The last log has fallen from the grate. Smoke and ash sting my eyes and the windows groan from the wind. My mood has not improved, though I had few expectations of that tonight. I am out of sorts and admit some of my unpleasantness is stirred by desires a man can never slake with words on a page. Nevertheless, I respect your commitment to changing your father’s opinion of me even if I believe your tactics are misguided. My prayer is that this trip affords what you expect. Before you leave I ask only that you stay away from the Muskrat. I believe he is conniving and not the least bit motivated by helping underprivileged immigrants.
Remember, muskrats are pests that do their destructive burrowing under cover of nightfall. They are crafty, wild creatures that live in bogs and swamps. Killing a muskrat requires a cage and sharp axe. I have both.
Yours,
Thomas
January 11, 1889.
DEAR MOTHER —
Thank you for warning a long letter was keeping Father from using your Parisian handkerchiefs to clean his hunting rifles. I promise to reply—if just to save your handkerchiefs.
How long have you suspected my interest in a young lady? Was I that obvious? Seems I have again underestimated your intuition. Her name is Mary, and yes, she enjoys working in the garden. My intention was never to keep her from you, in fact quite the opposite. But her father is a disagreeable man who finds me repugnant. Mary believes she can change her father’s opinion by badgering him. I disagree and provided solid rationale for my opinion. Mother, can you interpret her last letter? I thought Mary would appreciate my sincerity and concern for her safety. Instead she is fuming.
Thomas, you are so preoccupied with work and other interludes that perhaps in your consumed state you have forgotten that a girl living under her father’s roof does not discuss or disobey.
Why? What would her father do? Moreover, what does Mary believe he would do?
And besides, do you really think my father would take me to Abilene if it were unsafe? He may be many things but he loves me and wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. And even if the area is a tad rough you know full well I can handle myself. Your constant worrying is offensive …
How could she possibly take offense to my concern? Would she rather I not care at all?
and I find your sarcasm—I hope it was just sarcasm—offensive. I want an apology.
Yes, I will apologize.
I honestly thought you would thank me for my commitment to changing my father’s opinion of you. Surely you can see the benefit of my spending time alone with him. There is nothing to do on the long train ride but talk. I can make him understand what we mean to each other. You must concede this trip can be used to our advantage.
I can, and yet I could never forgive myself if she were harmed on my account.
I share your disappointment about the wedding and was also looking forward to meeting your parents, but I will not just sit around and wait …
Is that a subtle criticism?
… for our situation to change. I must, and will, do something. And, by the by, it was your suggestion I keep myself busy while you are consumed by your passion for work. The gala was a fundraiser …
She spent a very lavish evening in the company of another man.
… and I spent most of my time encouraging patrons. Yes, I did spend some of the time with Mr. Kennard and he was a fine gentleman. My glass was never empty nor was I left alone in the corner. These are merely facts and are not meant to allude to anything.
Then why tell me at all? She should have kept the details unless I asked.
I will not speak any more about Mr. Kennard. But I will say one more thing about this trip with my father. With or without your blessing, I am going to Abilene. I will convince my father of your exceptional breeding and fine character even if that means trotting out your qualities as a show dog and overlooking your threat of axes …
It was more of a suggestion.
and cages. Really, Thomas, was that necessary?
My letter was perhaps a bit coarse, but I explained my grievances with clarity and stand by my sound reasoning. Even so, I know you will tell me an apology is in order. I think it will be more believable if you could shed light on why I should apologize. Sometimes we all need another perspective.
Your loving son,
Thomas
February 1, 1889.
FOWLER —
Your incompetence is intolerable! While hurrying to Winchester Manor the rear axle clip snapped clean in half and the carriage catapulted. If not for the good fortune of a large log, I would have careened off the cliff and plummeted to my death. Are you trying to kill me!
February 2, 1889.
MR. EVERETT —
I am indeed interested in what you “stumbled upon” with regard to Mr. Harting. Also, where is the criminal file on Mr. Kennard? Recent circumstances dictate urgency. I shall be in New York on personal business in a few weeks and would like to arrange a meeting. I expect you are gathering information at full chisel and have much to share.
Thomas M. Gadwell
February 2, 1889.
DEAR HENRY —
Paranoia has returned and this time with tangible reason. Has your carriage axle clip ever broken in two? Has anyone’s? I assure you a ridge-top ledge is a horrific place for a suspicious malfunction. This accident combined with my inquisitive “college roommate” and Fowler’s insistence he has not taken up smoking despite evidence to the contrary means I can no longer swallow my nagging concerns.
Though unfathomable outside the pages of one of your stories, I must consider Mr. Harting’s threat and the possibility he has discovered our letters. Still, Doyle’s new Sherlock Holmes would not jump to conclusions. Given Mr. Kennard’s desire to sit at the Hartings’ dinner table, perhaps the Muskrat is shrewder than I imagined and has discovered Mr. Everett. For now the doors are locked and my panic is growing. I welcome your counsel.
Your esteeming,
