Rebecca,

My sweet and beautiful daughter Becca, I miss you, darling. I am writing in regards to the nice young man who you told me about. You know the one who you thought might make a good housemate. Well, I considered the offer well enough, but at the end of my considerations and just as I was about to send for him I met another man named Mr. Salem Wolf. I found him outside of the chapel conversing with Mrs. Wesley who was quick to introduce us and before you know it this Wolf fellow and I became quite acquainted. He would come for tea in the afternoons some Tuesdays and Thursdays and tell me of a new fable or story that he read; you know how I enjoy a good tale. Well, a few weeks passed and this fellow announced amongst the congregation at church that he was losing his home as his father had gone missing and as such was no longer able to pay the mortgage on his family home near the forested hills. You know me Bec, I just couldn’t let the lad take to the streets and the room with the good window was all prepped and ready for the prior arrangements so I offered him a roof. Please forgive me Bec I know that you wanted to vet this man but I do have some wits left. I know that you believe that loneliness burdens my heart but I still feel full from the unmatched joy that your mother gave to me throughout the years. It’s all part of the process Becca and the last thing I want in my final days is for my daughter to worry, you and I both know how keen John is and the last thing that young man needs is to worry about his mother’s fallen countenance when he and the twins come to visit you this holiday. I am a strong old dog after all and still have my senses you know.

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With love,

Jacob

    How foolish I had been and for how long? Who can tell? I don’t know if it was because I was already at the end of my mortal wanderings that I let myself turn a blind eye to what was going on within the very walls of my own home but whatever it was it cost me the end of my days. As the months went on, the fire orange trees shed leaves with red vascular patterns. The leaves littered the ground and got stuck in between the dark grey cobblestones on the path from my home to the street. It was at this point when I was out for a morning walk that I was struck with the revelation that I was deeply troubled in regards to my relationship with Mr. Wolf.  

    I was always taught that one should take in the sick and the wounded and the beggar because one never could tell if it was an angel in disguise. Whether or not an angel would make snide remarks concerning the way I cut an onion or the way I poured the tea wasn’t mine to say as a legitimate disguise requires it to synthesize with good acting as well, I suppose. But it was something else. It was many something else’s in fact, and all of these moments crept up on me in the darkness of my consciousness until I was quite literally living in a web of unrest.