fifteen
Now that Mrs. Haywood had agreed not to press to move the Ladies’ League fundraiser, Penelope spent a lot less time staring at her phone and a lot more getting things done. She was well into an event proposal, manipulating the numbers to meet the budget, when the bell on her door rang. Without looking up, she invited her visitor in. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Oh!”
She didn’t need more than that to recognize the voice. Glancing over her computer screen, she forced a smile. “Hi, Winston.”
He nodded. His button-up shirt looked like it was fresh from the laundry, free of wrinkles, free of life. “I thought Emmaline would be here. We were supposed to . . .” With a quick turn toward the door, he said, “I can wait outside for her.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Standing, she tried to sound flippant but failed. She should be used to this by now. Interacting with Winston shouldn’t be so hard after half a dozen meetings. Except the only times they’d spoken alone had ended with raised voices or with her escaping to the dance floor and Tucker kissing her silly in front of a roomful of guests.
And if his current scowl was any indication, he seemed to recall that ordeal.
Clearing her throat, she tried again. “Want to sit down? I can show you the pictures of your reception setup.”
“We can wait for Emmaline.”
“Of course.” Except that left them standing awkwardly in the middle of her office, which didn’t work for her. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“No. I’m fine.”
Okay. So they’d just be awkward. She swayed, letting her skirt twist about her legs. “So just another month to go?” Apparently she couldn’t handle the silence.
“Excuse me?” His dark eyebrows dipped low.
“To the wedding?”
His brows danced up his forehead like he was surprised she remembered. Except that was her job. Just because he’d forgotten their wedding . . .
Wait. That wasn’t fair. He hadn’t forgotten. He’d chosen not to attend. Big difference. Thankfully she was over it.
“Listen, Pen. I’m—”
“It’s Penelope.”
He stumbled back. “But I always called you—”
“Yes, well, we’re not engaged anymore. And I prefer Penelope.”
“Why didn’t you ever . . .” Tucking his hands into his pockets, he shrugged. “Why didn’t you tell me back then?”
“I don’t . . . I’m not sure.” She wasn’t sure of much except that she needed to stand up for herself with him. She wasn’t the same woman who had been engaged to him. The one who had been so afraid to rock the boat of their relationship that she hadn’t told him she didn’t like his nickname for her.
“Well then, Penelope. I didn’t mean for this to be awkward. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, really.”
“What? You didn’t mean to run into me or to have to spend your summer with me—probably remembering all the appointments you didn’t go to with me?”
He stabbed his fingers through his gelled hair, letting her see it unkempt for the first time since she’d known him. “Come on. You know it’s not like that.”
She crossed her arms but kept her glare level. “Like what?”
“It’s . . . I never meant for any of this to happen. You know that, right?”
It wasn’t quite an apology, and something inside her wasn’t willing to let this go without one. Maybe it was the way he’d spoken to her at Tucker’s dinner. Or the picture-perfect tulip centerpieces that Emmaline had chosen, just a little too similar to her own. She could let it all go. Or she could make him feel just an ounce of the discomfort that had come from returning every one of their wedding gifts—half of them in person. No amount of checking things off the list to get over Winston could make her forget the look on her grandmother’s face when she’d returned the hand-embroidered pillowcases.
“Any of what?” she prodded.
He shuffled his big leather shoes and smoothed down the front of his gray slacks. He straightened his belt and made sure his shirt was tucked in. Always out to look his best. But the wary glint in his eyes made all of him look off center. Which made her smile. And tap the toe of her shoe.
His gaze stayed somewhere in the vicinity of her high heel as he tugged on the collar of his shirt. “You know, it hasn’t been easy for me either.”
Her burst of disbelief came out without warning. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re blaming me for this summer? For how awkward and uncomfortable it’s been?”
“It’s not like I can tell Emmaline the truth.”
“Why not? It’s not that hard.” She dropped her tone to mimic his. “‘Emmaline, I stood Penelope up on our wedding day.’ See? Not that hard.”
Dragging a hand over his face, he sighed. “Man, I know I messed things up between you and me, but I love Emmaline.”
The implication in his words rang loud and clear. He hadn’t loved Penelope. Not really. At least not enough. She pressed a hand to her chest and stumbled back, knocking the pictures she’d prepared to show Winston and Emmaline from her desk. They fluttered to the floor, so smooth and graceful. Penelope could only manage a wobbling stoop and clumsy fingers to pick them up.
“And she really likes you.”
Did he have to go on? Penelope had heard enough, and she turned her back to him, leaning on the big wooden desk as she took deep breaths through her nose.
“She thinks you’re great. She thinks you’re friends. I can’t stand to hurt her like that.”
“And you think that somehow my not telling her is going to be worse than your betrayal? Why haven’t you told her?”
The air in the room shifted. It was a silent change, but Penelope felt it up and down her skin, and she knew before Winston said anything that she had crossed a line. She’d accused him of betraying Emmaline the way he’d betrayed her. He might not have ever given her a true apology, but she had no doubt he knew the depth of the pain he’d caused.
“It hasn’t been easy for me either, what with you . . .”
She spun back to face him, wanting to lash out but lacking the words.
“You’ve been parading your—your—your boyfriend around here.”
“My boyfriend? This is not about me.”
With a single step he advanced into her space, his shoulders wider than she remembered, his eyes darker. “Of course it is. You’ve been rubbing my nose in the fact that you always did—and always will—pick Tucker over me. Even when we were together, you chose him over me. And Emmaline thinks you’re just the cutest couple, but I know the truth.”
The world narrowed, her vision fading until there was only Winston before her and this boiling rage in her chest. “What are you talking about? It was never like that. How dare—”
“If he needed you, you were more than happy to run off together. Midnight strategy sessions to get his business off the ground. Spending hours helping him paint his house. Going to his family’s house for brunch after church. Why didn’t you ever come to my family dinner?”
“You never asked.”
“I shouldn’t have had to.”
Her breaths came through clenched teeth, loud and staggered. Somewhere outside the realm of her consciousness a bell tinkled. “I did not end our engagement. You took care of that all on your own.”
A sudden gasp filled the room, and Penelope’s lungs stopped working. She didn’t need to look around Winston’s shoulders to know that Emmaline had joined them. Penelope risked a glance anyway. Emmaline’s eyes were wide and glassy. Trembling fingers covered her mouth, but other than that she could have been a statue.
“Babe, I’m so—”
“Emmaline, please—”
Winston and Penelope spoke over each other, unable to finish their thoughts. In unison they stepped toward Emmaline, who finally blinked. She shook her head slowly. “You were engaged?” Though her words were muffled behind her hands, they stopped Penelope where she stood.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.” Emmaline had deserved to find out the truth from the man she loved—not from a fireball hurled by his ex-fiancée.
Winston grabbed Emmaline’s hand, holding it close to his cheek, but she tugged it free. “Babe, I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“Hurt me? And you think this doesn’t hurt?” Her gaze shifted between them until a single tear escaped, rolling down her cheek, leaving its silver mark. “You’ve had two months to tell me—no, we’ve had a year and a half together. Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”
Winston’s mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.
When it was clear he couldn’t find the words, Emmaline turned on Penelope. “I thought a friend would have told me . . . something.”
“Babe—”
Emmaline cut Winston off. “And you. Don’t call me ‘babe.’ I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you’d been engaged before.” A soft sob escaped her lips, and she clapped her hand over her mouth.
“I should have. You’re right. It’s just that I hadn’t ever felt anything like I do with you. I was afraid of messing it all up. But I should have been honest. Please forgive me.”
Emmaline’s eyes shone, and it was clear that she wanted to accept his apology, that she wanted to rescue the sinking ship of their relationship. But with a quivering lower lip, she shook her head. “I don’t think I can.” She walked away, the door jingling behind her.
Penelope wrapped her arms around herself. But it was Winston’s gasping sob that undid her.
Tucker jogged down the sidewalk, dodging several tourist couples as he made his way toward PJ’s office. Aunt Shirley had called, and they had a treasure to find. And if an anticipated kiss upon his arrival put an extra pep in his step, so be it. He couldn’t think of anything better to look forward to.
But when he pushed open the door to her office, he had a feeling she wasn’t going to kiss him anytime soon.
PJ stomped behind her desk, straightening papers and slamming filing cabinets. Frizzy patches of her hair had escaped her usual ponytail and curled about her ears, and her skirt was twisted off center, her sweater discarded and shirt wrinkled. She muttered something under her breath as she leaned over to wedge another file into a drawer that didn’t seem to have room for one more. Then she kicked it and it crashed closed. Standing up, she huffed some hair out of her eyes and pressed her hands to her hips.
That’s when she noticed him.
He gave her a small wave and cocked his head to the side. “Hey there.”
“Hi.” Her lower lip trembled, and he rushed toward her, his arms open. But she held up her hands and shook her head.
Dropping his offered embrace, he looked around for some sign of what had set her off. Her office was clean and organized. Her to-do list sat on her desk, half checked off. Everything seemed in order. “You want to talk about it?”
“No.” Her eyes were wild as she spun toward a perfectly clean shelf and reorganized it, shifting pictures and knickknacks around for no apparent reason.
“Okay, can I—”
“Winston came in earlier this morning. And now everything’s ruined.” Her voice wavered somewhere between anger and sorrow, a tremor just below the surface.
Everything inside him wanted to pull her into a hug, to make the rage or pain or hurt disappear. But he couldn’t magically eliminate it. He had to do the thing you did when you loved someone. He had to just be there. Because he did love her, and there was nowhere else he’d rather be.
Sitting on the arm of one of her guest chairs, he crossed his ankles. “Do you want to tell me more?”
She shuffled and sorted for a silent minute, every movement tense and abrupt. “It was just that he was early, and Emmaline wasn’t here yet, and then he blamed me for not being able to tell her about our engagement.”
Oh, there were so many things he wanted to say to Winston. But he bit back every single one of them and waited for her to say more, only offering an encouraging nod.
She turned her back to him, jerking a drawer open and then banging it shut. Her heels clicked against the floor as sharp as typewriter keys. “As if his being a coward is my fault. Or somehow my friendship with Emmaline was a problem for him.” Spinning back toward him, she advanced like a woman with a mission. “And then—I mean, you’re never going to believe this. He accused us of being the reason he broke up with me. Get this. He said I always picked you over him. Can you believe that?” She slammed a stack of folders onto a shelf, shoving them into a corner in no particular order.
“Was he wrong?”
Oh no. He’d been doing so good. She needed this to be a one-sided conversation, and he’d butted right in where he didn’t belong.
“What?” She grabbed her stapler, waving it in his direction. “Are you serious? Of course I didn’t. I loved him. I’ve just known you forever. You’re my best friend, and . . . and . . . and sometimes maybe you needed me.”
He stood and strolled across the room toward her, deftly avoiding her flailing office supply. “PJ, maybe he saw what’s between us before we did.” Cupping his hands on her shoulders, he slowly pulled her in as her features softened.
“Yeah, well . . .” She licked her lips. “That wasn’t even the worst part.”
“What happened?”
She crumpled before him, her whole trembling body falling into his arms. Tears filled her eyes and splashed onto her cheeks. Her nose turned red, and her lips shook. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against his collar.
PJ, always so strong and smart, felt frail. She suddenly seemed like she might fall apart in his arms, and he tried to scoop her up, stumbling back until they dropped into a chair and he could hold her properly. Her arms encircled his shoulders as the wet spot on his shirt grew.
“I di-id the worst thing,” she sobbed against his neck.
His gut clenched, his head spinning. He knew what he thought the worst thing she could have done with Winston would be, and it made him want to cry too. But she hadn’t gone back to Winston. She wouldn’t have.
Clamping his mouth shut, he simply held her, rubbing a figure eight on her back, whispering nonsense into her hair. And oh, it was soft. It smelled like citrus, and he wanted to bury his nose in it forever. But he forced himself to just hold her, to rock her gently until it all came out.
“I didn’t mean to, but I was so angry with him, and I blurted it out—that it had all been his fault. And she was there!”
“Who?” But even as he said it, he knew. “Emmaline found out you were engaged?”
She nodded into the hollow of his neck.
“And she was angry?”
PJ began to nod again but stopped and shook her head instead.
“She was sad?”
With an affirmative motion, she took a gasping sob. His arms tightened around her in a reflex. It was the only thing he could do—aching for her heartache yet so very grateful that his own worst hadn’t been realized.
“I’m so sorry,” he said to her temple.
He thought she mumbled back, “I am too.”
“But you know it’s not your fault, right?”
She gave a little hiccup as she shook her head.
“This isn’t on you. Winston should have told her before he ever proposed.”
She hiccuped again, but this time she nodded into him.
They sat together as the clock on her desk ticked by the seconds, each movement of the hand echoing in the stillness. Slowly, softly, her tears faded, her breathing returning to normal. Her shoulders relaxed, and she leaned into him. Resting.
Oh, he could sit and hold her for ages. And suddenly he could see their future, decades down the road. He could see himself holding her, holding their children, holding their grandchildren. This love he hadn’t even recognized had been there for so long. His future had always been about PJ.
Now he needed to be worthy of her. He needed to show her he wasn’t the man Jepson painted him to be or the kid he’d once been, barely able to graduate from high school. He’d never told her that he’d been afraid the Marines wouldn’t take him either. He thanked God even for the tours in the Middle East. At least he’d had a chance to do something that mattered, to serve with honor and earn the respect of the men in his unit.
But one question remained. Would PJ ever think he was enough? Or would she realize that some other guy was a better match, equal in smarts and success?
Tucker owned a business, but she knew he’d never have gotten it off the ground without her help. She’d literally written the whole business plan and showed him how it could work. He’d had the idea. She’d had the know-how.
They sat together in silence for what felt like an hour. He could have gone another, but when she finally looked up at him, her eyes were rimmed in red, her mascara smudged all the way down her cheeks.
“I feel terrible. I just wish she hadn’t heard it from me. Not like that. And I wanted to show Winston that I have my life together.” She threw her hands in the air and shook her hair out of her face. “Which clearly I do not.”
He brushed a silky strand of her hair off her forehead, smoothing it back into her ponytail. “Maybe sometimes you have hard days, like today. But you have your stuff together more than anyone else I know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right. Because people with their stuff together generally almost lose their jobs and definitely lose friendships.”
“I’m pretty sure that humans do both of those things. And that’s what forgiveness is for.”
She leaned her ear against his shoulder. Maybe she could hear his heart thudding a strange rhythm, the one reserved for when she was near. It was all he could hear for a long moment, and he gave her a tight squeeze.
“Thank you,” she said. She gave him a peck on his cheek. It was tender and sweet, and he would have liked very much to turn his head just a couple inches to really connect with her. But that wasn’t why he’d come to see her.
“So, my aunt is back.”
“What?” She launched to her feet, rubbing her thumbs beneath her eyes. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“And interrupt your very impressive meltdown?”
She made a fist and moved to punch him in the shoulder, but he caught her wrist before she could make contact.
“I’m happy to hold you during any meltdown you like. And you’re still the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”
Her neck flushed pink, and she bit her bottom lip.
“But you might want to look in a mirror before we leave the office.”
Tucker had barely given a solid thwack against the door when it flung open, his momentum nearly sending him to the ground.
“Tucker! Peej! Come in, come in! How y’all doin’?” Aunt Shirley took a closer look at Penelope. “Y’all better come on in now.” She threw her arm wide, clearing an invisible path for them to enter her home, but her gaze remained fixed on PJ.
He greeted his aunt with a quick hug and then watched her swallow PJ in an embrace. When she pulled back, she adjusted her short brown hair and glared at him. “Is this,” she said, pointing at PJ’s puffy eyes, “because of you?” Her finger swung back to him, and he shook his head fast.
“No, ma’am.”
PJ quickly backed him up. “Tucker didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one that messed up.”
Aunt Shirley’s gaze went up and down slowly. “But the two of you are still . . .”
Tucker reached for PJ’s hand and squeezed it. “Yes.”
“Good, good.” Aunt Shirley plodded down the hall toward the kitchen, her stockinged feet rustling against the rug. Her bright yellow costume—it couldn’t be called anything else—lit up the entire room, sleeves and skirt billowing about her slender form. Her cheeks were pink and her skin tan, and her eyes were bright with a thousand adventures.
“Did you have a good time on your trip?”
“Grand, my boy! It was nothing but grand. Mount Fuji is everything they say, and Prague and Vienna—don’t get me started. The only part I did not like was coming back home.” She winked broadly at PJ. “At least the customs agent was a little bit handsy.”
PJ cracked a broad smile, the first he’d seen since he’d met her at her office, and he released a full breath. She’d be okay. They’d be fine. He’d find the treasure, and they’d be together, and that was all that really mattered.
Aunt Shirley’s arms waved about as she motioned toward the table where three glasses of tea sat on a pink place mat. The table looked like it had been salvaged from a fifties-era diner, and its matching metal chairs with shiny black vinyl on the seats and backs had been pulled out for them to sit. But Tucker wasn’t there for a drink. He wanted the letters. He wanted to know the truth about the treasure.
“I thought you’d seen all the letters. I mean, they were all together in that box.”
Only then did he realize that the table held a shallow yellowing box as well. He had a sinking feeling she wanted him to read the letters it contained, and his gut clenched at the very idea.
PJ stepped in. “The letter—it was in a trunk. I didn’t see another box.”
“We just saw the letter about Caroline running off with Lieutenant Haulder,” Tucker said.
Aunt Shirley’s smile twisted, one eye closing almost all the way. “Running off with who now?”
PJ looked at him, and he nodded. “Well, we just assumed,” she said. “Caroline had kissed Haulder, and I assumed she’d fallen in love with him. Isn’t that why she thought her father would be so angry with her?”
“Oh, dear child. There’s so much more to every story.”
“What do you mean?” Tucker asked.
“Here. Read it for yourselves.” She held the box out to him, and his arm twitched, his fist clenched at his side. It was hard enough reading silently. There was no way he was going to read out loud in front of PJ.
He didn’t have to. She stepped up to his side and reached for the box. “May I?”
June 3, 1865
Dear Mama,
I wish you could have been there. I carried a bouquet of wildflowers, and Mrs. Tillman lent me her veil. I wore a regular day dress and scuffed boots. It was not at all how I dreamed my wedding day would be. But I am certain I married the right man, and that is all that seems to matter.
I am sorry that my marrying him will take me far from home. By the time you read this, we will have already left on the train, first north toward Missouri and then west as far as the tracks go. I am not sure where our journey will end, but it seems such a grand adventure when you are beside the man you love.
I believe you tried to tell me once before about the love between a man and a woman. You must have, but I did not understand. What I felt then was just a passing fancy, an innocent flirtation. But now, after hearing all he has to say, I’m beginning to understand the truth. He faces so much with integrity and conviction. He is honest and trustworthy. How could I not trust him with my heart?
Perhaps love means facing the hardships together. For life is not easy, and he has a terrible burden to bear. I wish to help him carry it. I wish to help him make peace and see him returned to the fullness of joy. There are glimmers of it every now and then when our eyes meet. Last night he laughed, truly and fully, and it filled me to overflowing. If this is indeed love, then I am fully immersed. I pray the waters of it wash over me every day. May I love him well and care for him with my whole heart.
Please do not be angry with me. I will write again once we are settled. I hope to explain it all. But you may trust that my love takes perfect, tender care of me, and I him. Trust that the Almighty will protect and provide for us.
Rest assured that you are missed and loved by your only daughter and her new husband.
With love,
Caroline and Josiah
August 2, 1865
Dear Mama,
The longer I have thought on it, the more certain I have become. You must be terribly angry with me, and I do not blame you. I only wish I could somehow explain my actions without bringing further question upon our family. I fear there is no explanation that would suffice, but I must try.
I must begin by confessing that not even I could have foreseen how much I would miss you, and Papa and Bradford as well. We have settled here in the Arizona territory, but I cannot reveal just where. Some yet feel that Josiah’s actions were traitorous. I do not believe that, and I do not believe you do either. Still I must be careful in what I write.
Please, let me start at the beginning, or rather at a new beginning. Our history goes back so many years, and I have loved him for so long. Josiah tells me now that he has loved me for just as long. He had longed to tell me of his feelings, to ask me to be his bride, but when the war came, he had no choice but to fight and dared not leave me with foolish promises.
When he was assigned to his regiment, his commanding officers recognized a certain way about him. I knew it from our childhood. How often he sneaked into the house and stole Bradford away when he should have been studying, only to disappear into the city. I tried to follow, but they were forever vanishing almost before my very eyes. When Josiah’s commanding officers discovered this skill, they set him to sneaking through enemy lines, evading capture, and collecting information. He says he was called a scout. I think that is a ridiculous name, for it sounds as though he were a spy.
My heart nearly seizes when I think that he was in such danger, but he is well and truly good now. I thank the Lord Almighty for just that. And that he is by my side.
I’ve known for some time what terrible choices he was forced to make, but I was not free to speak of these things until I knew he was safe and far from those who might want to do him harm.
Please do not be distressed when I tell you that I stole from home many nights to see what Bradford and Papa were about. Do not be angry with Papa if he has not shared all of my secrets before now. But when I knew that Josiah was with us once again, I could do nothing but offer my help. I knew even then that I loved him. I only doubted if he—a man of such experience—could love me.
But I have gotten ahead of myself. Undoubtedly you have read my diary and discovered that Josiah did indeed return to Savannah. He was not the boy I had known but a man of action. Sometimes I believe I still see regret in his eyes, though I know not if it comes from the Confederate loss or the role he believes he played in that.
For three years he served as a scout, and I believe he did so with honor and integrity, though he says his identity was all but erased. Then he was called upon to take delivery of a shipment running the blockade. The goods and materials were of the finest quality from France. Would they have made a difference if put in the hands of Jefferson Davis? Could such a shipment have won the war? I do not believe so.
Regardless of its potential impact, the shipment was never intended to help the Southern cause or her people. Josiah’s superior officers intended to line their pockets with the gold and silver. And Josiah was left with little choice. Either he would do as he was ordered or he would have to disappear, allowing his officers to think him dead.
He chose the latter, commandeering the smuggled goods and intending to take them to Charleston as soon as possible. But with so many troops in gray working with the smugglers, he had no choice but to ask his other friends for help. Bradford and Papa and some of the others from our neighborhood stepped in, and I saw those men the night the treasure was first received.
Surely Papa has told you as much by now, how he and Bradford then helped to move the smuggled treasures to Mrs. Fitterling’s so late that one night. How Josiah’s name could not even be whispered about town should one of the soldiers hear it and know who had taken the goods. If anyone had discovered he was in Savannah, all he loved could have been in danger. Oh, how he worried about his mother’s safety. Mine too, he claims now.
But when Hardee’s men fled the city, there was not a safe corner for him to find, and he had no opportunity to evacuate the goods. As you know, the war ended before the goods could be handed over to the government. But there are those who still want to find it. Those who wish to see him punished for stealing from the officers intent on making illegal gain. I pray only that the good Lord would spare us such suffering and that justice will be served.
I know he worries for me that someone will come looking for him. But I can only say that I have never felt safer than I do with Josiah. When we stood before Reverend Tillman and spoke those sacred vows, I knew that I should have nothing to fear now.
Please give Papa my love. I wish that I could give you my mailing direction, but Josiah has asked me not to. Not yet. I will write to keep you informed of our lives out west. So far it is hot and dry, but when I am tempted to miss the river, I remember that Josiah is worth a great many oceans.
With love,
Caroline
September 25, 1865
My dearest brother,
Josiah bids me write to you, and I gladly will. We both miss you. I confess that I pray often that you have found the courage to ask sweet Agatha for her hand. You were not one to hide your affections well, though I know the war seemed to take all that we had. Now I pray that you are able to offer her your whole attention. If you have not asked her to be yours, do so lest another man beat you to it. I know now the pain of delayed longing and the joy of a perfect union. I pray you are blessed with one as well.
Josiah and I have spoken, and we fear there may be other men searching for the hidden goods. You know that Josiah used only a portion of what was taken from that ship in order to help the people of Savannah. Though I believe if there had been more food and medicine to buy, he would have gladly used it all to care for the hungry and the widowed.
My heart aches as I remember the camps outside the city, the freed men and women and children. What poverty they lived in, and how I wish I could have done more to serve them. We leave that to you now. Please, I beg of you, take what is left of the treasure and do good with it. I believe there is still a diamond necklace there. While I would love nothing more than to see it draped around Agatha’s neck, I am certain that her gentle heart would want you to care for others. Please find the goods and share them with those precious souls in need.
As you know, Josiah moved the shipment after it was first secreted away. He moved it only once more, four hundred feet south. You will find his mark there.
Be well, my brother. Josiah and I miss you and speak often of your kindness and loyalty. You were good to him, such a faithful friend. And you have been a wonderful brother to me. My one regret is that I will not get to meet your children and their children. What lucky scamps they will be to have you as a father.
With love,
Caroline