Battling consumption in a rural village in Ireland, a young woman corresponds with her friend, working in service, somewhere near Boston.

Remember me, she writes at the end of one letter. Do not forget me. Write soon, don’t forget.

She signs her letters: Katie.

Until the last one, which she mails shortly before her death.

I Am Your Catherine, she writes.

The power of that salutation. The tenderness. The heartbreaking dignity of it.

And the finality.