“That’s enough ancient history.”
Owen looked at me.
I shook my head slightly.
For once, he understood.
Mrs. Parker returned to the table.
Then, almost abruptly, she picked up the envelope.
“Perhaps fifty-two years is long enough.”
Owen straightened.
She slid one finger beneath the flap.
The paper opened with a soft tearing sound.
Inside were three handwritten pages.
Mrs. Parker unfolded the first.
Her eyes moved across the lines.
Then stopped.
She read the first paragraph again.
“What?” Owen asked.
She didn’t answer.
“What does it say?”
Mrs. Parker looked at Daniel’s father’s handwriting as though she didn’t trust it.
Finally she read aloud.
“Eleanor, if this reaches you, then someone has finally corrected a mistake I should have corrected myself.”
Owen’s expression changed.
Mrs. Parker continued.
“I learned years too late that some of my letters to you never arrived.”
She stopped.
The kitchen felt suddenly smaller.
She read silently for several moments.
