Where in the World is Beauregard Dasher?

Cat’s P.O.V.

Who would have thought a crinkled piece of paper would be such a gem of a treasure. In the midst of this intense war, it’s at least a brief relief to see this ink across the page as proof of the beat of his heart.

Beau can never tell me much but that he’s on “official government business” that has something to do with greatly improving our country’s chances of emerging from this war victorious. I admire him for being so brave and dedicated to his home, as am I. His chivalry and intelligence are qualities that remind me of my father … Their existence instill in me the smallest bit of hope that his spirit lives on. But I can’t help but wonder how much of what Beau writes is even true. Is he in England, “safe and sound and feeling mighty fine”? And why, why is he “in haste“?!

Even if I could be assured that it would get to him, I can’t even find the words to write back.

I despise not knowing … There was always something that my father wasn’t telling me, and now Beau is doing the same. I never needed their protection!

I can clearly fend for myself … I’ve been doing so for a while now. Did they ever think perhaps I could help?!

Almost as if of its own accord, my hand shakily inches its way across the stationary, a sure sign that somehow, my own heart continues to beat in tune with his.

My dearest friend,

As I sing my song tonight, I hope the moonlight carries its tune to you, a million miles towards wherever you are.

Best wishes, Beau.