She took a breath. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. But I had to tell you—William is dead.”

“Oh my darling!” Dottie’s voice melted like butter and she extended her free hand out to Margaret. Joanna’s busy feet were kicking from underneath the blanket, and Margaret was temporarily distracted by again feeling sorry that her innocent little niece would someday have to know the darker sides of life.

“Margaret,” sighed Gladys. “We didn’t know. Of course that’s something we’d want to hear right away. You were right to call us.”

Dottie nodded. “How did you find out? Did you get a telegram?”

Margaret’s mouth wrinkled. “No. I wasn’t on any kind of list since I’m not family. If I were, I would have found out that he died in June!”

Gladys sat straight up and cocked her head. “In June? Then how—”

“How have I still been getting letters from him?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Tom. Tom Powell. William died right in front of him. Shot down by a sniper in Normandy. But that’s not even the whole of it. The letters—nearly all of them have actually been written by Tom.”

Dottie unlatched Joanna, and the nanny, with her keen sense of timing, swept the baby into her arms and took her away, patting her back over her shoulder. Dottie folded the blanket and then joined Margaret and Gladys on the couch.

She held Margaret’s hand. “What do you mean?”

Margaret’s jaw quivered rapidly like on a cold day where her teeth would chatter.

Gladys pulled a handkerchief from her pocket. “I brought along a few of these. I thought they’d come in handy. You were in a state.”

“Thank you,” she managed.

Dottie’s voice almost cooed with velvety sympathy. “Why don’t you tell us all about it? From the beginning.”

Margaret had had the foresight to bring all the letters she’d received, including the new one. The one that confessed the truth. She handed the stack to Dottie and Gladys and sank into the couch while they read the letters, passing them between each other.

Hmmms and groans and oohs and aahs and various sounds emitted from each of them. Margaret closed her eyes and leaned her head back, listening to them. Her one comfort right now was knowing that they were here to support her.

They spoke at the same time.

“That’s just rotten,” huffed Dottie.

Just as Gladys said, “That’s so romantic.”

“Romantic?” Dottie turned to Gladys with surprising force, so much so that it nearly made Margaret laugh in spite of it all. She could hardly believe the role reversal. Maybe since Gladys was a newlywed, she was more susceptible to Cupid’s arrow.

“Yes,” Gladys defended. “Okay. He misled you. I’m not saying that isn’t a concern. But did you see his explanation? I’d say it’s pretty understandable.”