Member-only story
The Letter
Passed down for generations, a family’s history beckons to be known
Leggy geraniums splashed their red against the window. Through its panes, May watched streams of students, like bees winging to flowers, crisscross the University green. Ornate sandstone and limestone buildings ringed the oval lawn. Silent, sitting on a hard wooden chair at the end of the professor desk, she waited. With a start, she realized she’d been holding her breath.
Professor James T. Schmidt, Ph.D., French dialect expert, riffled through the papers in her shoebox with the precision and care of an archeologist. Every so often, he’d grunt “huh” or “lookey here.” Finally he’d culled out a stack of letters and placed them on the desk. He left the other ephemera in the box.
May was counting on the man to help solve her family’s decades-old mystery: what did the letters say? Since childhood, she had imagined flowery words of devotion, yearning — and even — lust. Now she would find out.
Her eyes scanned the academic’s walls, soaking in Professor Schmidt’s taste. A 1930s poster touted Valdosta skiing. A swatch of exuberant lace, framed, eyebrowed the bookshelves across from her. Below it perched a carved wood figurine of a girl carrying a basket of eggs. The aroma of old books scented the air. Somehow it felt familiar.
