Dear Jenny,
The strangest thing, at least in this world, happened today. The woman who bought our Regency house called me and told me she had a package that had been delivered for us. When I arrived to pick it up, she came and met me on the porch. I’m glad, as I didn’t really want to go inside. She handed me the large envelope and told me how much they liked the house and the neighbors. There was a sadness in her voice. I knew someone had told her about you because we never did. I told her that I was sorry if she heard from a neighbor that we moved because our daughter died. She told me someone came by the day they were moving in [and mentioned it].
[As]we were saying our goodbyes, she turned around and asked If I minded if she told me something. She began to explain that one night, not long ago, her twin daughters were in their room. Their room was your room, Jenny. She and her husband heard them talking and kept telling them to go to sleep. Later when the adults went to bed, the little girls continued to talk and laugh. Again, from their own bed, the parents told them to stop talking. Finally, after scolding them a few more times, they went into the girls’ room.
“Why are you talking when you should be sleeping?”
“We have been talking to the angel,” the girls replied. “She is all white and glowing and making us laugh,” one of the twins replied. “She went away now.”
She said she understood now why I had asked them to leave the heart inside the closet that said Jenny was here. They left it when they painted. She told me she hesitated to share the story but changed her mind when I stopped by. I like to think it was you Jenny. Once you glowed for me.
