My dearest Cecily,
We continue to fall apart without you here to aid me - I do not know how much longer I can clutch all the strings myself, and there is no one I can trust. I was never made for this, I know, but if I leave how many lives will be lost...or worse yet, ruined? I suspect that it is worse to live in Ushaw Moor than to die in it - no place I have yet been makes me so badly wish to leave it, and yet I cannot.
I cannot because I spent much of my Shabbat crying. I cried with Gideon, promised that I had a home for him away from this madness and death. What if I had not been here? Where would he find solace? I cried with Sir Beckett's betrothed - she happy, and I terrified for her soul. Quoniam in aeternum misericordia eius, I hope my words lodged themselves in her heart and take root. Who would she have turned to, were I gone?
Of course, as well, I wait for you - I will wait for you, best beloved, until the town is in cinders around my feet. Who knows how close that day is?