No. 13

Mrs. Lafayette to Mrs. Quinn (Woodpile)

Mrs. Quinn

908 E Jefferson

Louisville, Kentucky

July 8, 1940

As we were building the fire, I told Win, “If no one comes to put this out, then I’m going to walk into town and I will not come back until I get someone to drive you to the hospital to fix that arm.”

Win asked me, “I don’t want them to cut if off.”

I thought she might cry, so I yelled at her, “Hey, tell me what we are burning. Old letters? Go get them. Why are we doing this?” I asked, reaching for the suitcase.

“I wrote it down, the life I had in Clinton, and the love of my life there, sort of in my head, he was, and I tried to tell Stewart about it, and that burden was going to break off now, or it was, with my sister going this way and I was going that way, and she wanted me to have this adventure of cutting off my memories. She read an article somewhere about how burning things makes change permanent, like getting on a ferry to toss an old engagement ring she once had.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, throwing wood. “What did you do wrong? Can we just get to the burning part?”

Win closed the suitcase and sat on it, saying, “Laura, I think God no longer wants me to burn it now. I think I was wrong. I think now I am not supposed to forget it now, and I think my sister was wrong to encourage me to break if off,” and here she started to sob, “But I cannot ask her what she meant by it all. And I couldn’t even tell her how bad it had become, for the storm.”

I rolled my eyes to the back of my head, thinking about the cash I found in the old truck. I would for sure be taking it with me into town first thing. No question now.

“Look,” I said, “You don’t have to do a damn thing you don’t want to do, but the fire will bring people here so I’m going to get to it. I’m going to find something to burn. Something that produces a lot of smoke. I’m grabbing carpets and curtains, you name it. If this doesn’t work, I’m walking into town tomorrow and selling my body to buy a ticket out of here.”

“Ok,” Win said, rising, “I will help you burn stuff, but not my suitcase.”

Mrs. Laura Lafayette

2025 Copyright Christine Friesel