A young man looking for love in 1959 Brooklyn finds and answers a letter from a young woman
in 1869 Brooklyn.
The folded paper opened stiffly, the crease permanent with age, and even before I saw the
date I knew this letter was old. The handwriting was obviously feminine, and beautifully
clear—it’s called Spencerian, isn’t it?—the letters perfectly formed and very
ornate, the capitals especially being a whirl of dainty curlicues. The ink was
rust-black, the date at the top of the page was May 14, 1882, and reading it, I saw that
it was a love letter.