We stayed at the lake until late afternoon. Then, somewhat reluctantly, we headed back to camp so Myth could prepare our dinner.
As she worked, I sat cross-legged by the fire. A log, my makeshift table, was just in front of me. A sheet of parchment rested on the log. And my quill was in my hand.
I studied the parchment. Upon it was the unfinished letter to Auntie Julie that I had written the previous evening.
What should I say next? I wondered.
Tap, tap, tap went my quill against the parchment.
I usually had no trouble composing letters to Auntie Julie.
Tap, tap, tap.
Indeed, the biggest fault with my letters was that I put too much information in them. I had trouble telling between which details would interest Auntie Julie and which ones only interested me.
Tap, tap, tap.
Why can’t I finish this dratted letter?
Tap—I glanced at Myth. She was humming, a small smile on her lips, as she cut up some carrots.
I thought about how homesick Myth had seemed when she had been talking about her parents.
Tap, tap, tap.
Four months have passed since Myth last heard from them, I told myself.
Tap, tap, tap.
Meanwhile, I write to Auntie Julie every week. And Auntie sends a package to me at least once a month.
Tap, tap, tap.
Maybe I can help Myth.
Tap, tap, tap.
But Myth is worried that Lord Falkirk will hurt her parents if he learns they are in contact with her. She will be mad at me—and rightfully so—if I disregard her wishes on this occasion. It is, after all, none of my business.
Tap, tap, tap.
But Myth misses them so much.
Tap, tap—
“You’re going to poke a hole in that parchment if you keep tapping it,” Myth said to me.
I set down my quill. “Sorry. I can’t think of what to write next.”
“Izzy MacDonald is at a loss for words,” replied Myth. “That’s a first.”
I placed my elbows on the log and held my chin with my palms. “Yes, well, now you can tell everyone that you’ve witnessed the impossible.”
Myth chuckled. Then she focused her attention upon her cooking.
I watched her for a moment, my mind whirling with thoughts. There has to be a way for Myth to contact her parents safely. But how?
I glanced at my unfinished letter. Of course—Auntie Julie! If anyone can think of a way to help Myth, she can.
I picked up my quill, dipped it in my inkwell, and finished my letter without another tap, tap, tap. I told Auntie Julie how homesick Myth was. And I mentioned Lord Falkirk. To close, I asked my auntie if she would send a letter from me to Myth’s parents. But only if she were absolutely certain that it would reach them safely.
My letter completed, I set it aside to let the ink dry. Taking an unsoiled sheet of parchment, I placed it on the log. Now, what should I say to Myth’s parents?
Tap, tap, tap went the side of my quill against my cheek.
Obviously, I should tell them that Myth is alive and well.
Tap, tap, tap.
And I should introduce myself, since they have never met me.
Tap, tap, tap.
Keep it short, Izzy. Hopefully, this letter will allow Myth to write to her parents safely. She should be the one to tell them about our travels—not me.
Tap, tap, tap.
Oh, and I should not mention where we are, just to be safe.
With all that decided, I took my quill and began writing:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Larkspur,
My name is Izzy MacDonald, and I live in the Holding Dusk. Oh, that’s not important. You don’t even know me, so why would you care about where I live? I’m rambling, aren’t I? You probably think I’m touched in the head. Oh! How embarrassing!
Anyway, for the last four months I have been travelling with your daughter, Myth. Oh, I’m sorry—I mean Mythilda. Myth is my nickname for her. You see, Myth wasn’t keen on travelling with me at first. But I followed her anyway. She ignored me for a while, hoping I’d go away. But I—I’m rambling again. And you probably think that I’m stalking your daughter. Oh, Izzy, you fool!
I’m making a mess of this. That’s because I’m nervous. Myth—Mythilda—doesn’t know I’m writing this letter. I think she will be upset with me when she finds out. But I just had to write to you. Myth—Mythilda—misses both of you terribly. But she’s too afraid of Lord Falkirk to write to you herself.
Fortunately, my auntie, Julie MacDonald, is a Knowledge Dealer in Dusk. And she is such a clever woman! I’m certain she will be able to arrange a safe way for you and Myth—Mythilda—to write to each other.
I know that Myth… Is it okay if I just stick with Myth? Writing both Myth and Mythilda is confusing me.
As I was writing before I interrupted myself, I know that Myth would love to hear from you. It would mean the world to her. She’s healthy and safe, I promise. And we are having such a great time together. But as I mentioned, she misses you.
Oh, I suppose I should provide some proof that I am traveling with your daughter. Well, let’s see… Oh, I know! Mr. Larkspur, your special name for Myth is “my girl.” And you and Mrs. Larkspur have always dreamed of building a cottage in the woods. But it’s probably best if you don’t buy another goat, Mr. Larkspur.
Warmest Regards,
Izzy MacDonald
I set down my quill and studied the letter. It certainly was not my finest writing effort, but it said what needed to be said.
Now all I had to do was find a courier to deliver both letters to Auntie Julie so she could take charge.
I glanced at Myth. How mad will she be when she learns that I wrote this letter?
That doesn’t matter, I told myself. Myth deserves to hear from her loved ones. And I will make that happen—no matter what.