16 August 1942

My Dearest Matthew,

How is Addy holding up now that you've gone elsewhere? I hope you're also adjusting alright, my dear, I know you've been feeling uneasy about… well, everything lately. I'm glad I make you feel safe, and you know you can tell me anything, right? You're in my thoughts constantly these days as more and more news of battles and campaigns reach us in Melbourne.

Mum sends her love back, I know she's written to you the same thing, but it's always good to hear it more than once, don't you think?

Thank you, my dear Matthew; your confidence in me is wonderful to have, thank you so much. We'll have to see what jobs are available once I finish schooling… and whether or not there are openings in their police force? That way you can stand up to Ashby without being directly in his chain of command?

Agnes Clasby certainly was a character and I might have to take Miss Fisher with me to Ballarat the next time I visit, just so the two can meet; Dot and Nell can commiserate over the two either bonding like two peas in a pod or killing each other. Mum's grateful for the help even if she did protest the entire time we met with a contractor to fix the draft that she "didn't need all this fussing". Matthew, I adore your mum, but oh my word is stubborn an understatement to describe her with; mule-headed seems much more apt… am I to expect this with you in that clear future you saw of us together? Should I see Mum as training for you? I might come out of this war with the patience of a damn saint.

I'm here for you, dearest, whenever, wherever; I'm here and I'm not going anywhere.

Good, those doctors and nurses are probably run just as ragged as you and the boys are - give them some slack, dear, they're doing their best.

No new boarders as of yet, but we do have somewhat exciting news to share from Wardlow "alumni" as it were. Clara's expecting a baby! Dot's knitting like a fiend already (while also trying to teach me… Clara's baby might get a washcloth by the age of two at the rate I'm succeeding) while Jack is trying (and failing) to prevent Phryne from showering Clara and Eric with gifts - he's at least gotten her to give them more practical gifts that they'll use for years to come instead of oh… every toy in the shop?

Clara asked me if I'll be there with her when the baby's born since if it's in hospital Eric won't be allowed in the room… I wasn't sure what to say or feel, but I agreed if only to help her feel more at ease; I might be a medical student but as my expertise will lie in dead people, I'm not sure how much help I will be in the delivery room. I might have also been perusing medical books about delivering babies… just to be sure.

We're staying as safe as we can here; my shifts at the diner have cut back (thankfully I'm almost done with school, I'd hate to think what would have happened if I was just beginning when the war broke out) due to random blackouts we have to do. It's more annoying than dangerous and both Jack AND Phryne assure me they will help out if I'm short on money for school or paying rent, but… I don't know it's irksome to have to do it - I guess I know what you mean by lessons from childhood are hard to shake off, even for me.

The boys can mind their own business. Honestly, we're almost four years into the war and they still tease you? If you want to smell your letters, you're allowed to and they can shove off.

I'm sorry… I'm being a bit short, aren't I? I just… I miss you, my dear Matthew, and I hate this war for going on still. I hate that it's all anyone talks about and all that the newspapers print about… I feel like I'm going mad and it's never going to end… maybe it's time to go visit Jean or Mum again.

Your letters feel like a beacon in the night sometimes; between school and news of the war, the sight of those ever-familiar envelopes in the mail helps to lift me up even after the worst sort of days.

(Feels childish to complain about having bad days when you and Hugh and the boys are literally fighting for your lives and ours… but I feel if I don't I might combust from everything… I'm sorry this letter is not as cheerful as I had hoped to muster, dear.)

Seeing your handwriting - and hearing of Hugh chiding you as Jack does (I've been on the receiving end of said chiding, I know how you feel) - leaves me warm, my dear Matthew. My dear, dear Matthew… I wish you were home.

Americans are Americans, I doubt that stepping between them and the other waitresses will teach them manners, but it is oddly satisfying to throw some out.

(I think Rufus has an ongoing record of how many I've done since they've arrived, and as annoying as he can be, he sticks up for me and the other waitresses. Few men do.)

I think the censorship readers enjoyed the biscuits from their little missive, so I'll try to include more whenever I can. Any requests from censorship? Or the boys? Dot and I would like to give you more pieces of home if possible.

Dr. Harvey will (hopefully) be here for you to meet, whenever that may be, dear. I wish you were here, but I know things have to continue the way they are for now… wrongs have been put into the world and you and the boys have to play your part in putting it right.

You were right, Mum has informed me that she's making progress on a jumper of my own and I don't think anyone's actually made me one. Dot offered years ago, but I always felt odd about it, I don't know, we weren't close until the war started and I guess I felt like I'd be taking advantage of her since she's got three little ones to care for on top of keeping Miss Fisher's home straight. Mum, on the other hand, wouldn't take no for an answer and I thought it a battle to surrender rather than fight my own war back home… Jean did say it was a pretty dark green wool, so accepting my inevitable fate of receiving knitted goods from your mother is a little easier since she knows my favorite colors.

Is it still warm where you are? Spring is starting to approach here, but we're still weeks away from warmer weather; Dot has started preparing me nightly cocoa and we get to have regular evening chats much like our morning tea… it's nice to have someone to talk to who understands all of this… how is Hugh holding up? Dot thinks he's trying to put a brave face for her and the kiddos, much like she's putting up one for them, but… it's hard on all of us, I think.

Stay safe, my dear Matthew - the home fires are burning bright for you and will continue until you can come and rest your tired feet by them.

Yours, Waiting,

Alice