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ELEVEN

MAVERICK

Seattle, June 21, 1952

Dear Cass,

How it thrilled me to find your letter on my doorstep. I had hopes but no expectations for it, so it was the best of surprises. Especially to learn you’d thought of me too.

I’m doing well, thank you kindly. I’ve been home in my mama’s care for over a month now and can walk without much trouble if I take it nice and easy. Books are my trusty companions, and I have recently finished both Orwell’s 1984, which was one grim tale, and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn upon my mama’s suggestion—a far more heartening story. I was just pondering what next to read when your letter arrived, and I instantly knew it would have to be Mr. Dickens’ Great Expectations . Perhaps you thought I wasn’t aware of you reading it aloud by my bedside, but I was and cherished daily your fine storytelling. I will need to start from the beginning but am truly eager to do so. Have you finished it? If you have, don’t tell me how it ends.

I was mighty impressed by your account of the work you have been doing lately in the surgery. Do you plan to continue in nursing once you’re back home? (God willing, always.) It is a noble calling, what you do, and I reckon I am not the only one who owes you a debt of gratitude. As I regain my strength, I find myself contemplating what to do next. Mama wants me to return to school, but I don’t know if that’s for me. I used to have these big lofty goals, but now I would simply like to make a difference like you, be part of a community, and make enough to support a family of my own one day. Do you find that the war has changed your dreams too? If you don’t mind my asking.

I keep an eye on the news from the front whenever possible and pray for the safe return of you and all the others over yonder. If I could, I’d go back, but since that’s not in the cards, I place my trust in God to watch over you. Will you write to me again? Nothing would make me happier.

Yours sincerely,

Maverick