Dearest Pal

Dearest Pal

The morning sun streamed through the window and illuminated the dust particles floating in the air. The house, deserted by its inhabitants, settled into a quiet emptiness as the steady tick of the clock magnified the lonely stillness throughout the house. Janet, relieved in the rare gift of solitude, settled into her favorite chair and heaved a sigh of relief. Silence permeated the room and her thoughts wandered back to another time. She thought of the antique cedar box hidden deep in the back of the closet. She rose from her chair, walked to the closet, and opened the door. She reached for the short stool in the corner and stood upon it. Janet stretched her arm deep inside the top shelf of the closet until she felt the outline of the cedar box and secured it in her arms.

Seated once again in the chair, she placed it in her lap and opened the lid. A faint musty smell escaped the box and the yellowed letters lay before her. Quite early in life, Janet had suffered the loss of her mother and grew up alone in the care of her maternal grandparents. She had never known her father and his whereabouts remained a mystery. The antique cedar box came into her possession upon her mother’s death and contained all she knew about him. She never shared the letters or revealed their existence to anyone but chose instead to keep them a secret, as if by doing so, she might hold their message captive forever.

She reached inside the box and lifted the letters out and held them close to her cheek for a brief time as if embracing an old friend. She untied the blue ribbon that bound them and slipped the first letter from its envelope as a few pieces of the brittle paper fell into her lap. Her eyes traveled to the top corner of the letter and the familiar words

                                                                           Leslie, South Carolina

                                                                           August 22, 1934

                                                                          Tuesday morning

Dearest Pal.........      

Nineteen thirty -four proved a hard year for most families. The country, in a depression since nineteen twenty- nine, offered few jobs or opportunities. Weary in its struggle, the country looked to the government for a respite from its troubles. In the small textile towns of the South, countless families eked out a living and prayed for better times. Virginia Dare Nivens was one of four members of such a family.

Virginia roused early from her sleep on this August morning in 1934. The day broke hot and humid. The temperature in the room, already oppressive, gave an uncomfortable preview of the day ahead. A faint fragrance of honeysuckle wafted through the open window.