Dad quit bringing Daniel over. I was still able to go on the paper route, and since that was now my only way of seeing him, I went as often as I could. Usually we didn't see him at all, but a little sleep derivation was more than worth it to me for even a small chance of being able to see him. I was with when we gave him Lassie. He cuddled her as if she were priceless to him. Also curtailed was any chance at all of my speaking to him without Dad right there. It was frustrating. When I received letters from Daniel, Dad would make me open it in front of them and either read it aloud or let him and my mom read it before I did. This seemed like a huge violation to me. Couldn't they at least allow me to read and savor the letter first before they started picking it apart and ordering me what to write him in response? The level of intrusion had been unacceptable to me before, and now it was totally intolerable.

But Daniel kept sending me these letters, exhorting me to be patient, to bear up bravely and quietly under abuse, assuring me that he loved me and promising that he would wait for me no longer how long it took, telling me about how he was fixing up the farm with fruit trees, and hens, how the cow was doing. When things got bad, I'd remember the beautiful life we were planning together, and research what we could do with the things we'd produce, how we would make this work even though money would be short. And then I felt better.