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To the wind in my sails, Helena,
I hope you have been well. Has your fever gone down? If you’ve returned to classes, as you said, I can only hope you are feeling better.
I must apologize for the delay in my letters of late. It seemed at the academy we had little time but more than enough fervor for such endeavors - now that we find ourselves on the front lines, we spend our days awaiting orders and our nights straining to hear sounds of ambush, and I struggle to conjure enthusiasm even for the most enjoyable of tasks.
I must admit my hesitation still stands…though I realize, someday, you may hear these things from someone far less discreet than myself. I realize, too, that perhaps I have been lacking in the arena of honesty. This is a blunder I don’t intend to repeat, though I pray you don’t think differently of me for what I have accomplished myself.
When we were first assigned to this company I remember a collective disappointment spread quickly across base. Fresh graduates, we were anxious to take to the skies and make a difference. I wish, now, that we had known better than to hope for such a despicable thing.
Helena’s breath is bated as Vera turns the page. Martha had reassured her, over and over again, that she was certain the military was her place. Just how long have Martha’s reassurances been made out of necessity rather than true devotion?
Vera clears her throat, the already-wrinkled pages crinkling at her fingertips.
We had thought our ambitions were fulfilled when we finally stepped into the combat zone - if only I could go back to that time when we tip-toed around the barracks with bated breath, before anticipation petered out and the nightmares began. Flying over a battlefield is nothing like flying at the academy; I understand now. This war is no place for humanity, and yet somehow we intend to end it.
Surely one side will reach a breaking point. I can only hope it isn’t ours.
I’m quite sorry for my reluctance to clear the air between us. I had wanted to preserve your idea of me; whatever Martha you fell in love with years ago is surely better for you than I who writes this letter to you now, but…I fear that girl is no longer. I hope you can forgive me.
Please reply at your earliest convenience, else I may assume the worst and abandon my post at risk of dishonorable dischargement.
Affectionately yours,
Martha
Helena finally leans back against the too-soft sofa cushions, a grim tilt to her lips. Vera is unusually silent, shifting quietly in her own seat as the letter travels from her hand to the desk. She takes a page of stationery bordered by myrtle from the drawer at her side, and pulls the quill and ink closer, but one look at Helena’s forlorn expression turns her confidence to doubt.
“If you’re not ready-” Vera starts, but Helena is already clearing her throat, her expression falling neutral again. She nods to Vera, who quickly turns her attention to the page.
My dearest Martha,
I have been faring well, thank you for inquiring. I merely caught a fever; the same my father brought home from the presses. Equivocally, how is your appetite? I seem to recall your rations tasted of ‘provisions for rats' and were hardly edible. It is my hope that you may find a suitable meal for your refined palate.
If it pleases you to know I place no blame against you, then know it is the truth. There is no one else for which I would prefer to wait, no other woman I find more worthy of my attention. Yours is the only time I seek to spend.
All the same I understand your devotion to such a cause is unyielding; one demands a strong will to pledge allegiance and an even stronger mind to honor such an oath. There may be no joy in discovering the truth…even so, you move already toward the resolution. Above all else, I have faith in your stubborn heart.
It is my deepest regret that I may not be a sturdier pillar for you in such a place, though I’m certain if any soul were to lose themself amidst the tides of war, you would be sturdy and steadfast as ever. Nonetheless, if the day in which you are in need does arrive, I pray you may turn to me for whatever support I can afford you.
I am grateful, though it may be a topic of discomfort, that you could grant me such a privilege as your trust. Were it possible I would think more of you for it - alas, my admiration for you already overflows, and I find myself oh-so eager to be worthy of standing at your side.
If I must, I will wait a hundred years so you may finally return to me. Make haste, and may strong winds bring you home.
Until then,
Helena
Martha's fingers dance along the page, retracing pen strokes laid in neat script. For so long she had hidden from Helena, believing the truth to be irreconcilable; yet again she’s been proven wrong.
Her elbows press against the desk, illuminated by lantern light below one of many windows. A breeze flows through constant and warm, and threatens to ruffle the myrtle-lined stationery despite Martha’s firm grip. At her back her colleagues turn over and shuffle in a fitful sleep.
Invigorated by a nauseating mixture of gratification and anxiety, Martha shuffles her own loose leaf to the top of the pile and takes her pen between steady fingers.
My Helena,
If I may be so candid, never have I feared more the opening of an envelope. I write to you beneath a half-moon - had I tried any longer to set my unease aside, I may have lost my mind. If only I could properly express the relief your reply brings my ‘stubborn heart’.
We are scheduled for a flight at dawn, one that will bring us to the heart of it all. I still carry the favor you gifted me when I left for the academy - tomorrow, I will carry it again despite the ache that settles in my chest when I think of home.
I believe there are parts of us we leave at the barracks when we fly, the parts of us that carry joy and shoulder sorrow; I worry that we may leave these pieces of us behind when we return once and for all. If you could accept me then…surely I can find my way back to you.
I hope to bring news of my return with haste. When we next meet, I will not dally in regards to affairs of the heart. Wear your best dress, and come bearing a smile. That is all I could ask of you.
Your dedicated admirer,
Martha Behamfil