Jean took the train into the city. She traveled with only her small bag, two coins in her pocket, and Ginny’s last letter tucked away in her coat. She waved goodbye to her mother and fiancé from the train window. Jean loved him but wasn’t going to marry him until she came back.
The doctor was allowing Jean to stay with him. Jean was his sister now and a visitor to Alna City—it would have been unmannered to do otherwise. His apartment—the one he had shared with Ginny—was in a nice area, an area so nice it almost scared Jean off. But it didn’t. Adjusting her old, faded headscarf and holding it steady, she walked the street with her head held high, even nodding at a man who tipped his hat to her. She called the room. A maid let her in, guiding her to a parlor.
The doctor, Dr. Richard Templeton, was seated in an armchair. He rose to greet her.
“Miss Cheken.”
She nodded. “Doctor.”
“Please have a seat.”
He was the most unremarkable man Jean had ever seen. He wasn’t attractive or ugly, just completely indistinguishable; Jean was glad he hadn’t been her betrothed. She wouldn’t have been able to pick him out from the groomsmen at the altar. He welcomed her, surprised she had had arrived so soon, asked if her trip had gone well. It had, very well. He was polite seeming enough.
“Miss Cheken, I am sorry we meet under such unfortunate circumstances.”
“Yes. Do you have the obituary?”
He pulled the newspaper clipping out of a nearby drawer.
Ginny’s obituary.
Jean took it. He had taken out a quarter page, most of it taken up by a photo of Ginny in her wedding dress, flowers in her hair. She was smiling. She was beautiful. Jean almost cried out.
“Her loss has been hard for me,” the doctor said, “but, it must, undoubtedly, be harder for you. I will provide anything you or your family need.” He sounded sad enough.
“How did Ginny die?” Whatever her feelings, Jean wasn’t going to expose them here.
“I don’t know. She went into the West Quarter and disappeared. I spent months doing everything I could to find her, but she is, ah, lost to us.”
Lost.
“If there’s nothing else you would like to discuss, the maid will show you to your room.”
There was. “I’m grateful for letting me stay with you,” Jean said but continued, asking, “Would I be able to use your car?”
He is surprised.
“I mean, would you be kind enough to take me back to the station when I leave Alna City?”
“You are free to use the car as you’d like, as Virginia did.” He knows what she’s asking. “I don’t know how much we’ll see of each other, but I hope you enjoy your time in the city, as much as you’re able to.”
“Yes.”
He called the maid to show Jean out.
Ginny dead. The thought was unbearable. So, Jean doesn’t think about it—doesn’t even believe it. Seeing reminders of Ginny, knowing she may have already arrived too late, is hard, but Jean has her sister’s last letter. The letter is dated after Ginny’s disappearance in the newspaper. There hadn’t been a letter for months until this one arrived, wrinkled and dirty, address and stamp on the outside of the folder paper as there was no envelope. There was also no name or sender information, but Jean recognized Ginny’s handwriting. How could she not.
Jean knows her sister is alive. She will find her.
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Mrs. Richard Templeton (5), Set #1 - Large Straight
Date: 2020-03-28 06:50 pm (UTC)The doctor was allowing Jean to stay with him. Jean was his sister now and a visitor to Alna City—it would have been unmannered to do otherwise. His apartment—the one he had shared with Ginny—was in a nice area, an area so nice it almost scared Jean off. But it didn’t. Adjusting her old, faded headscarf and holding it steady, she walked the street with her head held high, even nodding at a man who tipped his hat to her. She called the room. A maid let her in, guiding her to a parlor.
The doctor, Dr. Richard Templeton, was seated in an armchair. He rose to greet her.
“Miss Cheken.”
She nodded. “Doctor.”
“Please have a seat.”
He was the most unremarkable man Jean had ever seen. He wasn’t attractive or ugly, just completely indistinguishable; Jean was glad he hadn’t been her betrothed. She wouldn’t have been able to pick him out from the groomsmen at the altar. He welcomed her, surprised she had had arrived so soon, asked if her trip had gone well. It had, very well. He was polite seeming enough.
“Miss Cheken, I am sorry we meet under such unfortunate circumstances.”
“Yes. Do you have the obituary?”
He pulled the newspaper clipping out of a nearby drawer.
Ginny’s obituary.
Jean took it. He had taken out a quarter page, most of it taken up by a photo of Ginny in her wedding dress, flowers in her hair. She was smiling. She was beautiful. Jean almost cried out.
“Her loss has been hard for me,” the doctor said, “but, it must, undoubtedly, be harder for you. I will provide anything you or your family need.” He sounded sad enough.
“How did Ginny die?” Whatever her feelings, Jean wasn’t going to expose them here.
“I don’t know. She went into the West Quarter and disappeared. I spent months doing everything I could to find her, but she is, ah, lost to us.”
Lost.
“If there’s nothing else you would like to discuss, the maid will show you to your room.”
There was. “I’m grateful for letting me stay with you,” Jean said but continued, asking, “Would I be able to use your car?”
He is surprised.
“I mean, would you be kind enough to take me back to the station when I leave Alna City?”
“You are free to use the car as you’d like, as Virginia did.” He knows what she’s asking. “I don’t know how much we’ll see of each other, but I hope you enjoy your time in the city, as much as you’re able to.”
“Yes.”
He called the maid to show Jean out.
Ginny dead. The thought was unbearable. So, Jean doesn’t think about it—doesn’t even believe it. Seeing reminders of Ginny, knowing she may have already arrived too late, is hard, but Jean has her sister’s last letter. The letter is dated after Ginny’s disappearance in the newspaper. There hadn’t been a letter for months until this one arrived, wrinkled and dirty, address and stamp on the outside of the folder paper as there was no envelope. There was also no name or sender information, but Jean recognized Ginny’s handwriting. How could she not.
Jean knows her sister is alive. She will find her.