Paulina occasionally mentioned a desire to travel to America, just for the adventure of it, and said that perhaps they could do that after they’d worked up the courage for a brief visit in England. Amala liked the idea of having a plan that included extensive travel and a great many miles between herself and the happiness being shared by two of the people she loved most. It was Paulina’s view that some years had now passed since the end of that dreadful civil war in America, and as long as they restricted their travels to certain parts of the country, the dust had surely settled by now and they would not be affected by it. They had conversations about how much of the basis of the war had been rooted in the slavery of black-skinned people and how President Lincoln—prior to his tragic death—had written a proclamation to declare them now free. But Paulina and Amala both agreed that being declared free and actually being treated fairly by those with white skin were two vastly different things, and it would likely take a long, long time for such people of color to truly feel equal to their fellow human beings—if such a thing were ever even possible.

A day came when Amala realized she’d grown weary of traveling, and she asked Paulina if they could return to the house in France, of which Amala had grown so fond. Even though she knew there would likely be many letters waiting for her from home—which would surely be difficult to read—she believed the safe atmosphere of Paulina’s French home, combined with the time that had passed, would make it possible for her to do so and come to terms with them. She couldn’t find words to explain a restlessness she felt in needing to finally face all of this and reconnect with her family, but Paulina with her extra sense completely respected such feelings, and they were quickly on their way to France, arriving there more quickly than Amala had expected. Since a message had been sent ahead, the house had been aired out and freed from dust and was all ready for them to settle in. And two stacks of letters had been left on the table in the parlor. There were a few letters for Paulina, that were set apart from the large quantity of those addressed to Amala.

Amala unpacked, freshened up, and got a little something to eat from the variety of fruit and bread and cheese that had been left for them. She then found she couldn’t put it off any longer. Paulina suggested that Amala have some time alone and said they could talk later.

Amala sat down on one of the pretty little couches in the parlor and looked at the ominous pile of mail in front of her. A glance through the stack made it evident that the woman Paulina hired to take care of things in her absence had carefully stacked the letters according to the order in which they’d been received, indicated by the postmark on the envelopes. Since the most recent letter was on top, Amala turned the stack upside down and opened the first letter, which was from her mother.