The Private Letters of Edora Evans

Chapter 1: Conversations

I am mad. Completely and utterly insane. No longer can I go to the market, and I should not be let out of the house. To think, that my thoughts have been filled with that of a woman. A wonderful, intelligent, confident woman. I can no longer be a confidant to anyone because I can not empty my thoughts of one singular woman. I dream of her, though sometimes she is not in a familiar form. Even as I write in my journal empty spaces are filled with small sketches of her. I have even tried to talk to her in hopes of escaping my fantasies but of course, she had to be intelligent, and her strange way of saying things only made her more attractive. I have had only a handful of conversations with her, some when she is at the market, and others at social events. All of these times do not help my situation.

These are completely inappropriate thoughts. None of the many men who have thrown themselves at any of my sisters or me have ever intrigued me as she does. Especially the men my father drones about. It is important you marry a man of status and wealth. You must elevate yourselves to a better standing than we are now. He says that so often I wonder if it is printed on his tongue. I am sorry Father, but they are all terribly boring. If he wants one of his daughters to elevate our standing he will have to look to my sisters. Some market women I have talked to are entirely more interesting than possibly any man I have ever met. She teaches me in every conversation we have. She is intelligent independent and beautiful. I am torn between my father's words and hers. That is a choice I can not make.

I am beside myself only because I can not see her every day. If I had not asked her about the tools she sells and learned that they are just as much her art as her father's, I might have asked her to be my maid. My maid? Now what in the holy would I get out of that? Now instead of reading I stare out the window of our drawing room wishing to see her every day. What madness has taken over me is that thoughts of her are more entertaining than reading writing or talking to my family! Now all I think about is her. Even in the spaces between breaths, I think of what she is doing, of hopes that I may see her again the next Monday, of wishing that I could see her every day between then.

"What are you thinking about dear?" my mother's voice jolts abruptly through my daydreaming, "You have been silent for quite some time." She states. She wants to know everything about us, even if her days are filled with work and conversation with other nobles and business owners, she must know each detail of her children's lives.

"Nothing Mother I just do not feel like going out." The lie slips out faster than I can stop it. My layers of skirts and corsets are beginning to bother me. I began to fidget, lying to my mother was something odd, something abnormal.

"That is strange, you never say no to a walk with fresh air." My mother's eyes find mine and she has almost stopped walking, "Are you feeling okay?" No, I want to scream, but I refrain. If I do, she will not rest until she finds out why. She can not know that I am going mad over a woman I barely know.

"I feel fine Mother, but you know how large crowds make me anxious" This is not an uncommon reason for me to remain inside our home. Loud crowds make me nervous and give me headaches. Mother knows this, but she also knows that I love exploring the different goods the market has to offer.

"You did not seem opposed to the market as of late, I apologize my child." Before I can take back my words, the smallest is pulling at her skirt begging for her attention. Instantly her focus is dragged away from me and my condition. I know that If I do not go I will get a lecture about how worried my parents are. If we stray away from one part of our routine they act as if we are gravely ill and have not told them. So The 20-minute walk to the busy streets of Grandale starts. My mother makes us walk because she is convinced that if we do not soak in the sun and stretch our legs we will become sickly and hysterical. However, she makes sure that every room has books and paper so that we feel inclined to exercise our brains.