[Letter] 14th November, 2520

Dearest Daniel,

I cannot find it credible that it has been fifteen years to the day since we last laid eyes on you. I do not think that, had I known what I know now, I would have hustled you on your way quite so efficiently that morning. I know Maire is the one with the reputation for being the organiser in our family, but it was me, was it not, who fretted over you at breakfast and who carried your pack on down to the turnpike, chattering at you all the way like a magpie. I recall now that you were sombre and quiet, walking down our willowed lane with me. Mayhap you felt somewhat of the future; and mayhap it scared you some. I do believe I was caught far too deeply in jealousy of your impending freedom to ever imagine what that freedom might cost us all.


I have spent the past few months tangled up a messy kind of business, and it was only when I received a particularly curt wave from Mother that I was reminded of this loathesome anniversary. I think you can imagine Mother's reaction to my temporary loss of memory. I do fervently hope yours isn't going to be similar in tone - not that I have ever expected you to react like Mother to anything, least of all your sister's all-too characteristic lapses. Perhaps you also know your sister well enough to know how deeply she is cursing herself, Daniel, for letting your memory fade. I never did believe it when they insisted so strongly that time heals, but now I must confess that they were right. I am not sure that I like that they were right, but there it is. And although Lottie would probably have told me that it isn't what or when you remember that's important, rather how, I do feel that there is something honest to the rawness of recent loss. Now, with so much time between you and me, I feel your memory as slightly fuzzy and the honesty of it is gone. I see you, my dearest brother, as though through the bottom of a glass or beneath a weight of water. Your edges are all blurred, and I don't know if what I recall of you is truth or merely fondest imagining. Did we fish down by the creek under blue skies all that summer, or just the odd day? Did you chase me all round the chicken coops for borrowing your second best reel, or did I flee there in fear of your temper? I find I no longer know.

Ah, Daniel. How is it that neither you nor Lottie are here to set me in the right direction? I do find myself in a curious position at present - one I could use your counsel on were you still here to give it. I am engaged as a deck hand on a cargo transport. The work is not difficult - much like working for Father back when we were young, all hauling things around, cleaning up, and other odd jobs - and I must confess that I find it entirely to my taste. The folk I'm mingling with are our kind of folk. Tenacious, and bent on clinging tight to what they have acquired. Mostly that seems to be each other, as far as I can tell it. I expect you can relate to that, Daniel. I know I can. My quandary is tied up with the business I mentioned earlier - the business that distracted me from you - and in particular what is going to happen when that business comes crashing headlong into my life aboard the Grace. More to the point, the lives of everyone else aboard the Grace. I find myself caring about these folk in a way perhaps you can understand, Daniel, and I do not want to embroil them in the difficulties of a business deal gone wrong. That said, neither do I want to leave.

I really should sign off now. It is getting late and the smell of whatever it is that Josephine is cooking for supper is wafting out from the Commons in an enticing manner. Honestly, she's a rival for Mother or for Maire in her cullinary skills. And Daniel, I expect if I think on my quandary long enough and hard enough an answer will present itself.

Be well, big brother, wherever you are.