April 1, 1916

Dearest Julius,

I have the saddest news to share with you and it could not be any richer that it happened on April Fool’s Day.

The morning was fine, with a cobalt blue sky. The snow in my yard melted quickly during the late warmth of March. Colorful Crocuses, my lovely blue Grecian Wind Chimes and the delicate white Snowdrops bloomed all along my fence line. The magic of spring bulbs burst out of the ground with welcome color and changed the dreary landscape. I was so happy with the arrival of spring. I had not cleaned out the bird houses during the fall for new nests. I put on my gardening gloves, started opening the first house hatch and I saw JJ walking up Eighth Street with a baseball bat.

Venal, vain, vicious JJ shouted, “When am I going to get the money?”

“In June, the bearer bonds mature in June. Nothing has changed, go away.”

“I need money now, lend me some.”

“I’m no longer financing your debauchery.” The screen door slammed against the jam as Charlie knocked it open with his paws and nose. Barking, he charged to the fence and tried to jump it. Thankfully, he failed, but continued lunging and howling at JJ, who swung the bat at the dog and hit the top of the fence.

“Stop it, go away. I’ll call the sheriff. I have a restraining order. You aren’t legally welcome here.”

“Fine, I’ll just walk along this public right of way,” and he smashed the first of my lovely hand painted bird houses on the fence.

Charlie was out of his mind barking and I yelled, “You’re a cruel, mean spirited, despicable man.”

“Ya think so?” and then he knocked a second house off clean of the fence, but the floor remained nailed to the top of the fence with a damaged wasp’s nest glued to it. The insects, no longer dormant, were awake and angry. One flew immediately and stung JJ’s cheek. He dropped the bat and brushed it off with is right hand muttering, “Bastards.” Several more wasps instantly attached to the back of his right hand. He staggered a few steps along the fence, clutched his throat, looked at me croaking, “Something’s wrong,” and collapsed to the ground. The dog stopped barking and held a point at JJ. He did not move.

I ran to the house, called the sheriff first and then the doctor, who diagnosed JJ as extremely allergic to wasp stings, went into anaphylaxis shock and probably died before he hit the ground. The supreme irony was a big, strong, healthy, miserable, drunken man felled by tiny insects. As the Greeks wrote, Nemesis followed Hubris.

My boss, the coroner took the body and told me not to come in. He would take care of everything and suggested the proper thing for me was to write a letter to JJ’s sister in Denver.

Immediately, I decided with the bribery money saved, I could pay cash for my house and own it in June. I am a widow Julius. You’re welcome to come here and comfort me. We miss you.

Sincerely,

Corina

April 5, 1916

Dearest Julius,

You probably have not received the first letter yet, but I must write with this news. JJ’s sister replied with kind thanks for telling her of his death, but more so for marrying her brother who could not have made me pregnant. He had mumps as a teenager, during puberty and the doctor guaranteed he would be sterile for life. She always thought that was the reason he was so mean to women.

Julius, I think the condom failed and the baby boy is yours. Please write soon.

With Love,

Corina

April 10, 1916

Dear Corina,

You and little Julius need a vacation. Leave Charlie with Angela and Maggie. Do not make the poor dog travel on the train again and come to Puerto Rico. We will return to Steamboat in June. Reply with ship and date. I cannot wait to see you and my son. Remember, the tragedy of love is not death or separation, the only tragedy of love is indifference. That does not seem to describe us, does it?

Love to all,

Julius