Chapter 3: Emma

Emma reached up, touching her cheek as she looked at it. She didn't open it immediately as she turned her attention to the two other books. The second one looked much like the first, but on this one was written Guadalcanal. After Emma read the title, she glanced at the picture of her father there on the wall.

She bit her lip and placed the second one aside with the other as she looked to the final one. This book was different from the other two. It looked more like something you would get from a bookstore. On the front of it were hundreds of small photos. Each picture was of young military men in what Emma assumed were World War II uniforms. She read the title on the book, The Lost Stories of World War II.

She flipped the book over, hoping to find a description on the back, but only found more photos. Emma placed it back on the desk and looked at all three books in front of her. She wasn't sure what she might find in the pages and, as she looked at the haunting pictures on the final book, a wave of sadness washed over her.

She took a deep breath, settling her heart, and shifted around in the chair. She then reached over grabbing the first book and squared it up in front of her. She opened its large front cover and inside she found the pages yellowed with age. The edges seemed tattered from what appeared to be years of use and exposure to the sun, and in the middle of the first page, she could see the edge of a picture covered by an envelope with her name on it. Even though her mother had told her the books were left for her, she was a bit surprised to find her name written there. She picked the envelope up and, as she did, she looked to the picture beneath it.

Emma smiled as a photo of her mother and father on their wedding day looked back at her. Beneath the picture, written in her father's handwriting, was an inscription.

For my Elizabeth, without you, I would have been lost forever. November 8, 1952.

She studied their photo for a moment and smiled. She could see the happiness on both their faces. She turned her attention back to the envelope. She pulled the letter from inside, placing it on the desk. As she unfolded it, she smoothed it, so it would lie flat. She began to read.

My Dearest Emma,

I hope this letter finds you well but considering the circumstances I know this will be a trying time for you. As I write this letter, I'm picturing you there, sitting at my desk, reading away. I do have to say that part of me still sees you sitting there as a little girl whose feet barely reach the floor, but I know the young woman and writer is there wondering what all this is about.

Well, Em, there is a lot I wanted to say and should have told you in person, but I was always the guy that was better behind the camera and I was never the best with my words-ªthat was always your area.

I know if you are reading this letter, my last sunrise has come and gone, and I'm sure you probably have more questions than answers at this point, but I think what you want to know is there in front of you. I can imagine this time will not have been easy on you or my Elizabeth, but as I write this letter, I take great comfort in the idea that your strength and love, along with your mother's, will carry you through.

I want you to know that I was truly blessed to have had you as my daughter and there was never a father more proud than I was of you. If I do have a single regret in this life or the next, it is a selfish one, and it's that I won't be there to continue to watch you succeed.

Em, there is so much more I wish I had told you and so much I wanted to share, but now as my time has passed the best I can do is leave you with my stories. You will find them there in my notes and pictures. My hope is that they may serve to tell you more about who your father was and about a life I know you found to be somewhat of a mystery.

Each of the books I left for you were very special to me, and they were something your mother and I worked on for years. In writing these stories I found great pain at first, but in the end, I believe they helped me find the peace that I sought for so long.

Em, I've never been brave enough to share these with anyone else other than your mother, and I struggled with the ghosts of war for years, but now in my death, I am free, free of the pain and free from the memories that made me less of the father and less of the man I wanted to be.

These stories are yours now and you may do with them what you will, but remember, in these pages, you will find me, you will find your mother and you will find a history of a life, that if not for my sweet Elizabeth, would have been lost to me altogether.

Em, when I wrote this letter, I wasn't sure how this would all turn out, but I think you will know what to do with all of this when the time is right. And remember, I love you, I am proud of the person you have come to be, and if by chance you do need me, I am always with you and never further than the sunrise.

Your loving father,

Joseph

Emma looked up from the pages.

"Damn it, Dad."