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Friday Fiction – The Letter


This is part of a continuing story that I’ve been writing. I hope you enjoy.


“I wasn’t expecting you to still be here, you know. I thought you would have gone back to the city by now. I wish you would have called. Would you like another cup of tea?”


“This letter doesn’t have your name on it.”


“Are you going to open it?”


“Oh come on Linda, can’t you say anything besides ‘No’ today?”

“I don’t know… I..I ..don’t really care… do we have to talk, Sarah?”

“Well, if that’s what you want. I’ll just go over here and clean up a little. That’s what I came to do anyway.”

“You really don’t have to. I’ll get around to it.”

“Lin, it has been three weeks now since the funeral. All you have done is lock yourself in this house. It doesn’t even look like you have taken a shower.”

“I’ve washed. I used the sink. You know I can’t get in that tub! Not after Mother kill….”

“Oh, Lin. Come here.  Shhh… Shhhh….  That wasn’t your fault! How could it be? You were only 6 at the time.”

“Dad thought it was. He used to call me Rose, you know. His little Rose.”

“Now why would you say a thing like that? Your name is Roselind, after all, and you wanted to go by Linda.”

“Yes, but Rose was his name for me… just his… and… I ..I liked him to call me that.”

“Did you ever tell him?”

“He knew, it was … like a secret code we had. Until Mom….. Then he turned against me. I know he blamed me.”

“Really Linda? I can’t see Harold as that kind of a man. I know he loved you!

“I always thought so. And now, after the Will was read, I’m even more convinced.”

“Why? What was in the Will?”

“My brothers got everything! All three houses! For the two of them! Why wasn’t I left a house? Where am I to live now? The land too. It’s all theirs. The farm, the equipment, everything!”

“Can you contest it?”

“No. I was left a few things: That old grandfather clock, some old roman coins, Dad’s Lionel O gauge train set and a few other things. As long as I was left something, I can’t contest the will.”

“And the letter, don’t forget that. You should open it. It might explain a thing or two.”

“This Letter? Ha! Dad didn’t write this, Sarah. Look how old it is. The paper is yellowed. There is even a tear in the back where it looks like someone tried to open it.”

“Let me see…. Could be. Do you think it has been read before?”

“Not sure if I care.”

“Don’t give me that! Your eyes haven’t left it. I know you. I know you’re curious.”

“Fine.. I’ll open it.”

“It looks awful smudged…. Are those tear stains? What does it say?”

“I… I don’t know.. I mean… I don’t understand. It’s not even for me. It’s for some girl named Karlie.”

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