Dearest Erin, the Small Mad Englishwoman whose absence from my days has left a cavity in the heart of me, your hapless friend,
It has been a very strange month. I had not thought I should return to this place in ages and ages, and yet it seems life always finds ways to alter our thoughts and plans and send us where we must needs go. The trip was long and plainly awful. Ships are not for this man.
I could not help but recall what it was like when last I returned to England. Then, I was looked on with such disdain, such powerful disapproval that I thought I might die from the shame, though I knew the shame were not properly mine. Where disdain did once reside, now, in the eyes of my family, there lived relief in my return.
We grieve the absence of Father from our lives, though my family is greatly comforted by the knowledge that he is with the Lord. For my part, these things have all become less certain since I first stepped beyond the veil to the place that feels more and more as home to me. Rhydin has made me doubt as many things as it has made me believe. I cannot say that I am better or worse for it.
It will take a whit more time to sort out the affairs of my family. My father was too soft a man in many ways, and he left many a thing in his will that complicates matters to a degree that is difficult for my family to manage without my education. I find it strange that for so many years I lived so on the periphery of all of this, lost in a book, learning things that father deemed unnecessary and now, that knowledge finally presents its full usefulness.
I was left some acreage on the farm, and I do not think I shall retain it; rather, I should like to give it to my brother John, the other who were so ill-used by Anne. He has a gift for growing things that I have long envied, and I know that the land is of little use to me. Though things were strained betwixt us once, now we have grown closer than ever we were. He still feels guilt when he looks on my leg; as though he might have been able to prevent such misfortune. I tell him time and time again that he is the reason I am yet living, and not in heaven with our father. I wish that I could make him believe.
Erin, dearest, I miss you so! I would know all that is happening for you at home. I know not yet when I shall return, but I shall send word ahead of me that we might conspire to spend a great deal of time together filling in all the details we have missed. Worry not for me. My heart is heavy, but hopeful, and we are all as well as can be expected.
Ever your faithful and adoring friend,
Everett
It has been a very strange month. I had not thought I should return to this place in ages and ages, and yet it seems life always finds ways to alter our thoughts and plans and send us where we must needs go. The trip was long and plainly awful. Ships are not for this man.
I could not help but recall what it was like when last I returned to England. Then, I was looked on with such disdain, such powerful disapproval that I thought I might die from the shame, though I knew the shame were not properly mine. Where disdain did once reside, now, in the eyes of my family, there lived relief in my return.
We grieve the absence of Father from our lives, though my family is greatly comforted by the knowledge that he is with the Lord. For my part, these things have all become less certain since I first stepped beyond the veil to the place that feels more and more as home to me. Rhydin has made me doubt as many things as it has made me believe. I cannot say that I am better or worse for it.
It will take a whit more time to sort out the affairs of my family. My father was too soft a man in many ways, and he left many a thing in his will that complicates matters to a degree that is difficult for my family to manage without my education. I find it strange that for so many years I lived so on the periphery of all of this, lost in a book, learning things that father deemed unnecessary and now, that knowledge finally presents its full usefulness.
I was left some acreage on the farm, and I do not think I shall retain it; rather, I should like to give it to my brother John, the other who were so ill-used by Anne. He has a gift for growing things that I have long envied, and I know that the land is of little use to me. Though things were strained betwixt us once, now we have grown closer than ever we were. He still feels guilt when he looks on my leg; as though he might have been able to prevent such misfortune. I tell him time and time again that he is the reason I am yet living, and not in heaven with our father. I wish that I could make him believe.
Erin, dearest, I miss you so! I would know all that is happening for you at home. I know not yet when I shall return, but I shall send word ahead of me that we might conspire to spend a great deal of time together filling in all the details we have missed. Worry not for me. My heart is heavy, but hopeful, and we are all as well as can be expected.
Ever your faithful and adoring friend,
Everett