November 5, 1812

have been most spoiled by the affectionate and dearly sympathetic Mr. Hegwood whilst he has watched my daily decline in spirits and heart since receipt of the Doctor’s letter. He has taken a keen interest in rectifying my melancholy state and has offered and provided such a fatherly tenderness that I have warmed to him as much as to my own dear Papa. My rather spacious bedroom has most recently been furnished to my surprise with a very lovely and charming globe, which Mr. Hegwood informs me, is to be used to track the weekly progress of the Doctor’s travel. He, familiar with the course I am told, will assist me in where to place the marker every Sunday evening before I sleep. I am utterly delighted by this handsome and meaningful gift, and have spent long hours tracing the distance with my fingertips, memorizing, and yet despairing in it.

Since the rain has ceased for a spell and the roads have dried back to safe traveling conditions, The Vincent’s have resumed their nearly daily calls. Mr. Vincent has been less and less in attendance with Mrs. Vincent, but I am too suspicious to feel I am freed of him just yet. He has sent me notes in his absence from the Hegwood Estate, most of which I have tossed into the fire without opening, fearing reading the words would somehow allow for him to continue his hold over me without his presence. I can find nothing else to report of them since they have provided nothing extraordinary in their behaviors short of Mrs. Vincent’s usual effusive ways, and Mr. Vincent’s continued false sense of possession over me, so I shall spend no more time upon them.

I have written hastily to Georgiana to inform her of what has recently come to my knowledge about the Doctor, both his change of situation and my change of feelings, and have begged her if able to make a trip to London to report to me first hand in his safety and welfare, for she is most expedient in writing to me, and would be the first to inform me if anything was the matter. It seems foolish, but it has put my heart and mind at some rest knowing there will be a pair of very trusted eyes upon him.

I fear my time riding for the season may be at a close. Mrs. Hegwood has very excitedly expressed concern for me catching a chill riding out in the mornings where the frost is thick upon everything. I find it rather stifling that I must be kept indoors now all day even if the afternoons are fine, but I am too meek of late to argue the point. The instrument in the second parlor has provided me enough entertainment, though I am growing bored of the pianoforte in my excessive use of it. Mr. Hegwood finds great pleasure, though, during the evenings in listening to me play, and has boasted that ‘he will grow quite vain of his little charge’s talent if I continue to progress so charmingly’. I fear he will soon open the Estate for small concerts to all the neighbors, as he has oft suggested the idea to Mrs. Hegwood. It has been a great luck that the weather has proved fickle and unpredictable, preventing most from making any sort of trips too far from their homes. I do not wish to be made a spectacle of, only to use the music as a sort of salve for my wounded heart.

As winter is approaching, I am feeling the dullness of the season to accompany it. The grayness of the sky hanging over our heads and the abrupt end to the colors of Autumn have left my spirits equally dull, and I am forced to find more things within the walls of the Estate to occupy my time and my mind. I have spent some time writing poetry that frustrates me in its unwillingness to cooperate in making sense or stirring anything within anyone present (I pity Abigail immensely), I have drawn nearly everything and everyone within immediate vicinity to me, and have played until my fingers ached, and it seems to only dismiss half of the day. Mrs. Hegwood has recently invited me in her weekly visits to the less fortunate that reside around the property of the Hegwood Estate, ensuring their collective health and happiness. These visits have a talent for disrupting my mind’s stubborn orbit of the Doctor and my sorrow, and give me new focus and purpose. In the quiet hours of my home bound days, I have mended old clothes to give to them, made for them blankets, and have written up lessons for the children in arithmetic and language. I cannot feel sorry for my own unfortunate circumstances whilst so surrounded with theirs, yet they seem not to feel their situations, and it gives me strength. Perhaps I should increase the number of my visits during the week, and better fulfill my Christian duty, as certainly it will provide within me a peace and solace.

As each day passes, though, I am finding myself more and more able to tolerate the knowledge that the Doctor is every day growing more distant from me, and that our paths may never cross again. Who is to say how long I am to reside in America now, since it seems I have failed in my ‘duty’. I am no fool, and I know why Aunt Elizabeth sent me here, for more reason than her disregard for Mr. B--- for what other reason had she to dislike him so, than as competition for where HER heart desired for my future? She has won in the regard that I have placed all my hope and affections on the Doctor, but now he is quite gone, and I have succeeded in nothing but causing injury to myself, once more. I have started to write to her many times, but each time the letter has begun I have ended it by throwing it into the fire before the ink has even dried. I cannot bring myself to tell her what has happened, as I am not ready to tear myself from this place. Though Mrs. Hegwood oft exasperates me to no end, and the Vincents constantly plague me, my heart is still too attached to this continent, and my hope that the Doctor will return to America too strong. If I were to leave here now and return to England, and he were to return to America after all, we would be divided for certain, and whilst a spark of hope is still kindled in my breast, it must remain alive only in America.

I still every day stir from whatever it is that I am doing when I hear one of the footmen respond to the bell, or when I hear the approach of a horse’s hooves, though I know it is by far too soon to expect any letter. I count down each day to the prediction when Mr. Hegwood suggests the Doctor will arrive in England, and will place a new marker in my globe each Sunday evening, and pray with all my soul that he arrives safely, and will choose to return to me.

A rememberance

I was, today, giv'n mind of the trip to The Farnsley-Moremen estate in September. You may see said rememberance in the journal of Mr. and Mrs. Cummings. Look for our Miss Waterman engaged in her archery on the front page.

October 31, 1812

t was decided by all in the house, most servants included, that I should waste no more of my life mourning the departure of the Doctor, and I have taken the opportunity and forceful suggestions supplied to reach out to those about me to fill the empty place within my heart.

I wrote to Miss Liebert yesterday, imploring her to provide for me a kind heart and touch to rely upon whilst I felt I could not trust Mrs. Hegwood still. She immediately responded to the note, and made haste to the Hegwood Estate despite the threat of more rain and poor traveling conditions. I could not help it, my heart so exposed as it was and so tender to any sort of kindness, that I told her all. I told her everything from the first mention of the Doctor’s name in my home in England to the precise identification of my love for him discovered three days prior, and even all about the loathsome Mr. Vincent. Hours passed unnoticed by either party as I laid at her feet everything there was in the heart of Emily Waterman. The wonderful creature that she is, she only provided me a hand to hold and a gentle touch to brush away my tears as they fell in great numbers. She offered no suggestions, and no advice, only sympathies and a much desired gentle heart.

When finally the conversation turned to lighter topics, she suggested my attendance at a wonderful masquerade ball that was to be held that evening. Mrs. Hegwood, being always desirous for society, immediately agreed it best for my spirits. My heart still raw and yet to recover, I could not muster the energy nor vice to argue, and it was agreed upon by Miss Liebert and Mrs. Hegwood that I would go as an angel, as to them my face was nothing but sweetness and would hold no other disguise nearly so well. Mrs. Hegwood offered a new gown for the occasion, but I detained her and told her I would wear the same worn to the Congress of Vienna, and would accept nothing else. She of course could not understand my sentimental attachment to the frock, and I was not in the mood to discuss the matter. I removed the red trimmings to keep the proper illusion, and the ensemble was very well received by all present. The henhouse was raided by any of the servants who could be spared for any and all white feathers, and the quick and creative mind of Ms. Liebert produced a pair of serviceable angel wings to be worn with my snow white muslin ball gown. Pearls were draped through my hair and silk flowers, as well as three crisp and new Ostrich plumes. I confess I felt myself quite a magnificent sight as Mr. and Mrs. Hegwood, Abigail, and Ms. Liebert all fussed over me and crooned how lovely a picture I was.

Ms. Liebert parted our company shortly thereafter to prepare herself and informed me she would meet with me upon arriving at the destination of the ball. I went forth with great trepidation and feeling very exposed and alone, as Mrs. Hegwood was obliged to stay behind due to Mr. Hegwood feeling terribly under the weather as the change of seasons oft caused him troubles in the joints. Abigail accompanied me in the coach as far as the ball, but could go no further and must be brought back to the Hegwood Estate. I wandered aimlessly among the company present, knowing not a soul and seeing not a person I recognized even from the Congress of Vienna ball. My heart began to sink, and my mind was immediately brought back to that happy memory, though I could think of it with no joy. I fancied I could still smell the distinct scent of the Doctor’s wool coat upon my gown as I moved, and I was forced to find a corner in which to hide myself, as my breath was caught in my throat, and I could scarce see for the tears brimming in my eyes. I was interrupted by one of the servants and handed a note. It was from Miss Liebert, and to my horror she begged for my forgiveness as she was unable to attend due to her obligation to care for her ailing mother. Her apology sounded so earnest that I could not resent her for her duty as a loving daughter. I made amends to carry out the night on my own, and was resolved to enjoy myself at least in part. All present made such a lovely sight, that my breath was stolen quite away upon observing the dance floor. It was a magnificent and large ballroom, brightly lit with as many colorful fashions as one could possible imagine. There were trees, fairies, the night sky, spring and summer, and as many creative masques as I could think, though I was the soul angel in attendance, and too many times did I see groups look at me and whisper behind their fans. I could not be sure if I was receiving a compliment or if gossip of my solitary attendance was sprouting, and my confidence wavered.

I spent a considerable amount of time observing faces, and those I could not see, observing movements. I was exceedingly happy to discover that neither Mrs. Vincent nor her dreadful son Mr. Vincent were to be seen. With this knowledge, I felt my heart lighten, and I was able to enjoy some of my time, and even danced a few of my favorites. Whilst taking air between dancing, I glimpsed over the shoulder of the charming young lady I was speaking to, a face that looked so like Mr. B--- that my head began to swim and the poor lady before me was obliged to grasp my hand lest I faint, and I was afraid I very well may have if not for her. I regained my senses quickly enough upon the logical realization that it was quite impossible for Mr. B---- to be present in America, and even more so now that he was married to the Miss P---, now Mrs. B----. Despite the assurances I recounted to myself, the memories of my recent affliction came anew, and I excused myself from the conversation, and called for my coach. I plead unwell and was not delayed in my departure.

Once home, I was surprised to find Mrs. Hegwood still out of bed, waiting upon my safe arrival. She took my hand and led me into the front parlor where a warm fire was lit. She sat me upon a low foot stool, and placed herself in the large chair behind it, and delicately removed the pearls, flowers, and plumes from my curls, taking down my bound tresses, and gently ran a brush through them. She said not a word, but I knew by her actions and uncharacteristic silence she had read the Doctor’s letter while it lay out upon my writing desk. I could not constrain the tears that I had so wanted to weep upon her shoulder, and with the first shaking of my shoulders, she put down the brush, lifted me slightly, turned me about, and placed my weeping head upon her lap, soothing my brow and gentling me whilst I sobbed. I told her that I loved him, and how my heart has suffered such a grievous injury in his going away so soon after I arrived in America and our acquaintance bloomed into such a cherished friendship. She mothered my tears and my wretched sorrow for quite some time, until I had calmed enough to realize how tired my mind, body, and heart had become. Mrs. Hegwood lifted me from my low perch and assisted me to my bed, helping me to undress and to prepare my hair for the next day. She kissed my brow, and smoothed back a few stray curls, and told me that she knew just the thing to help my aching heart, and to fear not, she would make all right again.

I am unsure that it is wise for me to trust her entirely in this matter, and I fear I already know what, or who, her solution will be, but I will humor her for her kindness to me.

October 27,1812

f ever I could banish the emotions of my heart like the traitors they are, I would exile them to plague me no more. My tedious days of anticipation for a letter from the Doctor were finally broken by receipt of one at breakfast just this morn. My unequivocal joy could not have been more profound when I saw the neat yet hurried script of his across the front and felt his familiar seal against my fingertips, and immediately I excused myself to my room. I tore open the note with unreserved haste and poured over the words, drinking each one in as if it were water and I was dying of thirst. Mrs. Hegwood graciously permitted me the solitude to which now, hours later, I am grateful.

But my bliss was cut down so abruptly and dreadfully as I was to learn what his fate was to be. The Doctor is traveling to England, and is no doubt already aboard the treacherous ship to take him away. I have read his letter again, and again, and again and as morning drifted into afternoon, and afternoon has now stolen into a bitterly cold evening whilst I have wept and raged, the words I read I still refuse to believe as truth. To be so cruelly torn from my home in England and all that I loved only to have the single pleasure and single friend I have on this cursed continent snatched from my life is by all reason too hard a thing to bear. How shall I ever endure Mr. Vincent without the Doctor? I am certain that I cannot, and there is no strength to be drawn other than in what words I am lucky enough to receive should he write to me. There is nothing left for me to draw sanity from in the utter absurdity of my life.

Until I read this letter, which short of providing me with such afflicting news, gave me some comfort, I could not make any sort of sense in my feeling towards the Doctor. Now, though, the discovery has come too late, and is now utterly useless to me, and all for naught, for perhaps he will never return to us, and I will remain with the Hegwoods until old age and infirmity take me. I will not make the same mistake I made with Mr. B ---, and my feelings this time shall die unspoken with my last breath. I could not possibly suffer another such heartbreak, and he shall never know of them, and I fear I shall never see him again. Perhaps it is an entirely misplaced foreboding, but the whispers of a war between England and America place a sharp dagger of distress within my breast on the Doctor's behalf. I cannot think upon these baleful fabrications any longer, I shall go entirely mad with dread.

As it stands, I can only wait, or perhaps try to forget. I pray that Mrs. Hegwood allow me my sorrow, and grant me my peace in asking me no questions for my hours of isolation, as I have yet to set foot out of the safety of my bedroom since receiving the letter. I fear I am unable to speak upon it presently, and as I write the tears continue to stain my pages and distort my words. I can only write to him now, and obey his earnest request that our correspondence continue, regardless of circumstances, and endeavor not to convey my entirely distraught heart through my words, nor betray what it is I am all too afraid has occurred within me, for though I have fought it since I had even a tiny notion of it, the truth is so very plain that I am hopelessly in love with him, and now he is gone.