Chapters (50)
- Cover
- About the Book
- Dedication
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Thirty-nine
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Also by Sandie Docker
- Book Club Questions
- Welcome to the Kookaburra Creek Café
- Prologue
- One
- Sign up to Read More and discover new favourites
When she reached the cottage she crawled into bed exhausted and ticked off today’s list. Bookshelves, check. Make a start on ceilings, a weary check. Ivy’s next letter. She hesitated.
She wasn’t sure if she could take that kind of emotion tonight. But she did want to see if Ivy was all right.
She took a deep breath and opened the carved wooden box. Unlike the first few letters, there was no stamp on this envelope.
25th October, 1941
My Dearest Tom,
No news has reached me yet as to your fate. So I must believe that is a good sign. I am sorry it has taken me so long to write to you again. But with nowhere to send my correspondence and the grief of losing our child, I simply have not been able to put pen to paper. The unrelenting pain that consumed me the first few months after that dark, dark week now comes in waves that overwhelm me without any warning and then subside to a dull ache around my heart.
Mother would think it quite ridiculous that I write to you like this. However, I fear gravely that should I not correspond with you, then I give up hope. And that I cannot afford to do.
Mother says I must face the reality of your ‘situation’ and prepare myself for unwelcome news which might yet come. I do believe that woman has no compassion in her whatsoever. She is far too practical for emotion.
She is right, of course. But I will not give up, though the more time that passes, the harder it becomes.
I have left the house today for the first time since your news reached me, as I felt duty-bound to visit with Lucy Falcon. She called on me many times these last six months with a plate of food, a posy of flowers, an offer to chat, only to have me shoo her away. News reached us yesterday of her husband Henry’s passing, another casualty of this infernal war. He is the second we have now lost from our tiny community. Colonel Bridges first and now Lucy’s husband.
It was a brief visit. She was trying to be stoic, bless her, but I could see the pain in her eyes. No matter how hard we try to hide our feelings, our eyes give us away should anyone care to look. Thankfully, most people do not bother.
I shall call on her again soon.
Joan visited me once during my, what shall we call it? Isolation. She left a basket of flowers on the doorstep, but did not come in.