Dear Irene,
Please call me Glory. I suppose there’s a whole lot of differences between Massachusetts and Iowa, but I feel so close to you. Don’t ask me why. I don’t really know why....
So by now my plan has hatched. I hope it worked. And if it didn’t...yes. Have Charlie bust down that door. She has a son to take care of. And a grandson, too.
And I know a thing or two about taking care of sons. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your update. I am so grateful.
And thank you. Thank you for taking the time to work Rita’s garden. It would be such a shame if it went sour. It’s as alive as she is.
Well, I guess that’s that.
Let me know what happens.
Yours in peace,
Glory
P.S. I’ve been aching to tell you this. It’s my fault. All of her hysterics about the telegram. When Robbie was sick in the hospital I sent her a telegram without thinking. I won’t ever forgive myself. Especially now.