We are only just out of the jungle. Thank you for the case of shooting shells. I fear the ones over here, as I’ve heard stories that they’re shoddily made and prone to exploding in the chamber. The shooting has been beyond my imaginings. I shot at a blackbuck, convinced I’d missed—that’s how fast they are—until one of the coolies spotted a blood-covered trail in the wooded area and we were off after it. It was hard, as the antelope trampled things up pretty well and a light rain started, which washed away most of the blood. The men were constantly retracing their steps and making casts in all directions. We did find him though, dead in his tracks, and took his skull and horns. I am not keeping any skins except two buffalos and this large antelope.
I already shipped them home via an import and export company here. Father will receive notification when they arrive, and the customs must be paid in Cleveland. Please don’t let him open all the bundles. They’re full of gifts, and I’d like to have the pleasure of bestowing them myself.
In my downtime, I’ve been reading about those terrible old rascals and warlords Genghis Khan, Tamerlane, Akbar the Great, and Shah Jahan. If you can get your hands on any of their biographies, I urge you to read them.
I’ll write more in the next post, as I am dead tired despite being housed in splendor at a palace with my friend, the Indian prince. His uncle, the maharaja, makes our father look like a pussycat.
How is May? I haven’t received a letter from her in weeks.
Love to all there,
Ambrose
*
Delhi
May—
Please expound on the events in my father’s short telegram of today. Though my questions will likely be answered in the telegraph station before you get this letter, the telegrams give me only the bare facts. I can get no news over here. Please write to me in detail.
When I arrived back at the Taj Palace Hotel, a stack of telegrams was waiting for me about the fire in Sandusky. How badly has Ethan been injured? I don’t mean to be brutal, but Father’s telegram was vague. How bad was the fire? Which mine was it? Were miners injured? How many? Is it out now? I could not tell from Father’s telegram. I am heading to the telegraph office now to await some news, and then to the embassy. Even though I will find out more today, please write me with details whenever you get this letter. I feel very far away.
Ambrose
*
Delhi
Dear Father—
I only just received your wire reading “Return at once.” The telegraph station wasn’t open last night or this morning. It took some doing, but I had it opened that I might hear from you. Am looking into arrangements now and heading to Bombay, which is the most logical port for passage.
Ambrose
*
Bombay
Ethan—
What ho, hero! You of the derring-do! I’ve just had a letter from Aunt Clara telling me of your running into the mine fire in Sandusky. What courage! What mettle!
Everyone writes to me that you have been injured as a result, and I am grieved to hear it. Please know this letter sends you all my best wishes and brotherly love for a quick and painless recovery.
Father writes that I should return home at once. Of course, I shall if needed, but I wonder at Father’s prejudice in the situation. I thought I’d go straight to the source and hear what you think from your own mouth, or pen as it were.
If needed I will return at once.
I remain your loving brother— Ambrose
*
Columbo
Dear May—
I apologize for my silence. Things are easier now that I am in Columbo. My hotel, the Galle Face, is supposedly the finest in the East outside Cairo, and the embassy here has been helpful. I was having a hard time securing any routes out of Bombay that made any sense. And I figured coming here would give me more options.
Thank you so much for your letter that found me here with details of the fire in Sandusky and Ethan’s recovery. I am glad to hear he’s better, though I read of his accident with sadness. I sent along a package of trinkets to him from Bombay in hopes they might amuse him while he convalesces. Ganesha is the elephant god of new beginnings and fresh starts. Please tell him the significance of the little statue when it arrives. He progresses well? At the risk of sounding crass, what is the extent of his injury? I’ve written to him, but received nothing back. I suppose this is to be expected.
Ambrose
*
Columbo
Dear May—
I didn’t hear from you yesterday but got your two cables today and one from my father, which reads: “Prefer you return home. Answer.” I haven’t answered yet. My funds are running low. I used a good portion in India, and Father is refusing to augment them, given this tragedy. I know he wants me there. I still haven’t decided what I’ll do. I’ve written Ethan, wanting his honest opinion concerning my return. Please encourage him to be frank with me. I’ve waited so long for this trip, as you know. To come home with it cut so short, I don’t think it’s best for me, or for anyone there. You, more than anyone, know how I was before I left. But if needed, I will return.
Ambrose
*
Columbo
Dear Ethan—
By now you all have had my telegram and know of my decision. As I mentioned, I’m of two minds about this, but in the end your gracious letter let me know what I must do. (How well your dictation is coming along. Now that you’re a dictator, should we find you a little country to rule over?) I trust that you will soften the blow for Father.
Since you seem to so completely understand my thinking, if you can, please help Father see that I can’t return home just now. The need to complete my trip is not something I can completely justify, even to myself. I know I should come home and maybe I could shoot in the Rockies and see the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone after I’ve come back to help with work. But you’ve reassured me there’s no need.
May told me before I left that I was like living with a caged tiger, frustrated yet half-asleep and swiping at things unpredictably. I was unable to see anything clearly. But I’m starting to understand now, both my place and my purpose. And I know if I returned with this thing half-done, I’d be of no use to anyone.
Especially not to you, I’d only be in the way. From the sound of it, May has become your Florence Nightingale. She’s kept me informed about your paraffin treatments and iron supplements, and writes that everyone is encouraged that you can already tolerate the complicated massage and X-ray regimen to keep you from contractions. I hope it is not too painful, and I’m glad to hear you’re healing quickly. This has also eased my decision, though only slightly.
I can’t return home without seeing more, doing more, being more. Father has told me he won’t forward me any more money and so I must ask you for a favor to forward money to me. I will, of course, repay you once I get home. I’m pained to ask this of you with everything else you confront in your current health, but you’ve assured me you’re no invalid. Father has made it impossible for me to withdraw from the corpus of Mother’s inheritance without some legal wrangling, and I’m afraid I’ve spent the interest. I will sign any promissory note you wish in connection with this. Please see your way to doing me this favor. I can’t come home yet; I’ll only long to leave. I’ve lived that way before, and I can’t do it again. You’ve seen me that way, and you can’t wish it on me.
Before you send a party out to drag me back, let me say that I am in my right mind. I am not losing my wits. I only think that now I cannot return without fulfilling my dream.
I am your loving brother—
Ambrose
*
Columbo