She read the rest of the letter—a tome on Tom’s surprising talent for playing cards, with gin rummy being his favorite—and a few new words for her to ponder. She pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. It took no effort to think about what to say to William. The words flowed as if they were having a conversation over a pot of coffee. Or tea, as it would be if they were visiting in England.

Thank you for the additions to my word list, she penned. I wouldn’t have known how different our two English languages could be. “Jumper” where we’d say “sweater.” “Lift” where we’d say “elevator.”

She’d paused when his list included the word nappie for diaper. Dottie had begged her not to tell John about the baby, lest he be worried and distracted as they headed into war. Margaret disagreed. She knew that her brother would be exhilarated by the news that he was going to have a son or daughter and that the knowledge of it would make him even more determined to come home safely. But Dottie’s role as fiancée bested Margaret’s as sister and so far, Margaret had respected her wishes.

Keeping the news quiet was even more difficult on the home front. Dottie had rebounded from the anemia better than they could have hoped and had bolstered herself enough to make it to the first day of their new work at the Navy Yard. The nausea and frequent morning trips to the toilet had initially kept her figure slim, but her appetite was finally beginning to keep pace with her condition, and she had started to let out the waists of her dresses. It would not be much longer before she’d have to make new clothes altogether.

When it was announced that Dottie was moving in with Gladys, Mrs. Troutwine entered a crying spell, accusing her daughter of being a modern woman as if that were pejorative. Mrs. Troutwine was still reeling, perhaps, over her first daughter’s untimely pregnancy some years back, and it set her on a course of additional rigidity with Dottie. But all the wrath Dottie had incurred from that decision was nothing in comparison to the fear of being sent away if her mother found out the truth too early.

So Dottie’s concerns were legitimate. But Margaret didn’t see where the harm was in telling her brother.

She looked down at what she’d written so far. After several rounds of back-and-forth, the letters between her and William had grown well beyond introductory exchanges, and she discovered that they shared a mutual sense that the war was going to change everything they’d come to expect for their lives.