"Don't die," I said.
I was not good!
My name is Esther. My mother used to say it meant all things clean and pure and white.
Too bad. Until I sewed for the French soldiers I never knew what longings were.
I am thirty-three.
I left my bundle at headquarters. I took out no more work, though they asked me to.
I went back to my lonely house upon the hill with heavy steps, with heavier heart.
And no one in all that little humdrum town, spread over peaceful hills, a wide sea away from wars,
Guessed that in their midst there lay awake that night, restless, alert,
A war-bride!
I put my name and address inside the pink Canton-flannel pocket.
Many of the women do that.
I didn't expect an answer.
And when it came last week, three months after I had left my bundle at headquarters, I wasn't prepared.
My cheeks flamed hot before the mailman,
