Ozzie is recovered fully now. He is building a bunkhouse for the children. We hope to be able to have more children stay with us. I am working on my second book. Well, reading for it, mostly, but you know how I love research. I make a nest of books and only leave it to swim with Ozzie or make dinner together. Sometimes we go down-lake to cheer on the hapless beaver. I dangle my fingers in the lake and watch Ozzie paddle as the stars come out above him.
Our old pal Gottfried got quilled by a porcupine two days ago. We removed all the quills we could, but he did a good job of it, and we worry we overlooked something. He is a dear old soul now and the children, when they are here, cannot keep their hands off him. I think he does more good for them than anything we can do. I sometimes believe he knew all along that Ozzie and I needed to be together. He is wiser than either of us.
I want to get this in the mail, so I won’t write at length now. I miss you. I can’t wait until you come for a visit. We will have long talks and walks and you will sleep like a log, I promise. As I write, I hear Ozzie finishing for the day. We usually meet for a swim before dinner. We read by the fire, try to keep from falling asleep, then go to bed and sleep the sleep of lovers. When I think how close I came to losing him, I can barely breathe.
I love you, Milly. Come soon. Come and stay and see my life through my eyes. And let me see your life through yours.
When Ozzie’s life was saved, he told me an Irishman cannot drown when he can see the moon. I tell him I believe we are on an island, an invisible one, and the only ocean is our own indifference. If we stay near to one another, hold fiercely, then the sea is only a noise to sing us to sleep. We are foolish, of course, but we have learned that all lovers need an island. I have such hope for him, for me, for us, for you.
Missing you, loving you …
Kate
Acknowledgments
Although I wrote Seven Letters in a small New Hampshire cabin, it would not reach a single reader without the work and dedication of many people. No brief acknowledgment here can thank adequately all those who have edited this novel, designed the cover and look of its pages, carried it out into the world, promoted it, and introduced it to its potential readers. For all and any of you that I have missed, sincere thanks.
Thanks to my agents, Andrea Cirillo and Christina Hogrebe, whose opinions and guidance are given with grace and kindness. The team at the Jane Rotrosen Agency has always made me feel welcome and valued. Thanks to everyone in that small, lovely Manhattan brownstone who meet my requests and hopes with kindness and understanding.
Thanks and gratitude to Jennifer Enderlin, publisher at St. Martin’s Press, and to all her wonderful staff. I always feel I am in exceptionally good hands at St. Martin’s. A writing life is only as good as the people around one, and I am fortunate indeed to have landed among the hardworking people at St. Martin’s.
Part of this novel was written while on sabbatical from Plymouth State University, our little college in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I appreciate the time and support the university extends to me. I first learned about the Blasket Islands while teaching at Ireland’s University of Limerick as a visiting professor, and I became haunted by the accounts of island life. I encourage any readers who find something of interest in this novel to pursue the works of the many memoirists who recorded the rhythms of seasons on those austere islands. They provide a window to a lost world, and I wish to express my gratitude to those writers whose penetrating works I read on background.
Thanks to my friends and family. Thanks to Susan Shapiro, who often read sections of the novel and gave me truthful insights about what did and didn’t work. It’s wonderful to be able to talk aloud about a process that is often so internal. She also gave me lemon cookies.
Finally, thanks to the readers who pick up this book and spend a few hours with it. All novels are co-created in the pen of the writer and the mind of the reader. Thanks for listening to my story.
ALSO BY J. P. MONNINGER
The Map That Leads to You
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
J. P. MONNINGER is an award-winning author and English professor who has lived in Africa, Austria, Canada, and Ireland, and now resides in Maine. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraphs
Prologue
Part One: Dingle
First Letter
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Second Letter
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part Two: Where My Broken Is
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Third Letter
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Part Three: Sunflower Seeds, Not Millet
Fourth Letter
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Fifth Letter
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Sixth Letter
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Seventh Letter
Acknowledgments
Also by J. P. Monninger
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
First published in the United States by St. Martin’s Griffin, an imprint of St. Martin’s Publishing Group
SEVEN LETTERS. Copyright © 2019 by Joseph Monninger. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Publishing Group, 120 Broadway, New York, NY 10271.
www.stmartins.com
Cover design: Olga Grlic
Cover photographs: background © 9comeback/ Shutterstock.com; couple © Anand Raveendran/Shutterstock.com
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-18769-7 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-250-18770-3 (ebook)
eISBN 9781250187703
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First Edition: October 2019