Samuel nodded.
“I believe so.”
“I haven’t seen this since I was nineteen.”
I opened it.
Letters.
Stacks of them.
Bundles tied with string.
Every envelope had my name.
Some had addresses crossed out.
Some had stamps.
Some had been opened.
Some had never been mailed.
I picked up the oldest.
July 8, 1970.
Three days after Walter disappeared.
My hands started shaking.
I opened it.
Margaret,
I didn’t write the note you found.
I sat down hard.
Samuel moved toward me.
“I’m fine.”
I was not.
I continued.
My father found out about us leaving for Cincinnati. He told me there was no apprenticeship waiting anymore and that if I stayed, he would make sure your father lost his position at the plant. I thought he was bluffing. Mom said he wasn’t.
I stared at the page.
Walter and I had planned to leave Bellweather after graduation.
He had been offered an apprenticeship with an engineering firm.
