Ballarat, Victoria

14 September 1942

My Dearest Matthew,

I'm sorry to hear that it's been awful for both you and Addy; I'd gladly take her in (might have to convince Miss Fisher, but if not I'm certain Dot can help me sneak her in), but I know your fear of knowing whether she'd get to Melbourne safely (and whether or not they'd allow a cat - as sweet as she can be - to be shipped home). Hopefully, she won't smother you too much - I'd like to get the chance to hug and kiss you again and I can't do that if you're no longer breathing.

I'm glad you've got your journal still, do you need a replacement any time soon? I can send you another or more writing tools if you're short on those. The chaos of the unknown is always daunting to face, my dear, but I know you'll do your best. That's all anyone can ask of you, your best.

You put the bug in my ear, Matthew, so you've only yourself to blame when hearing of my plans for the future; the future is still so uncertain, but… more and more of my daydreams of it have you there beside me and it helps me feel more confident of where I'm going… is that too forward of me to say? It feels like it's too soon to have such thoughts even as I sit at Jean's table writing this letter, but I care for you, Matthew, more than I think I want to admit, but you're just so… I feel so safe with you, like you're this calm in the eye of a storm, a place to rest and relax while the world whirls around me. I've rarely felt that with anyone and I've learned to hold on with both hands anytime it shows up… I just hope this won't chase you away once you read this letter.

Ballarat is still standing, but no, Miss Fisher didn't accompany me to Ballarat this time; I managed to take some time from school and work to stay with Jean and see Mum. It's nice to have another friend, and staying with Jean reminded me of the nicer nights with my sister as we whispered and giggled under the covers late into the night when everyone else was sleeping. Jean shares my anxiety over our boys being so far from home, but I think Christopher's letters have helped her immensely; she told me of their fight and while I think Christopher was foolish, I understand why he did it. Pride is a dangerous thing to have, and unfortunately, it's not just us that suffer the consequences, but also our loved ones.

(Yes, before you ask, we did gossip a bit about you and Christopher, but as you said you wanted to hear none of it, I won't tell you all of the childhood things Jean informed me of that Vera didn't.)

My rakishly handsome apparent blasphemous soldier, I adore you and your family.

(You big tease.)

I wish I could be there helping them out, but here I am stuck studying to be a pathologist; sure, I'll have training in general surgery and medicine, but it still feels like I'm sitting on my hands while everyone else is doing something to help you boys out. I wish I'd taught you some things so you could help out in the field, but… hindsight is perfect, isn't it? Try to leave things uncovered at night, but only when you can keep the bugs away from it, and change dressings as often as you can… it's not much, but it's something.

You're a very sweet man, and I am always amazed at your confidence in my blossoming skills; I'm sure Clara and Eric will appreciate the washcloth once Baby Cooper arrives, as you have rightfully pointed out the messiness of teething. (Why are children so messy?) Yes, Miss Fisher does show her affection through gift-giving, but to a practical person like me (and Clara) it can be very overwhelming to be showered in presents; I think she's learning though.

Jean's been wonderful in telling me all about what it's like to go through childbirth (both the boys nearly ran from the room with their hands over their ears, it was very amusing to watch), and I do feel more sure about being there for Clara when the time comes. Luckily, we've got some time yet since Clara's about five months along so I can continue to pester all the mothers in my life about their experiences with childbirth. (You'd think I'm the one having the baby instead of Clara, but… I don't know, I'm protective of her and want to be prepared for anything.) I just… I want her to have an easy time and I'm hoping I'll be calm under pressure.

I know it's not a bad thing to help me, my dear Matthew, and that's been a hard-won realization. I think… I think it's finally time I told you of my past; it's not fair that I know yours and you still know nothing of mine.

I was born in Sydney to parents who hadn't planned on having a child… well, had not planned on having a child together. I don't have any clue of my mother's dreams and plans for her future, but one… mistake later they were married and stuck together with me as the result. Father and Mummy drank to cope with… everything I guess; living with Miss Fisher and Jack has helped me see that he suffered from his time in the Great War (What will we call this one? That one was supposed to be the war that ended all wars, and yet here we are again) and that drinking didn't hide his demons, it just made it all worse. Mummy drank to numb everything… I don't know, but she was largely absent during mine and Peg's life.

She wasn't gone physically, maybe absent is the wrong word to use… she just wasn't there whenever she drank… and Father's beatings always got worse when both of them drank; it started when Mummy got pregnant again around the time I was six (I'm still a bit hazy on when exactly I was born… it's a nagging question in my mind of whether or not my birthday is actually my birthday). Peg hadn't been planned either, and I started to hate being home. School became a refuge, so did the library, and I took Peg whenever I could - staying there until it closed each day, dreading the moment I'd step foot in that awful flat and find there was no food.

I think they're why I hate drinking in excess; I hate doing it, I hate seeing it, and I can't stand watching other people's lives get ruined because of it - other children suffering the way I did… I hate it. I hate my father, for lifting a hand to his daughters - both of us too little to defend themselves from his rage; I hate my mother, for sitting by and watching it all… and I grew up not wanting to have children because what if I got into that same situation? What if I got stuck in a loveless, twisted marriage with no way out? What if I too drank to numb everything and did nothing to save my children?

What kind of person would I be, bringing an innocent life into this world in that sort of situation? Would I too grow bitter like Mummy did and not even bother looking for my children that ran away?

…I hope not.

But yes, I finally had enough, and some other adults were asking questions but didn't do anything; one day, I grabbed mine and Peg's meager belongings and ran from home while our parents were passed out from another drunken binge. It wasn't easy - we didn't have any place to stay, not as I do now, but we were free from my mother's apathy and my father's heavy hand. I stole food for Peg and myself - I'm not proud of it and often I or both of us went hungry, but it was necessary.

I promised Peg we'd always be together, and I kept that promise until the day I got caught; the coppers - not as nice or understanding as you or Jack or Hugh - separated the two of us and I never saw her again… My last memory of my baby sister is her crying as the coppers picked her up and carried her away to Welfare… and I'll never forget the sight or my own guilt at breaking that promise to her.

The captain was more understanding than his patrolmen and put me in Welfare instead of prison, but neither he nor Welfare answered my questions about where Peg was and whether or not I could see her… I bounced around foster homes, ending up in Melbourne for the last one before university. They were the nicest ones and were genuinely happy for me when I got in on a scholarship. Mac saw my potential that first year and scooped me up as her protege, and even helped me start the now yearly search for Peg, but I haven't found anything.

I hope she got adopted by a nice family, but it's so frustrating to hit that damned brick wall every year whenever I try to find her… and now with the war going on it's even harder.

I wish this war was over and all of you were home… you, Hugh, and Christopher, because this waiting is horrible. The not knowing is worse, but I know… you can't tell me anything on paper. I miss you, Matthew, so damn much.

My hands are shaking and aching from writing this letter to you - I think it's my longest to you yet, but I feel lighter than I have in weeks… and you do make me feel safe, dearest… probably the safest I've felt in my life.

Jean also mentioned Christopher's frustration with our American allies, and she worries that he might actually get written up sooner or later; hopefully, letters from you and Jean will instill some patience in him.

We've done what we can, I think Dot should have sent some biscuits with her last letter to Hugh since I'm visiting Ballarat; I made special care to make Miss Addy's shortbread biscuits myself so I hope she enjoys them and continues to be an absolute menace to you and the boys.

You will, Matthew, there's got to be a light at the end of this tunnel, or at least a rest stop somewhere… I have faith in you and the boys.

I do enjoy the jumper, Mum presented it to me at the train station when she picked me up earlier; it's come in handy as the nights here in Ballarat are colder than Melbourne currently. Spring is coming slowly to Australia, and I do look forward to the warmer days, but I'm very comfy in my new jumper.

(I know you said I don't have to, but I've pestered Dot and Jean to help me with my knitting; Mum must be appreciated and if it takes me a million years to make her a jumper of her own, then it takes me a million years, but she will get her own.)

I'm making a special note to not consider Queensland in any of our future plans, dearest; have no fear, you'll not have reason to fear the rainforest after the war.

Stay safe, my dear Matthew, and I await the day I can hold you again.

Yours, Patiently,

Alice