January 28, 1812
Today, I am three and twenty. By some grace of God I made it through the day with little to no comments or suggestions of my becoming an old maid at this ‘late stage of my bloom’. I must confess though I have had not a single suitor other than the horrendous Mr. Vincent, I have no fear of what my fate may bring. I find it is better to not think upon the subject if I can help it at all. Mrs. Hegwood, though her intentions are nothing if not wholly good and just, was the first to remind me of my “growing unfavorable circumstances” as I have shown no sign of being in a hurry to marry. How can I think upon such things when other thoughts weigh so heavily upon my head?
Mr. Hegwood has declined even more so this week. He has grown desperately thin and his gray, pain haggard face does nothing but look out of his window all the day. He has ceased to speak to any of us, and his hand has grown cold and listless each time I hold it in mine. I have ordered the pianoforte moved from the upstairs parlor into his bedroom so that I may play for him and he does not have to stir nor disrupt his comfort. I did write to Dr. Allison about the condition of my dear Mr. Hegwood, and sent it with the greatest of haste. Dr. Jackson has been dismissed, finally, as Mrs. Hegwood caught him nosing about in her private boudoir, near her jewelry, no doubt in a desire to lift some to enhance his means. I have no doubt his living is so meager considering how inept of a physician he truly is. I will wait for a proper prescription for Mr. Hegwood by Dr. Allison, but I am of the opinion he must be moved to warmer climates, where the entirety of the winter months are not spent shrouded in snow, and the sun is more readily available and not as weak when it is about.
I took the liberty today, as we had a dreadful downpour of snow last night, to walk about in the fresh drifts while I could, as there was sun to be enjoyed along with it. It was so quiet and peaceful on the property that I nearly forgot the world back inside the Hegwood Estate.
Written by E. Waterman