Dear Josh,
First off, I see now that I might have used language in previous letters that would likely offend your kind. Please excuse that. I’ve never bothered myself with being politically correct, but truth be told, I don’t care much one way or the other about people’s sexual leanings. I tend to get lazy and resort to the easy insults. I apologize for that.
It’s a limitation in writing back and forth like this. You don’t see a whole person in their words. I am surprised, though, that you two landed some place like Alpine, at least how you describe it. It seems the city might be a more accepting place.
I am curious, too, why you mention it at all. Life would be a whole lot easier if you just kept that under your hat. Down the road from me a couple of old spinsters have lived together for as long as I can recall. They don’t make a show of it or march to get married at town hall. They keep their business to themselves, and that suits us all just fine.
As for the money, take it. I don’t have family to speak of. I was married once years ago, but we never had children. It was probably for the best. I don’t think we ever much liked each other. Looking back I think I was only truly in love once, when I was about 18 or 19. She was a sweet girl, and if I’d known how rare that commodity was, maybe I would have done things different. Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes when I think back on my younger self, it’s like trying to read the mind of a stranger. And a damned idiot at that.
On to more important matters, it’s true what you said about the way a person comes to history. There’s nothing like a textbook to bleed all the life out of the past. And for you, a boy all the way up in Alaska, the Civil War might as well have happened on another planet.
Interestingly enough, though, it was at one of those battlefields that I first got interested. It was much like your finding those train cars. My father took me out to Gettysburg when I was a boy, and even at that young age, I was moved. I was still young enough to hold onto his hand, and while we walked, he told me that his uncle, the Colonel, had fought there. He made me to understand that my feet were touching holy ground where men had killed and bled and died. All these years later, I can still recall the day. The clouds were moving fast across a blue sky, and the green grass and trees were so peaceful. Nearly 50,000 men dead, wounded, or missing. I always did have an overactive imagination as a child, and I could hear the cannons firing, and I could see the ghosts of the soldiers walking those gentle hills. It troubled me for some time.
I’ll tell you one thing about history?—?we leave a lot of carnage in our wake. The only way we know, it seems, no matter how many times we see it done.
Sincerely,
Walt
It became very quiet in the house. All sat with downcast eyes. The shaman also remained silent with his head down, thinking for a minute or longer, then, without a word he left the house. In a few minutes, he returned with a dirty, greasy sack and shook from it the objects of his profession, namely wooden rattles used in dancing, colored sticks, strips of wood, feathers, a doll with hair and queue, and other trinkets which were so dirty that one could not handle them without repulsion. Then one or two similar dolls were brought in by some women: All these things were burned in their presence on the street. It was amusing to see the indignation of one old woman when she saw my churchman spitting on a doll brought by her.
?—?From Hieromonk Nikita, Travel Journal, Kenai, 1881–1882,
Documents Relative to the History of Alaska, volume 1
(translated from Russian)
Sophie Forrester
Vancouver Barracks
June 18, 1885
An unexpected turn of events at the General’s house this afternoon, although my embarrassment could have been much worse. Mercifully, Mrs Haywood interrupted my outburst before I could say all that I had prepared, about the right of a woman to run her household as she sees fit and the impertinence of anyone to suggest otherwise.
“And do not suppose that my husband will not defend me in this case,” I was saying. “I will certainly do everything I can to make amends, but if I cannot, I suggest we take it up with him upon his return?.?.?.”
“Mrs Forrester, Mrs Forrester. Calm yourself,” said Mrs Haywood, who was directing her servant to pour the tea. “You have not been called here to be reprimanded.”
“What? Of course not!” the General said. (In truth, every word the General spoke was at the auditory level of a shout, but his demeanor and that of his wife indicated that this was his customary voice.)
“What is she talking about?” the General shouted at his wife.
Mrs Haywood placed a hand on her husband’s knee and directed her attention back to me.