Thoughts for the Future

Dear Mother,

I promised I would write this evening and so here I am, late at night, putting my words down to you. I think I will enjoy all of these little letter writing sessions.

Mother, do you remember the days where we would go out into the woods and collect herbs together for the week’s dinners? I cherish those memories of you instructing me to cut the plant just so, allowing it to grow more and continue to live. Not like the boys in our village, who ripped the plants from their roots, and getting them as fast as possible.

Today I went out there. Even after four years of doing it alone I still miss your comforting guidance. I remember we were called witches for taking such care with the plants and using the ones that nobody else did. They even called your cooking witchcraft for a while! Such nonsense made us laugh together, did it not, Mother?

Elizabeth did not want to come, but soon she will have to. I was younger than her when I started going out with you, though I daresay I was more mature than her.

Mother, I hate to tell her off. But she is so wild at times, then calm at others. She hardly ever listens to me anymore, and she’s still young. I am young too, but so close to becoming an adult. Please Mother, guide her as you guide me.

I tell her stories every night, you know. Everything that you told me. The stories of the princess locked away, and the tales of mystical creatures that we all know don’t exist. She likes that.

Tomorrow is Sunday, Mother, and Church is first thing. I love the holiness there, but I feel as though we are praying to the wrong person. If anyone should discover these letters I will be thrown into prison for sure! The King was put in place by God and so we worship Him. But Mother, if there is such a kind and holy God then why on Earth has he left our family to the misery of poverty and hunger! Why did he rip you and Father so cruelly away from me?

Of course, I should not complain about our state of living. Many have it so much worse than we do, in the workhouses with no place to properly call home.

But enough of that- I do not want such depressing thoughts marring my time with you.

Do you remember Charlotte, dearest Mother? She just turned one-and-twenty and she has been offered a marriage proposal. I had never seen her so happy until she told me just today. I have heard in other kingdoms the marrying age is fifteen! At fifteen all I was concerned about was helping you with the dishes and cooking.

I am expected to marry soon. In truth, Mother, I am terrified. What if my husband is not good or kind, but I have to accept because of our poor state of living? What if he does not want Elizabeth to live with us? What if- oh Mother, what if he is a drunk?

I do not wish to have these thoughts but they keep creeping up on me unexpectedly.

I wish I could have the luxury of never marrying but you know what whispers follow those who never do. Harlot. W***e. Prostitute. All names. All meaning the same thing.

Mother it is getting late now and my candle burns too low to continue to write further. I hate to leave you with such thoughts on this paper but I suppose it is best if I leave them there.

Your loving daughter,
Jane

Reviews

[Astrid]

I'm not one to read diaries or intrude on other's privacy, but I quite enjoy reading these letters. It's like peeking into a different time and/or culture. It feels so real.

One suggestion:
"Harlot. W***e. Prostitute. All names. All meaning the same thing."
perhaps condense? example:
"Harlot, w***e, prostitute; all names meaning the same."