(Quick warning: this is a sequel to something I wrote for @weekofhetalia last year. If you go to my Tumblr and search for the tag 'steampunk', you should be able to find the first part)
My darling Frances, I wish I could send this letter, tell you I'm safe, no, alive. Tell you I'm doing everything I can to make it back home to you. Ask you to tell Emma that Lars and Joaquin are alive with me. I'll bring them home too.
Our ship went down somewhere near Africa. We could be on the continent itself, or an island off the coast. We're not sure. We haven't found the navigator yet.
The first mate is injured, but not so much that he can't be useful. Frances, they're my crew if he gets an infection and dies.
I wish I had never come. I wish I were home with you, fixing your oven and building a cradle and painting the nursery. I wish I had never taken this assignment. But I can't undo it now.
I'll retire as soon as I make it home. I imagine we'll be compensated well enough to live off of. Perhaps not if we have a dozen more children. I could go into stove repairs. I'm sure that's fairly harmless.
Please don't worry too much. It's not good for you or the baby. You know me, Frances, I'm too stubborn to die.
“Frances, you should rest,” Emma chided her friend, “You're exhausted, and carrying on like this won't help anyone.”
Frances slammed her bowl onto the counter, wiped her hands on her apron, and pulled an envelope from a drawer. She threw it down in front of Emma. “Have you seen this?”
Emma picked it up. The Royal Sky Navy. Compensation payment. She nodded, “We received ours for Lars,” she said quietly.
“How dare they,” Frances hissed, “Putting a price on my husband's life! Gives his life to them, and that's all he's worth to them?”
Emma looked at the note, “I thought you would have received more than we did.”
Worn out, Frances sat down at the table, “Lars and Arthur were both responsible for two lives.”
Emma nodded, “Still, I expected more. I'll be able to finish putting Luca through school. If I don't eat.”
Frances massaged her temple with one hand while the other caressed her swollen belly. “It would have been more if they could prove they were dead.”
Frances nodded, “Arthur explained it to me when we were married.”
“So if they do find the ship, we'll be paid again? That's horrible. I'd rather they just said they were dead now and leave it at that.”
Frances glared at Emma, “Except they're not dead.”
“You don't know that Frances.”
“You can't.” Emma sobbed, “You can't, Frances. Because you're just getting out hopes up. And when Arthur and Lars and - and Joaquin never come home, we're just going to be more hurt. Is that what you want for your child?”
Frances reached across the table to embrace her friend, “I'm sorry, Emma,” she whispered, stroking her hair as she cried, “But I can't not believe it. I can't not believe in him.”
