I closed the poem around our final words. Stood. Walked up the stairs to the bathroom. I put Gareth’s comb back on the sink. I was leaving; it made no sense at all. But nothing did.

I released the latch and the lid sprang back, The Dictionary of Lost Words etched on its inside. The trunk was bulging, but there was room enough.

On top was our dictionary. I opened to the title page.

WOMEN’S WORDS AND THEIR MEANINGS

edited by

ESME NICOLL

I placed Gareth’s Rupert Brooke beside it.

I held the soldiers’ grotesque sentences, written in Gareth’s hand. I didn’t put them in the trunk. He did not mean for me to lock them away.

I could hear no sound from the kitchen and knew Lizzie must be waiting, not wanting to rush me. But she would be worried about the time. The train for Southampton was due at noon.

I took the telegram from my pocket and placed it on top of Women’s Words. The paper was butcher’s brown and sickly against the beautiful green of the leather. Half the message was typed: Regret to inform you that…An efficiency when the message was so often the same. The rest was handwritten. The telegraph clerk who transcribed the message had added Deeply, before Regret.

I closed the trunk.

PART 6 | 1928

November 1928