Emma was still intrigued by the letter when she saw the train station come into view. It toyed with her, begging to be opened, pleading to be read. It took every ounce of her self- control not to open it, but maybe just one peek...?
No, she thought, stopping her curious fingers before they could break the seal. It's not mine to read.
Still, she was glad when the train rumbled into the station, belching smoke and whistling the shrilly whistle that she'd become deaf to over the thousands of times she'd been here. Emma was even gladder when she saw the gleam of Anne's red- gold hair in the cold, bright winter air.
Immediately after she had gotten off, Emma thrust the letter at her sister.
" I'm not sure how, seeing as we've got our own post office, but Mrs. Remigrant got ahold of this for you," she said.
Anne took the parchment and carefully read the address. Her brow knit together in confusion.
"It's not been sent," she noted. "It was being sent to someone in Denver, to Running Creek."
"How can you tell?" asked Emma. She had just assumed it was from some other place.
"There's no dirt nor wear on the paper. It hasn't been in a train to the other post offices yet." She turned the paper over a few times, then her face relaxed. "I can't place it. It seems so... familiar, somehow."
Anne let her finger slip beneath the fold and break the plain wax seal, opening the letter.
The handwriting inside was just as messy as the address had been. Anne read the letter, slowly walking off the platform as Emma walked beside her, trying her hardest to keep her gray eyes on anything but the letter in Anne's hands- the drifts of hard, packed snow, bare ground, the bright blue sky, the train that grew smaller every second.
After only a moment, Anne's face burst into a wide grin. "Emma!" she cried.
"Yes?"
Anne didn't answer, she only kept on reading the words with an enthralled expression, drinking them up like cold water on a hot day.
Emma still didn't dare look, although it itched and ate at her. She was dying to know what the letter that lit up her sister's face said, and, though she tried not to, sneaked a peak.
Dear Anne, it read.
Emma stopped reading, for a reason she didn't fully know, and continued walking.
*****
Anne could almost be certain that her heart was beating loud enough for Emma to hear, even over the blowing of the winter wind as it swept across the hard, snow- dusted ground. Of all the things that Emma normally brought home, a letter was common. But a letter from him? It was absolutely unheard of! She hadn't even known he still remembered her, or that he was in Denver...
When she got home, the first thing she did was clean. The house wasn't dirty- it hardly ever was- but this letter's arrival called for it. She swept the floor and dusted, thrust a soapy rag in Mary's hand, and told her to wash the windows. White soap flecks flicked across Mary's face as Anne quickly turned on her heel and went about her work, humming softly.
"This is ridiculous, Anne! What on Earth has gotten into you?!" Mary hadn't moved as she posed the question, suds dripping rhythmically from a corner of the cloth.
"That's not relevant." Anne went on sweeping the pine boards. "Just... the house is filthy! Certainly not fit for company!"
"We never have company!"
"We will tomorrow."
Mary narrowed her eyes at Anne's back. "How do you mean, we'll be having company tomorrow?" Her eyes glanced around in what was an almost sarcastic manner. Â "Nobody's sent a letter, now, have they...?" She let her sentence trail off as she found the folded letter where Anne had tossed it on the table, and opened it.
Mary had nowhere near the self control that Emma did, especially when it came to letters. Looking at her industrial younger sister once more to see if she was watching, then turned her eyes back to the letter in her hand.
Dear Anne-
I am sorry that it has taken the better part of six years or so to find you again. I hope that you remember me! It is Charles O' Flaherty, your friend from Galway.
Just a few months ago, in late October, we decided that we needed to go back to Galway. It was indeed a rude shock to find you gone! We found out that you had come to America a while after we ourselves came over. Until then we had had no idea as to what had happened to you all.
Mary gasped, but Anne had left the room. She continued on, unable to pull away.
Because Mum still is so ill, we had a kindly tip that the air in Colorado Territory was simply meant to help heal people like her. So we pinched our pennies for a few more weeks and got ourselves here.
Now we are staying at the boardinghouse that the Norris's run. In passing one day, we ran into who else but your brother Iain! We found that he had married the older daughter of the Norris's, but I am sure that you know that, and I need not bore you with such talk.
Iain was very glad to see us, and said that he and Katherine were due for a visit as well, so on Saturday we shall arrive with Iain at your farm. I can hardly wait! Aisling, Rose, Mum, and Iona all send their love with this letter. I can only hope that it reaches you before we do.
Charles O'Flaherty.
*****
Later, Mary collapsed onto the rocking chair by the fire. Anne had gone with Emma out to the barn to finish the chores, and the Jones girls were in bed, so she had a brief moment of beautiful, peaceful solitude. It was likely to be the last, what with the O'Flaherty's visit the next day and all.
She looked out the window towards the tree' covered hills, watching frost start to form ever so slowly on the glass pane. It was just a little white fringe on edge the black, bubbled glass. Hardly significant. She felt that way sometimes- it was true that she had turned over control of the farm to Anne and Emma a few months back, but she longed now to feel important. Mary felt like she was that little white fringe: on the edge, not noticed. She was twenty years old, for heaven's sake, and still unmarried, living with her two sisters and three 'adopted' girls. No old and long- lost friends sent her letters! Nobody she had been truly friends with was coming to visit her! It was Anne, all Anne, and there was nothing she could do about it. Everyone liked Anne; Anne made everyone happy. Nobody would do anything to hurt her. Mary envied the thief as well as hated him- or was it a her?- because they had the courage to hurt her sister. Yes, she loved Anne, but envied her. She was always so -positively positive. It was almost sickening. And the fact that she actually liked to get up before the sunrise? It was too good of an example to like!
She turned from the dark window and pulled the curtain shut, sighing. It simply wouldn't do to complain about what her life's lot was, now would it?
*****
Anne didn't have a single clue that Mary had read the letter from Charles. When she came back inside, Mary had been diligently scrubbing windows and the letter had not been moved from is spot on the table. The satisfaction of seeing Mary doing what was actually deemed 'woman's work' wiped away everything else for a moment.
Anne intended the visit of the old friends and Iain to be a surprise. Of course that stupid hint about having company she had dropped to Mary had given that away, but nobody else knew about that. They just assumed it was one of Anne's occasional fits, where everything had to be absolutely perfect and woe be unto you if it wasn't! Besides, Mary still didn't have any knowledge as to who the mysterious visitors would be. At least, Anne hoped that her older sister didn't.
She turned her face towards the dark glass. A slim crescent moon peeped through the glass and its impurities.
"I suppose that I'll just have to wait and see," she whispered to herself, lifting up the covers on her bed and slipping in. She would need her wits about her tomorrow. After all, she and Rose O'Flaherty had never really gotten on well.
HELLO!
It seems like it has been forever since we last got to talk. I guess it has. In honor of St. Patrick's day I guess I had to update for my Irish characters.
Anyways, I hope that you will all stick around. There's only a few more chapters left, but I'm really excited to write them!
Salutations,
Megan