Free Bad Grrlz' Guide to Reality: The Complete Novels Wild Angel and Adventures in Time and Space with Max Merriwell by Pat Murphy Page B

always disappointed.
    I find it comforting that my sister’s last letter was so optimistic and hopeful. My sister had an adventurous spirit. I take comfort in knowing that she was happy before her death.
    In my heart, I cannot believe that little Sarah has perished. I cannot imagine that anyone, however depraved, could murder a child so sweet and innocent. You say it is unlikely, but I choose to believe that little Sarah is alive. I picture her living with some savage tribe, adopted as their daughter, her curly hair tamed with bear grease, her pale face standing out in a clan of ruddy faces. Perhaps I am being foolish, but I trust my heart and my heart tells me that she cannot be dead.
    I have a request to make of you. I have no right to ask—you have already been so kind—but I will ask, even so. Please write again, if you are moved to do so. Tell me of California, so that I might understand the strange place to which my sister traveled. If you hear any news of my niece, please let me know.
    I have framed your drawing of the valley where my sister died. It hangs on my parlor wall, where I can see it as I drink my tea each morning. I thank you for sending the drawing and wonder what I might do to repay you. I understand that some items are in short supply, there in the West. Please let me know if there is anything that I might send that could gladden your heart as your lovely rendering gladdens mine.
    Max looked up to find Mrs. Selby reading over his shoulder. “Such a sweet letter,” she said. “You must write to her immediately and tell her about what that mountain man saw.”
    “I don’t know,” Max said slowly. “It might be cruel to raise her hopes.”
    Mrs. Selby frowned, considering that. A miner sitting at a nearby table, a burly, bald-headed man named Ned, leaned over and took advantage of the pause to ask Mrs. Selby about the pies. “How long afore they’ll be done, ma’am?” he inquired politely.
    “In just a bit,” she said, barely glancing in Ned’s direction. Her attention was on Max. “She wants you to offer her hope,” Mrs. Selby said. “That seems quite clear.”
    Max glanced at Ned, who was staring in the direction of the kitchen. “Do you suppose you ought to check on that pie?” Max asked. “It smells just grand.”
    But you must write to Mrs. North and tell her about what that hunter said.”
    Max shrugged, still reluctant.
    “Mrs. Selby?” It was Ned again. “Don’t you think those pies might burn?”
    “You must write,” Mrs. Selby said to Max. “You must write and tell her about the wolves.”
    Ned stood up then, looming over Max. “I think that’s a fine idea, Mrs. Selby. I’ll make sure he writes. You go check on those pies.” Ned smiled down at Max. “You’d best start writing, or we’ll never get any pie,” he said softly.
    Max nodded in resignation. He opened his travel bag and took out pen, ink, and paper. “You check that pie, and I’ll get started,” he told Mrs. Selby.
    Under Ned’s watchful gaze, he began a letter to Audrey North. By the end of the evening, he had not finished it. He promised Mrs. Selby, when she served him apple pie, that he would.
    The letter, which began as a simple report on what Max had learned from Socks, became something more. He described the town of Downieville and the tavern where he met Socks. He explained that the world of the mining camps was not the civilized world she knew. He described Mrs. Selby and Selby Flat, an oasis of civilization. He wrote of himself and his life.
    “The men of Selby Flat were happy to do all they could for your sister,” he wrote. “There are so few women here. We are a company of men, which leads to great camaraderie and great loneliness. I do a excellent business in portraits, capturing miners in all their bearded glory so that they might send the likeness to their wives.
    “I sympathize with this sentiment. I was once a married man, but my wife died of a fever long since. Were she still