17.9.1798

"Dear Laurence,

I'm really glad at the moment. Glad that the workers are gone. Glad that most of the neighbours are dead so they can't hurt anyone. Glad that I haven't heard any new terrible news. Maybe I shouldn't be so happy about lives ended, but at least dead men do no wrong and nobody needs more wrong in such times. You were right, I think. I mean, you were the one who said that animals could be guilty of all these deaths. I can't say for sure, but with each person that dies, it seems to make more and more sense, and I can't think of any other reason why any of this could have happened.

I've already told you that I haven't heard any terrible news, but I have heard good ones, even if ten more deaths or even more are probably nothing to be glad about. But every less danger for you brings the future that I have always wanted closer and closer and as you said, life doesn't count at all in these times. We only have a few contacts with other farms and only with those who have not bought these animals. Personally, I would like to cut all contact with other farms, but I have yet to find someone to marry my sisters - I will tell you more later, there is too much new information for me to put into one sentence - so we cannot isolate ourselves in this little farm. 

What might have happened to you during this time? I can't imagine what you could do now. I have never thought about how to find a job or something to eat. I don't think it can be hard for you, but it still seems so unreal, as if something such as this couldn't happen to people like us. I mean, this isn't the life we were meant to live, and a person such as yourself should never live in such a terrible town. I know there's nothing you or I can do about it, but I feel like in a dream I can't wake up from. Tell me everything as soon as you receive my letter. I have nothing to do and listening to other people's problems is as boring as nothing else.

Maybe now I have time to tell you the less important things. Life is going on as usual and most people don't even seem to be interested in you any more. It is the same problem as always with my sisters. Each of them thinks they have more important problems than me, and they don't even know when I am pretending to listen again, mostly without knowing what they are saying. 

Cecily is still away from home. You know she hasn't been able to come to our farm as much since she got married, even though I no longer enjoy it since this illness started. But her husband isn't a farmer, so he probably wouldn't have bought those devious animals, so they are probably alright. Maybe it is also better that she stayed with her family instead of returning to us like Julia did. I would have been annoyed by her after just a few hours - I mean, missing her for a whole year is awful, but seeing her every day is even worse - and of course there would have been one more person who would have thought the world was going to end forever just because of this disease in a short time. 

Julia came home two days ago. I can't believe it and I don't want to. Leaving her husband alone just because an old worker dies - they didn't even have the animals themselves and no one has ever died from a little gift from the neighbours - is the silliest idea I can think of when it comes to Julia. I've never seen her in such a panic, she hasn't been herself since those two days and you know how well she can usually control herself. Maybe we are all not ourselves at the moment - but she's still the worst! A woman who leaves her husband to save her own life - or to put it in her own dramatic words: to die close to her beloved family - will never marry a second time. And being a widow at her young age is not something you should - it seems so caring as I write, I can't even bear those sweet words - but - you probably knew there would be a but - I can't live next to her until you come back either, no matter if it might only be a few weeks. I don't want to do anything I might regret in a few years, but every day I spend in this house with my sisters brings me closer and closer to that. 

What a life - yet again someone complaining about something I don't know - that will never be quiet. I am going to be mad if this goes on! I will either find a quiet place to write or I won't be able to write to you as often as I would like to with someone interrupting my thoughts by shouting every minute. Since Julia got married in such a horrible area where she has lived with all these workers from an even more horrible place since she got married, she has far more insults in her vocabulary than I have learnt from you, and that means something because I have never known a person who has as many insults in their vocabulary as you do. 

One last thing before I stop writing until I find a quieter place - Luise may find a husband soon. I mean, she is still young, but she can't stay young forever - she doesn't have to wait for me, I told her - so if she gets married in the near future, it's best for everyone. Maybe we have found someone for her. It is one of our last contacts, but he seems nice and not sick and there is no better opportunity until this disease is over and I don't want her to wait until all the people are dead. It may take a long time - I mean, I feel sorry for some of them, don't think I mean your parents - until they are all dead, and I don't want another year to go by with another sister in the house. If anyone else arrives, I will have to share my room!

So this is my second letter to you. When will yours arrive? I don't know. Hopefully soon. I can't stay here forever, because when we meet again I am going to be completely mad.

Until then, dear Laurence.

With eternal love

Yours

Cathleen Lorington to be soon Edevan" 

The quill slipped out of her hand and she leaned back, breathing heavily. Inside, she felt like she had never felt before. What had happened? What was going to happen? What was this strange feeling she was trying to ignore even though she couldn't? Could it be fear? But why should she be afraid after all these years? She had a lot of reasons, but she didn't want to accept them. People died - but why should she care about people she didn't know? Her life was changing - but why should she care about change if she couldn't forbid it? Laurence Edevan might not come back - but why should she think that when he had survived so many things? Maybe she wouldn't survive the next few months either - but that was the last thing she wanted to think about.

She placed her hands on the table and looked through the window. Everything was as it had always been. Gray clouds and behind them the light blue sky. High-spoken voices chattered in the house, one louder than the other. A large room with floral wallpaper, an old desk with carvings and lots of paper, a quill, a few books and a small mirror on top. Wherever she looked, whatever she heard and felt - everything was just as it had been years ago. There was no logical reason to be afraid of the future, and yet she was afraid. Her heart was trembling, and the reason she didn't want to write was not because it was too loud - it was already more familiar to her than a completely silent house - but because she didn't know what to say. 

She tried to convince herself that the danger was only lurking in her head and not outside, but unfortunately she didn't know how close the danger was to her. One wrong step and she could be lost forever. Did she even have a chance? Maybe she did. But she was still in more danger than her beloved Laurence, for he knew what to be afraid of, and she was running through the darkness straight into the arms of death.

Sometimes a step can save a life and sometimes a step can cost one---