The single window was large enough to provide ample light, facing south as it was, and the white-painted walls gave the room a light, airy feel she found extremely appealing. Her clothes, liberated from the trunk again, hung in the simple wardrobe. The trunk she had placed at the foot of the bed as a bench. A single bed in one corner was covered by a faded quilt that reminded her sharply of home. Caite sat at the tiny desk beneath the window, paper spread out before her and the inkstand uncapped and ready. She tapped the end of the pen against her teeth and thought about what to write. She wanted to let Gerda know she was all right, but without giving her too much information. Caite was still afraid the letter might fall into the wrong hands. Where to begin? She did not want to tell Gerda she was not going to be married after all. That might send Drake Hammond after her faster than gossip spread among old maids. Better to write vaguely just that the wedding had not yet taken place.
