In the cold but many-blanketed bunk room of a Vermont dairy farm, Merry Joliat sat down at the painted table that she shared with Jeannette. She was used to long days that began with milking in the morning. Now, was the time of day that evening milking was finished. the equipment was sterilized, the cows were fed, and the stalls were cleaned.

That she had the package at all was a miracle. Mail for her or for Jeannette seldom arrived since the farmer's son had enlisted, and a retired former foreman had appeared on the premises. It was Saturday night; Jeannette had gone home to Winooski for the weekend. The foreman was always gone on Saturday night. Outside it began to lightly snow.

In the package was a wrapped object to which a note folded like a card was attached. "Cher", she read, "It is Valentine's Day here, and I am thinking of you, even though I do not know if this small present will reach you. Please know that although something has happened to the mail between us, I will look for you when the War is over. If you do not wait for me, I will understand. But for my part there is no one but you."