improve upon acquaintance, but piglets are a different matter—Dawsey’s are spotted and frisky and sly. Each day they dig a new hole under his fence, ostensibly to escape, but really just for the amusement of watching Dawsey fill in the gap. You should have seen them grin as he approached the fence.
Dawsey’s barn is exceedingly clean. He also stacks his hay beautifully.
I believe I am becoming pathetic.
I’ll go further. I believe that I am in love with a flower-growing, wood-carving quarry-man/carpenter/pig farmer. In fact, I know I am. Maybe tomorrow I will become entirely miserable at the thought that he doesn’t love me back—may, even, care for Remy—but right this very moment, I am succumbing to euphoria. My head and stomach feel quite odd.
See you on Friday—you may go ahead and give yourself airs for discovering I love Dawsey. You may even preen in my presence—this one time, but never again.
Love and XXXX
11th September, 1946
AM ENTIRELY MISERABLE. SAW DAWSEY IN ST. PETER PORT THIS AFTERNOON, BUYING SUITCASE WITH REMY ON HIS ARM, BOTH WREATHED IN SMILES. IS IT FOR THEIR HONEYMOON? WHAT A FOOL I AM. I BLAME YOU. WRETCHEDLY, JULIET
Sunday
This book with lines in it is from my friend Sidney Stark. It came to me in the mail yesterday. It had
Here are some of the observations I made today. Kit loves to be in Juliet’s company—she looks peaceful when Juliet comes in the room and she doesn’t make faces behind people’s backs anymore. Also she can wiggle her ears now—which she couldn’t before Juliet came.
My friend Sidney is coming to read Oscar’s letters. He will stay with Juliet this time, because she’s cleaned out Elizabeth’s storage room and put a bed in it for him.
Saw Daphne Post digging a big hole under Mr. Ferre’s elm tree. She always does it by the dark of the moon. I think we should all go together and buy her a silver teapot so she can quit and stay home nights.
Monday
Mrs. Taylor has a rash on her arms. What, or who, from? Tomatoes or her husband? Look into further.
Tuesday
Nothing noteworthy today.
Wednesday
Nothing again.
Thursday
Remy came to see me today—she gives me the stamps from her French letters—they are more colorful than English ones, so I paste them up. She had a letter in a brown envelope with a little open window in it, from the FRENCH GOVERNMENT. This is the fourth one she’s gotten—what do they want of her? Find out.
I did start to observe something today—behind Mr. Salles’s market stall, but they stopped when they saw me.
Never mind, Eben is having his beach picnic on Saturday—so I am sure to have something to observe there.
I have been looking at a book about artists and how they size up a picture they want to paint. Say they want to concentrate on an orange—do they study the shape direct? No, they don’t. They fool their eyes and stare at the banana beside it, or look at it upside down, between their legs. They see the orange in a brand-new way. It’s called getting perspective. So, I am going to try a new way of looking—not upside down between my legs, but by not staring at anything direct or straight ahead. I can move my eyes slyly if I keep my lids lowered a bit. Practice this!!!
Friday
It works—not staring head-long works. I went with Dawsey, Juliet, Remy, and Kit in Dawsey’s cart to the airfield to meet dear Sidney.
Here is what I observed: Juliet hugged him to her, and he swung her around like a brother would. He was pleased to meet Remy, and I could tell he was watching her sideways, like I was doing. Dawsey shook Sidney’s hand, but he did not come in for apple cake when we got to Juliet’s house. It was a little sunk in the middle, but tasted fine.
I had to put drops in my eyeballs before bed—it is a strain, always having to skitter them sideways. My lids ache from having to keep them half-way down too.
Saturday
Remy, Kit, and Juliet came with me down to the beach to gather firewood for this evening’s picnic. Amelia was out in the sun too. She looks more rested and I am happy to see her so. Dawsey, Sidney, and Eli carried Eben’s big iron cauldron down between themselves. Dawsey is always nice and polite to Sidney, and Sidney is pleasant as can be to Dawsey, but he seems to stare at him in a wondering sort of way. Why is that?
Remy left the firewood and went over to talk to Eben, and he patted her on the shoulder. Why? Eben was never one to pat much. Then they talked awhile—but sadly out of my earshot.
When it was time to go home for lunch, Eli went off beach-combing. Juliet and Sidney each took ahold of one of Kit’s hands, and they walked her up the cliff path, playing that game of “One Step. Two Step. Three Steps—LIFT UP!”
Dawsey watched them go up the path, but he did not follow. No, he walked down to the shore and just stood there, looking out over the water. It suddenly struck me that Dawsey is a lonesome person. I think it may be that he has always been lonely, but he didn’t mind before, and now he minds. Why now?
Saturday Night
I did see something at the picnic, something important—and like dear Miss Marple, I must act upon it. It was a brisk night and the sky looked moody. But that was fine—all of us bundled up in sweaters and jackets, eating lobster, and laughing at Booker. He stood on a rock and gave an oration, pretending to be that Roman he’s so crazy about. I worry about Booker, he needs to read a new book. I think I will lend him Jane Austen.
I was sitting, senses alert, by the bonfire with Sidney, Kit, Juliet, and Amelia. We were poking sticks in the fire, when Dawsey and Remy walked together toward Eben and the lobster pot. Remy whispered to Eben, he smiled, and picked up his big spoon and banged on the pot.
“Attention All,” Eben yelled, “I have something to tell you.”
All were silent, except for Juliet, who drew in her breath so hard I heard her. She didn’t let it out again, and went all over rigid—even her jaw. What could be the matter? I was so worried for her, having once been toppled by appendix myself, that I missed Eben’s first few words.
“…and so tonight is a farewell party for Remy. She is leaving us next Tuesday for her new home in Paris. She will share rooms with friends and is apprenticed to the famous confectioner Raoul Guillemaux, in Paris. She has promised that she will come back to Guernsey and that her second home will be with me and Eli, so we may all rejoice in her good fortune.”
What an outpouring of cheers from the rest of us!
Everyone ran to gather around Remy and congratulate her.
Everyone except Juliet—she let out her breath in a whoosh and flopped backward onto the sand, like a gaffed fish!
I peered around, thinking I should observe Dawsey. He wasn’t hovering over Remy at all—but how sad he looked.
All of a sudden, IT CAME TO ME! I HAD IT! Dawsey didn’t want Remy to go, he feared she’d never come back. He was in love with Remy, and too shy in his nature to tell her so.
