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 Posted: Wed Aug 22, 2012 1:47 pm
1789; June
The envelope is addressed in slightly uneven but legible writing to one Miss Abigail Goodwin.
My dearest Abbey,
I hope this letter finds you well and on your way to the 'higher education' mother is so fretting over. She worries over your status as a lady more than my own as a 'gentleman,' and that's quite troubling -- for you, of which I've no envy for her fixation upon you. I only hope your time away will afford you some sort of slack in the leash of parenting good will.
Life since your departure has been enough to make me fancy going to seek schooling myself and not for the promise of learning. Your absence has caused a tear in the fabric of reality, as I can think of no other reason to be buried under so much scrutiny. I suddenly find your father over more than ever and the weight of his stare coupled with my mother's is suffocating. I fear breathing without judgement. If I might sigh, mother swears to hear your name in it. If I might busy myself in studies or menial work, I hear rumbles of preparing for supporting a proper wife. So help me, Abbey, you might wake up one morning and find me at your doorstep. I hope you've space for me under your bed next to your luggage.
Aside from the mental lashings of marriage and expectation, I've been considering a proper workplace. Surely I'd be expected to work for your father, which is of no problem, really, but clothwork is not exactly my strong point; do you remember, given the simple task of threading a needle, how deeply I gouged my thumb? Just a small facet of my prowess as a tailor, I assure you, but hardly enough to daunt those with a set mind on a future predetermined. Between you and I, Mister Gaffers has hired me discretely to pen his letters to correspondents in Ashford and Palisades; he's even considering letting me balance his ledgers! Ink and parchment, words and wax seals -- that is where my future is. It must be! If only I knew how...
Time gets away from me and I can hear that we've company in the front room. Might I guess who it is? Make space for me under your bed, Abbey, lest you return to a proper man with marriage on the mind as a 'good boy' ought to become.
Yours,
Zavier Hutchinson
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Posted: Wed Sep 05, 2012 8:56 am
1789; AugustThe envelope is addressed in shockingly tidy, ramrod straight letters to Zavier Hutchinson.Zavier,
As much as it may seem wise to come flitting to my doorstep, I must strongly advise against this course of action. It is not merely the potential of my parents thinking your actions yet another sign of lovesick affections but also this place that should drive you away. Part of me wonders if it stands here as a warning from my parents of the life that will await me, should I refuse to succumb to their intentions.
My Aunt, unwed Dowager that she is, lacks any sense of humor, adventure, or curiosity, and it seems her sworn duty to drive these same from myself as well. No woman should have so many dry texts on proper behavior in social situations, while lacking even so much as a single tale of rogue highwayman. No woman should be so dedicated to teaching music and dance, while being so thoroughly uninspired by new or innovative music and steps.
I will make an oath on the page now: no matter where my life goes, I swear never to lose my own fascination with the new, and will never snub any girl's interests, even if they are not my own. It is the worst kind of arrogance.
But I stray, I ramble, too much about myself and lend not enough time to your own troublesome situation. I will say this: under no circumstances should you abandon your own talents to work for my father, no matter how often he tells you that it is your best course of action. Speak carefully with Mister Gaffers, as his wife and my mother attend dinners together, or have in the past, but speak to him and speak clearly and speak truthfully, for truth is the key to getting all you desire.
Eventually.
Best Wishes Always,
Abigail Goodwin
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Posted: Wed Sep 26, 2012 10:35 pm
1789; November
The package is neatly addressed with flourish to one Miss Abigail Goodwin.
The package itself is well wrapped, its contents guessable by the shape alone: within the paper is a pale-leather bound journal - likely bound by Zave himself - with 'Abbey' painted flawlessly on the cover - likely not by Zave.
My dearest Abbey,
Time has all but leapt and bound from me, all the days hurdling from one chaotic heap into the next. It's not that my affairs are so undesirable, mind you, simply that...family is family, and work has taken me both with demand and hours spent.
Your sense wins out again and alas, I'll not be on your doorstep to tuck away beneath your bed. The idea that our parents might think me lovesick (*the world is even written as though he had shuddered in the process*) to do so is enough to ward even the most stalwart. I must say, I was not expecting you to note such a dour pall on the schooling itself; nonetheless, I have the utmost faith that you've survived thus far and will continue to see it to its end. You've always been the good sort of stubborn.
The oath has been taken and duly noted; and I, in my best to support your solemn vow, have enclosed within your gift a second surprise. In the back, you might find folded pages of short stories that I've squirreled away for you over the months. May they tide you over in your Aunt's lack of living.
My dear Abbey. If only truth were so pure. My truth is not the truth that my mother seeks and she had, this past September turning to the chill of October, found my workplace - by accident, no less. Suffice to say she was infuriated, but what is she to do? I'm not a boy, and I am working where other young men my age would instead gallivant. Is it so undesirable to have a child that seeks knowledge over word of mouth? Who values what was known and all that can be expanded upon over fearful whispers of God and demons?
Forgive me, my friend -- time here has left me encroaching dangerously upon bitter. I've taken to staying away from home and in Mr. Gaffer's private study, where I've found curious notes from one Mr. Adelbert Reddick from Palisades. This man - a professor - studies the Old Ways and all the religions of the known people of the world. It has been my only reprieve, these small delicacies that speak only of work and not of substance. Some days I think of perhaps spiriting away to Palisades myself, to see what there is to see -- to find if there's something, anything at all, worth finding for myself. It pains me to think in such dark ways but I've still a bad taste of what we left behind when we moved here and I...could not bear to fall prey to the vices of sloth and apathy as my father once did.
Does it ever get easier, Abbey? I pray it does, for both of us.
May you find a Christmas most Merry, dear Abbey. You are missed.
Yours,
Zavier Hutchinson
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Posted: Wed Nov 21, 2012 9:49 am
1789; DecemberThe package is addressed in shockingly tidy, ramrod straight letters to Zavier Hutchinson.
Contained within the perfectly-crisp package are a handful of sweets in bright colors; holiday favorites.Zavier,
Time here has become scarce, and likely will remain so for the length of my stay, but so long as I pretend to be working on my language studies my aunt will not interrupt my writing, though my desk is hardly private -- even now I can see her glance up from her own book to study my expression, as if she should see trouble on my face. But she will get nothing out of me.
The journal was a wonderful idea, and your ruse has served us well. After a preliminary glance through the first few pages, deeming the book safe for young female eyes, it was delivered into my care. I will read the stories well, likely until the paper goes thin, desperate for something inspiring.
The holidays, here, are shaping up to be dull. I suppose I could have come home. My aunt seemed surprised when I told her I would be staying over through til the new year. The costs associated with travel, however, seem high, and I have made friends with two or three girls in town, including the shopgirl at the local candy shop. Perhaps I can finally use the season as an excuse to explore the area a bit better...
Be Well, Happy Holidays,
Abigail Goodwin
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