dearest (darling) penelope [letters]

[d1f october rhapsody fray ❁]

KLAUS GORAVICH.

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Dearest Penelope, 

Although it has been years, it is always strange to be in the Capitol without you. It was a difficult time for all of us, those years when you were too small to remain in Three alone. I tried to make it an exciting event, a holiday, but as the years wore on you grew too clever, and you saw it for what it really is. Maybe one day you can come with me again, for old times' sake. Or maybe you never want to see this place again so long as we all shall live. I would understand if that was the case. 

I have been collecting stories for you. I have a few that I think you will quite enjoy. Remind me when I am back to tell you about the party the tributes threw by the pool.

I hope that everything is going well back at home. I know it is a great burden to leave you with the children, but I cannot put into words how much I appreciate it. You are brilliant at what you do, and although it hasn't been long, I know the children adore you. You do so well at understanding each of them, and seeing them for who they are. I think children appreciate this honesty in a person. Certainly, I never felt so transparent as when you and your sister were teenagers. There is a shattering, at that time, of the illusion that adults are anything more than just people who have lived to make a lot of mistakes. I know I have made many, and I am grateful to you for seeing them and still supporting me, in the way that you do. You are doing something my great, my darling, by giving yourself to the District in this way. 

Aunt Saffron sends her love, always. Lethe, too. She is so kind, to ask after you always when her own daughter was frozen, forever fifteen. I think of Eden often. She would have been thirty-six this year. 

Please write back and let me know how everything is going back home. How is your sister, and the children? Are the babies wanting after me, at all? If it is too much to be left in charge of the household please tell me, and I will figure something out. I think you are so capable, dear Penelope, but you must tell me if I have set too much on your shoulders. 

As I am writing this, the Bloodbath is to occur tomorrow. Before I left, I told all of the children that we do not watch the Games in the house. I hauled the television up to the attic. I hate the idea of these horrors occurring within our very walls. I like to think the house a sanctuary from those kind of things, but I know I am growing old and idealistic, and perhaps you disagree. Did I expose you to too many realities of the world too young? Or shelter you too much? I find it hard to know, when you have turned out so well. To be a parent is the hardest thing I ever did.

Tonight I must go to yet another party. I expect we will eat a lot of food and drink a lot of wine and say the same regurgitated pleasantries. I try my best to see the parties through the eyes of you at seven, when everything was magic, but it is difficult, and I am tired. 

I will wait eagerly for your reply. Give my love to everybody. 

Much love, always, 

Dad. 

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[dars]

Dear Dad,

It's so strange to read that you've been thinking of the old days in the Capitol. The dream I had two nights ago took place in that one park you brought Daisy and I to and taught us how to play hopscotch. Do you remember? That was the day we saw the lady who had pink feathers instead of hair. I find myself thinking of her often. Strange as she might have been, she did have nerve. I suppose everyone in the Capitol is like that, to some degree.

I find myself thinking of those days a lot- of how much I'd love to return to it in some ways, and how glad I am it's behind me in others. Time is... weird, isn't it?

It's been business as usual here at home. I've just spent the last few hours getting everyone ready for bed. Little Nigel is having trouble again with nightmares, and was asking me how soon it would be until you came back. I told him that it might be a bit longer, depending on how things go. But yes, of course all of the children miss you. Daisy and I do as well! She's lovely, by the way. Left early today for the kids' final rehearsal. Recital is tomorrow! They're so excited. I'm sure they'd love to show you the dance again when you're back.

I've been trying to keep the children's focus away from "unneeded anxieties" as much as I can. I kept the television where you left it, and thanks to the storm a few days ago there's plenty of yardwork around the grounds to keep them from chatting about things too much. But still, the ones who go to school hear things and word gets around eventually. I had to implement a rule about what can and cannot be talked about at dinner from now on a few days ago, though. I think that might be what's been stirring up Nigel's nightmares.

I'll be sure and pass on the messages from Aunt Saffron and Lethe- I really do need to call them both more. I was meaning to get Aunt Saffron's recipe for that one spice cake she made for us a long time ago... Or did she buy that from a bakery? I was too young to recall now, but it was absolutely delicious. Would you mind asking? And tell Uncle Atticus we miss him as well. I hope your party was more fun than it sounded! And that there are more to come. Maybe when you get back, we can meal plan for a Grill Day and have a real party with the children. The weather's certainly warm enough!


Miss and Love you always,

Penelope.

[d1f october rhapsody fray ❁]

KLAUS GORAVICH.

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Dearest, darling Penelope, 

It was so lovely to receive your letter, and so soon. I know how busy you are. 

I enjoyed your depictions of childhood memories of the Capitol. It truly is a mystical, magical place, if you can put aside the reason for our visits. And I've grown very fond of the people here, although at first I found them overwhelming. I've learned to think of people as products of their own surroundings, and within that framework try and believe that everybody is doing their very best. Funnily enough, I don't recall the lady you mentioned in your letter - the one with the pink feathers for hair. I remember the park, remember watching you and Daisy skipping beneath the trees. That day I had to hush you several times, as you kept on pointing right at people and making loud observations about their various dress and appearance, but I don't recall that specific instance. It's always amusing, the details that the mind decides to capture and preserve. I have a similar recollection, of my very first trip here at seventeen - it was a man with blue pigment dye in his skin, and red contact lenses of some sort. I thought he was an alien and they scolded me for gaping at him. I've grown immune to that sort of thing, now.

I almost teared up when reading about how you have been tending to the children, protecting them from it all as I once protected you. I know it's silly, as you are grown, but the child version of you still lives in my mind, and at times I get the overwhelming urge to take you away and hide you from the world, even now, even though I know you do not need it. I am endlessly proud of the woman you have become, and the grace with which you carry these burdens, tend to the needs of others. There are many wonderful things a person can grow up to be, but the best of these things - kind, courageous, fair - were all present within you from the day you were born, without any input from me. I know that we have spoken only a little of your mother - Marina, my sister - but really one day we must sit down over a cup of tea and I must tell you all about her. You are all of the best parts of her. 

Do you remember what I would do when you and your sister suffered nightmares? Maybe you were too small to recall, but for a while I had a spray bottle filled with water and lavender oil, and labelled 'monster spray' that we would go around the house with, dampening everything with a fine mist. It worked a treat. You could try this with Nigel, see if it calms his nerves even a little. 

I have asked after the spice cake recipe. I had forgotten about it, but your letter prompted my recollection. Saffron baked it for us one winter, and sent us home on the train with a big box of it. We ate so much of it our stomachs ached until we were back in District Three. None of us wanted to so much as look at a spice cake for years afterwards, but I think, like you, I have recovered and am ready (after twenty or so years) to indulge again. I will include the recipe in the envelope with the letter. Make it for the children, and let me know how it goes down. 

I am writing this letter to you just hours after the avalanche. It was shocking, the violence of the collapse of it. The ground shook for miles. One of the tributes, Garnet, died in collapse. Of course, I'm sure you already know this. Even avoiding watching at home, there is no way to avoid word of what goes on here. I get the sense I am watching from the outside of a huge snow globe, which has been shaken, and now I must wait for the debris to settle. Is it wrong of me to be so overjoyed when none of the children were reaped, this year, even though twenty-four others were? It was the same with you two, when you were small. The relief, and then the guilt of feeling it at another's expense. You know me, I talk myself around and around with it every year. Do you think you might like to have children one day? I realised today I've never asked you.

I hope you are all enjoying the sunshine. As soon as I am back we will have that grill you mentioned. I mentioned it to Atticus and I'm sure he will be keen to run the barbeque. I always end up burning the skewers. Perhaps Lena can make iced tea. 

Sending love and best wishes, 

Dad. 

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Spice Cake 

1 1/4 cups self-raising flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda 
1/4 teaspoon salt
Cinnamon, ginger, nutmeg and cloves to taste (I recall it being heavy on the cinnamon)
2 large eggs
1/2 cup sugar
1/4 cup brown sugar
1/4 cup oil
1/2 cup buttermilk 
1 teaspoon vanilla extract 

Mix the flour, baking powder, baking soda and spices together until well combined. 
In a separate bowl, whisk the eggs and sugar. Then add the oil, buttermilk and vanilla, and whisk until combined. Add the wet ingredients to the dry ingredients and stir until just combined. Do not overmix. Bake for 40 minutes in a hot oven. 

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