Heavy footsteps and a slammed door interrupted Laura’s nap. She sat quickly. It was her father; he was the only one large enough to make such a racket. She groaned, not ready to face him.
Stalling wouldn’t help. She stuck the letter from Morton in her skirt pocket and searched for her father. He was in the living room, pulling off his boots.
“Father,” she said. “I need to talk to you.”
“I don’t have time,” he said. “I have to find Abel.”
“He’s in jail.” She tried not to gloat, but it was difficult when she felt such elation knowing Abel was no longer a threat to her or anyone else. “He was going to sell everyone forged deeds to land in Florida. It’s all in the paper. Isaac Campbell wrote about it.”
Her father’s hands froze on his laces. “In jail.”
“Yes, and if you’ll listen to me, I’ll tell you exactly what happened.” She tried not to smirk, but it was difficult when she could hear the strength in her own voice and knew how shocked he must be hearing it too. He’d left a weak daughter at home and returned to a strong, determined woman.
He wasn’t exactly an amiable audience, but he sat through her retelling. His face was stoic and dark. When she finished by sharing that she and Isaac had gone to Niagara Falls not only because of Abel but also because of Morton, the anger she’d expected surfaced.
“I don’t want to talk about Morton. That man and his family ruined everything.”
“I know that’s what you believe,” she said, not backing away from him. “And I can see why. But I think you’re wrong.” She handed him the letter. “He wrote this as he was dying. He wrote Isaac and Mr. Campbell too. I don’t think he was the villain you believed him to be. Either way, he died, leaving a son behind.”
Her father surprised her and took the letter. For a long time he held it, not opening it, not speaking. The silence was uncomfortable. It begged to be filled, but she waited. He still didn’t open it. He stood, letter in hand, and walked away.
When he was out of sight, Laura sought out Mrs. Guskin for advice.
“Give him time” was the only advice she offered. Which was hardly advice at all.
“Will you watch for Isaac, tell him I can’t see him tonight? Tell him I’ll try to see him soon.” It hurt, the idea of turning Isaac away, but her father was unpredictable. She spent the evening in her room, looking out at the park, counting the stars and rereading old letters from Isaac.
Tybalt swore a few times, but even his unruly mouth didn’t make her laugh. She knew what she wanted but not how to get it. Isaac would be penniless; he’d be starting from nothing. It could be years before he’d be able to buy a home. Even then she would have to wait for him to ask. If her father wouldn’t let him in, how could he?
After an hour of thinking, she was no closer to the answers. All she knew was that she was not going to wait for a prince to come rescue her. She’d tried that with Abel—never again. She wanted Isaac. She loved him. But she wouldn’t cower in the corner waiting for him.
From her window, she saw Isaac walking on the sidewalk, his gait so familiar. Oh how she wished she could run to him and stroll the park on his arm. As it was, she had to act quickly. She tapped on her window and then swiftly opened it.
He looked up at her and waved. “Hello, fair lady. Should I climb up and sweep you away?”
“My father is home,” she said. “I can’t meet you. You have to go.”
“I need to see you.” The humor left his face.
“I can’t.” She shook her head. There was a noise coming from somewhere in the house. “I’ll leave a letter in the tree as soon as I can,” she said before closing the window and stepping toward the sound.
She was careful to keep her feet quiet and to avoid the boards that creaked. The sound led her to the library. She crept close to the door and peered inside. Her father, the man she’d begun to believe was void of heart and feelings, sat on the floor, his back to the wall, letter in hands and tears on his face.
He wiped his cheeks as he looked around the now empty library. His anguish permeated the entire room. Laura could feel it in her own heart. And then, as though the years had never happened, she crossed the floor and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened but didn’t brush her away.
“I’m sorry,” he said as he rocked back and forth. “I was wrong.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, allowing him to lean into her strength. “She always loved you.”
“I yelled at her. I wouldn’t listen to reason. I thought she’d . . . I accused her of terrible things.” His jaw tensed. “It’s all my fault. I blamed her, but it was my fault.”
She let go of him and crouched so they were face-to-face. “Father, don’t do that. It was a misunderstanding. Everyone erred, but it can be made right. Mother believed in forgiveness.”
“No,” he said. “I can’t.”
“You can’t what? Say you’re sorry? Be friends with Campbell?” She fought her own rising anger. “Mother died. We lost her. Morton died. Haven’t we all lost enough?”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Yes, it can be.” She stood, placing her hands on the empty bookshelves. “You gave your anger seven years. You gave it your happiness and mine. You even gave it Mother’s books. Stop feeding it. Don’t let it take anything else. Let it starve and die.”
He wadded up the letter in his hand.
“You can do what you want,” she said, strong and unwilling to follow his lead. “I’m done with it. I’m going to be friends with Isaac Campbell. I’m going to go to the socials and the zoo. The hate does not get to take my life.”
He looked at his feet, still refusing to meet her eyes.
“I want you to be a part of my life.” Her own tears came. “I want a father. I want the father I had when I was little to come back. But I can’t keep waiting. This isn’t what Mother wanted for me.”
“I don’t know . . .” He grimaced. Whatever words he wanted to say weren’t coming easily.
“Listen to me,” she said, each word slow and clear. “I forgive you. We can put more books on the shelves. We can fix what’s broken.”
He looked up then, and their eyes met.
“I’m sorry,” he said again.
“I know. And now we have to decide what to do next. I had a long night last night. I’m going to go to bed. Tomorrow when I wake up, will you eat breakfast with me?”
He nodded before burying his head in his hands again.
* * *
Dear Love,
Is it all right if I call you that? I know I should wait until we’ve been on at least two real dates to use such a strong endearment, but our romance has been far from conventional.
The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was find your article in the newspaper. Your words took me back to the falls. I could see it all in my mind. I could even hear the water crashing and feel the mist. It was a fine article.
I did not think we would be back to writing letters again. Then again, I don’t know if I ever want to give it up entirely. I think I will always love letters, but if I had to pick between letters and your presence, I would pick your presence.
My father is hurting. I can’t explain it exactly. He is wrestling with himself. I think it is hard for him to remember who he was before the hate set in. But he is trying, and I admire him for that. He sat by me at breakfast this morning. We were mostly silent, but he was not unkind.
I told him I planned to come to the zoo today, and he didn’t tell me not to. He nodded his head and then took a sip of his coffee. That may seem insignificant, but it was not. Tonight I plan to ask him if he is up for a game of checkers. We played often when I was small. If he says yes, then I might cry happy tears.
I’ve enclosed money for you to give to Mr. Cannon. My father was agreeable when I asked for it. He is embarrassed that Abel lured him. He would like you to thank Mr. Cannon for him.
I saw you yesterday, and already I have a thousand questions for you. It would be so much easier to ask you in person, but I don’t know when I’ll see you. When you do write back, will you tell me what your family said about the letters and about Albert? And tell me all about your job. Write me the longest letter ever so I feel like I am right there with you.
Do you remember when we were at Centennial Park and you tested your theory? I have a theory of my own. When I see you next, I think we ought to test it.
Missing you,
Me
* * *
Isaac sat at the base of the letter tree, legs stretched out in front of him, back to the tree. He’d nearly laughed when he pulled the letter out. Here they were again. Writing letters.
His parents had softened some. His announcement that he planned to marry the daughter of the enemy had alarmed them at first. His father had even shouted that he would not permit it.
But Isaac had refused to budge on the matter. There was no compromise to be found.
“I am going to marry her,” he said. “Don’t you remember her? She was quiet and sweet as a child. How could you hate her? She had no part in any of this.”
“It’s not a family you should marry into.” His mother fanned herself with her hands. “You’re not thinking clearly. I can have another party. We can fill the house with women.”
“I don’t want a house full of women. I want Laura.” He stood to leave the room. From the corner of his eye, he saw them look at each other.
“Don’t walk away,” his father said. “It’s only right for parents to worry and to ask you if you’ve thought it all through.”
“I have.” He left then. By the morning they’d been more pleasant, trying to subtly ask him to wait, to rethink his plans and sort out other matters first.
He’d put his open pocket watch on the table. “Even apart, we battle together. I know you meant fight Bradshaw, but I wonder if you could change the meaning and choose to have it mean that you and I will always care for each other and fight the same foes. I am going to write for the paper and marry Laura. I won’t be here like I have been. But I want us to be on the same side.”
“Morton died before I could send it.” His father picked up the watch and looked at it. “I’m glad I didn’t send it.”
“You are?”
“I read his letter. He didn’t want us to fight over his leaving. He had no regrets, except believing he’d come between us and of course not being able to be there for his wife and child.”
Isaac nodded. He’d guessed that Morton’s letter to his father said something like that, and he had hoped the words would pierce his father’s soul. A cry from the grave to change course.
“I will try,” his father said, closing the watch and putting it back in Isaac’s hand.
Now Isaac pulled the pocket watch from his pocket as he sat at the zoo, reading Laura’s sweet address many times—Dear Love.
It was nearly nine o’clock. He’d finished his response letter and decided to walk over by the manure pile for old times’ sake. The stench, strong as ever, greeted him. Foul and welcoming.
“Isaac.”
His heart leaped. She was there, leaning against the wall. No shovel, no wheelbarrow.
“I thought . . . I hoped you’d come.” She grinned. “I came to deliver a letter and to talk to Mr. Shaffer. He’s going to let me volunteer again. I can’t come as often as before. I want to spend time with my father and with you.”
“Will your father allow you to volunteer?”
She blushed. “I told him I was going to. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t stop me.”
The wind blew stronger, and the stench engulfed them. They both smelled it and laughed. Isaac grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the pile.
“Come and walk around the zoo with me. And if you happen to walk by a particularly beautiful maple tree, you might want to reach inside. I’ve heard you like letters.”
“I love letters.” She took his hand.
“And I love you,” he said, feeling the truth of it deep in his core.
For the first time, they looked at the animals together. When someone stared, they smiled back. They’d let them talk. Let them gossip. Isaac and Laura were done hiding.
The foxes wrestled and put on a show. Isaac kept taking his eyes off them and looked instead at Laura. Her eyes were twinkling with delight. The sea lions, the gazelles, the bears—they saw them all. She peppered him with facts about each animal, making this walk through the zoo more fun than any before.
“Laura!” Mr. Shaffer yelled from across the path. “The giraffes arrived.”
Laura tugged on Isaac’s hand. “Come on. I’ve always wanted to see a giraffe up close.”
A large circus truck pulled up beside the zoo. There were ten men, ready to help the animals if they spooked. Someone yelled at Isaac, telling him to mind the gap on the left. He stood tall, arms up, and then they opened the bed of the truck, and Laura gasped with delight as the tall animals came into view.
“Meet Arthur and Joanne,” Mr. Shaffer said. “Laura, grab one of those branches with leaves on it. See if you can lure them out.”
The giraffes were stubborn at first, refusing to step off the truck. Laura walked closer, waving the leaves in front of them. “Come on out, come see the zoo. It’s the finest zoo in the country.” Her voice was soft and singsongy. If he were a giraffe, Isaac would follow her anywhere. “Come on, come and see.”
They took a step out, and then another. Everyone stared wide-eyed at the zoo’s new additions. They followed Laura as she talked to them and led them away from the truck and into their new enclosure. Cheers erupted when the gate was closed behind them.
“I see why you like giraffes,” Isaac said to Laura. “I think we ought to get a giraffe one day.”
“No,” she said with a laugh. “But we will have to come to the zoo often.” She stiffened. “Have I told you I have a bird? He’s a macaw and uses awful language.”
“You’ve mentioned him. I’m eager to meet him.”
“He will go with me wherever I go.”
He put a hand on her shoulder, and his fingers wandered to the back of her neck. “I think I can handle a bird. Didn’t you write that you had a theory you wanted to test?”
“We will have to leave the giraffes to test it. It’s a theory better tested without an audience.”
“I think I like testing theories with you.”
Moments later they stood beneath the magnificent branches of the letter tree, Isaac placing one hand on her waist, the other on her cheek.
“Your theory?” he whispered.
“I’ve always believed this spot a romantic one. A perfect place for two people to share a private moment and . . .” She blushed. “A kiss.”
His heart swelled as he bent to meet her lips and test her theory. As he held her, he could not help but feel grateful for the letter tree’s grandeur and providence.
Before letting her go he whispered, “I love you, my Wishing Girl.”