Sincerely Yours

February 17th 1815

Why does my heart beat slower today? It is as if the world slowed down in wait of new prospects. I have pondered within the dull events of the day what my answers will be, and how I shall disclose them. How will the answers help us to discover how we may become the best of ourselves? In any case I am open to any excuse to get to know Mr. Ackerly better.
I have found myself not knowing what it is that makes me happy. Through constant thought, and scribbles I came up with this letter. I am so glad, Diary, that you cannot give criticism for I know it is just nonsense.

Mr. Ackerly,
I must tell you, your correspondence was a very shocking discovery and yet a pleasant diversion. I will leave this letter for you where I found yours and hope to hear your promised responses in the same way. Here is a faithful illustration of my character.
I am the most dull person, most things I care about are not tangible as other women might express, like a smart looking dress, or new ribbons. That would be too easy to say, although I like those things, those are not the things that make me ultimately happy.
I enjoy thinking of the future; the imagines of my mind think it limitless. And then to write what things could be like, carriages of flowers, violet sunshine and painting the universe. A friendship that I think could be so strong even the span of the oceans couldn’t deter it from striving. To be apart of something with someone with a greater force then what the daily gossip could destroy, that would bring me the greatest pleasure in the entire world. I have yet to experience this, so I cannot be certain of its affect on my happiness, I can only hope that it would bring me the piece and joy I long to have. So can I become the best of myself on my own or do I require those things that I fancy will make me happy? I must be content to try on my own, and be self sustaining, for in this age and society the things of my mind only happen where they are created. Can my persistence and persuasion make it be found or will I only be disappointed then when friendships don’t last and carriages are not made of flowers?
I laugh for many reasons Mr. Ackerly, most at myself. I like to have lively conversation were I can make fun of myself, if I trip over my skirts or mix up my words. Many people see me through my father’s money as very fine, and it is my little silly secret that I have faults. I do not see that finding the faults in others as funny. That is an offence that cannot be born.
Love, that word can mean many things. I Love my father for bringing me into the world, my mother for being my best friend, and my sister for keeping me on the straight and narrow.
There have been many amiable suitors introduced into my acquaintance but I have yet to love or even admire one. This puzzles me exceedingly; maybe I am waiting for something that doesn’t exist. The deepest of love is so rare but I am not inclined to wed without it.
I am sure if I write you about the worst of my self our messages will come to an abrupt end. Nevertheless I will tell you for it is only fair if I am to know yours. My defects are great. I am angered when our polished society puts a character label on someone before they are known, for instance, when a servant is labeled as ignorant because they are lower class. How do they know that that same person has studied the written word, and understands his environment? I am placed on a pedestal because of wealth, but I am a simple girl. I deserve no such praise and the servant no such censure. When I am angry I get flushed and refuse to be in company of anyone. I am rarely consoled by anyone I have to compose my self by my own means. Unfortunately this process takes longer than necessary, but it cannot be helped. My worst trait would have to be that I complain too much. It seems as though there is so much more that I want to experience outside of my grasp. In reading over this letter it is evident that this is my worst attribute.
I await your response Mr. Ackerly, remember you promised.
Sincerely Yours,
Miss Audrene Locke

After I finished the letter, I set the date on the calendar to return it to the tree. I placed it by the book of Shakespeare. It still sits there mocking me of my weakness. I don’t care, I’ve decided this is too amusing to avoid. I then went for a walk, on my way downstairs I passed the drawing room and Catharine and Lord Grant were talking just loud enough to hear.
“You shouldn’t encourage her so. You don’t know what the future will hold for him.”
“That woman wouldn’t dare, the wishes of her husband are certainly clear. In any case, he will get better. He has a strong constitution. I am just enjoying a pleasant diversion with our guest that is all. What could it hurt?”
“My family. There are rules, Jeffrey. We cannot get involved with someone with an unknown future.”
“It shall work out my dear, and so shall the other thing you have been fretting about, we will find another doctor and all will be settled.”
Somehow I knew this is something important, but I couldn’t decipher their meaning. Was someone sick, and why did that effect our family? I will inquire about it tomorrow, for just then wasn’t the right time.
Mother met me in the garden with a letter in her hand, she took my arm as we walked together closely to keep warm.
“It is so refreshing to be out of doors, even if it is frigid. I have news.”
“Oh, you know how I adore news! Please don’t keep me waiting.”
“Addie, you are such a silly girl that is what I love most about you.”
“Mother?”
“There will be a ball at Anderson Park, it is public, but I dare say it will be diverting. There will be soldiers and gentlemen there.”
The only thing I could think of was whether Mr. Ackerly would be attending. What foolishness.
“When will it be?” I asked to ascertain if he would be back in time.
“Just after Mr. Ackerly returns, February 23.” She must have read my mind for I knew I had kept a smooth face. She does that so often.
I smiled and she gave me a sideways grin in return. I suppose it will be all right if she knows I care for him, although I will not tell a soul of our letters. In five days he will return to read mine. I hope it will not take as long to receive his next pen.