say "Hey," won't you?

I sighed a horrible breath as Atticus finished reading the letter to me. My poor brother; I feel just awful for him. I can feel tears welling up in my eyes but I'm not going to cry, not tonight. Jem didn't want me or Atticus to feel bad so I am going to try to be happy.

"He makes me happy that I'm right where I am," I say, trying to lighten the mood.

"You should be," he said, a little defensive.

"Sorry, Atticus," I tell him as I put my hand on his shoulder. I was not helping the situation any.

"No need," he replied, recoiling from my touch. He got up out of the chair and walked away. I sat there feeling as though him walking away was like a slap to my face. The older I get the more I begin to realize how much I really didn't know my father. The older Atticus gets the moody he seems to become. Last night he was hugging me, telling me I was okay and tonight he acted as if I was in the way and a nusance. I wonder if he's been hanging around Cal for too long.

"Atticus?" I call out to my father.

"Yes, Scout?"

I don't know if he looked at me when he answered me. I felt as though I just couldn't look at him right now as much as I wanted him. My eyes never left the family room floor.

"Good night," I pretty much whispered. That's all I really wanted to say.

"Good night, Scout," he said, once again turning around and walking away from me. I watched as his footsteps lead him to his bedroom. It wasn't until I heard the door shut that I went into my bedroom. My plan not to cry didn't work and I tried to not let my crying be heard, as hurt as I felt. I cried myself to sleep that night only to hear Atticus' footsteps again sometime around midnight. He was heading right for my doorknob and I immeadiately rolled over and pretended to be asleep.

"I'm sorry, baby," I heard him whisper as he shut my bedroom door again. He seriously thought I was still asleep and I planned on keeping it that way. I waited until he was out of earshot when I whispered back to him:

"It's okay, Atticus."