My Dear Caitlin,
Here’s hoping you are enjoying the big city. Granny says how was the chicken she sent? It’s the usual frost and storms here. The ballroom flooded, what a mess. But we are cosy in the kitchen and plenty kindling since the stables blew down.
Talking of wood, Uncle Kenny is away on his forestry trip. No sign of him for two days now. Nothing new, you might say. A bit of a blizzard came in, so he’s likely holed up drinking with Neil. Between Uncle’s ever bigger trees and Granny’s candles, it’s a mercy we haven’t burnt down.
My writing was interrupted yesterday. There was a terrible knocking, took ages to work out it came from the front door. Needed both of us to drag it open, stuck fast with all that snow. Lying on a sledge outside was Uncle Kenny, solid as a pullet in the freezer and just as dead.
Neil stayed all evening, telling us about the great big pine trunk and the chainsaw. On and on he went, Granny shouldn’t have got out her whisky. Then I remembered Uncle’s ferrets and Neil said he’d take them home right away. We’re well shot of the nasty little beasts.
I laid out the body decent in the blue dining room. The table’s a good length and the windows are iced up already. Granny and I got to thinking, what with no tree and no Uncle Kenny there is no need for a big dinner. We have choices. And the city has all those fancy electric decorations. So, see you on the 24th!