Regards From Edward

Jamestown

September 15, 1607

Dearest Brother,

               

It has been long since I received your last letter, I hope everything is fine back home. How is Mother? Is Emily working on her music? Most important, how are you?

            I have been on my best mood lately, and so has Cedric. Perhaps due to the event that occurred two days ago: we were elected to be a part of the House of Burgesses! It was such a spontaneous request, and Cedric’s negative comments kept us both doubtful, and yet we were chosen! Sometimes I can see Cedric’s eyes watery with tears of joy, although he denies it.

            Speaking about Cedric, he sends his regards to all of you, and misses you terribly. We have been getting along so well lately, that sometimes I think that coming here was a great idea. Ever since I extricated him from a discussion with Captain Smith about his new idea; “He who does not work, does not eat”, he sees me more as a brother who is there to protect him, rather than a boss who only commands him. Cedric was in favor with the rule, and worked very hard for the settlement, but others opposed to it, and so he complained about them. It was a minor argument, but Smith’s rules do have to be obeyed, he does have the right to and imperative attitude.

            Some men in the settlement however, disobey to the rules. They are thoroughly despicable from Cedric’s and my point of view. They succumb to a lazy attitude which has pervaded thought the others. Their disposition consists in guile towards the youngest to encompass them into their poor working group. Those parasites think that Smith is oblivious to their lack of work, but Smith is no fool. He favors those who work hard, like Cedric and I, and honestly, we have forged a good friendship.

            After a few days, Smith’s point was made clear. Everyone was working, whether chopping wood, digging for gold, exploring or farming, there was not a single man who did not sweat. And soon more fortune crossed our way. John Rolfe had found out that we could grow tobacco as a cash crop. It grows almost on any kind of soil and we have been cultivating it on enormous quantities. Later after that, the idea of burgesses came to mind.

            So in business we are doing well, we have hard working people, riches, money coming in, and finally, we can make our own decisions with us, the burgesses. Yet there is something that has been ripping me apart slowly, day by day ever since we set sail. Thomas, brother, I want Rose to read this next paragraph:

           

Beloved Rose, I know you miss me, I miss you too. I don’t know how I have managed to live without you, but I know it must be hard on you too. That is why I must make this message concise. I’m fine, work is hard, but every day we improve. I am as healthy as a horse if that makes you calm, and I want you to remember that I love you. The agony of having to wake up without you by my side is excruciating. It won’t be long before women will be allowed to come, and then we will no longer be separated. You have my heart, for I have left it with you. I love you and I miss you.

            Well Thomas, I suppose this is all. Cedric will send a letter of his own; he says it would make mine look pathetic next to his. Thank Emily for the lovely anthology of poems she dedicated to me, and tell her I love her. Do keep an eye on her, for she is your responsibility as the man of the house now. Give mother a kiss for me, do what she tells you and take good care of her too. Thomas, I forgive you. I know you never meant any harm. I love you, and god I miss you. Have a happy birthday, Thomas and enjoy your present.

                                                                                              Sincerely,

                                                                                                              Edward.

The Frightening Night

It’s been a week since that frightening night I was electrified by the shriek that left me drawing predictions of what could have happened next door to me. Next door, were the kind old man and his strange care taker used to live. I’ve always believed the young lad to be abrasive, apart from my many other thoughts of his personality, but no one else seemed suspicious about him, as if they were oblivious to his behavior. I shuddered as the memory of the shriek echoed through my head, reminding me it had come from the old man with extreme terror in his voice.

            A week before this terrifying night, I remember the care taker’s over friendly behavior with the old man. Even then, he could not hide his grimace when he saw the old man’s vulture eye. I can agree that it was repulsing looking at that thing, but it was a sickness, there was no need for the hate the care taker held for the eye. It was easy to feel the tension of that mad man, the atmosphere around him would just make me shudder. I thought, no I knew he despised it, and he would endeavor to get rid of it, no matter what.

            That night as I lay in my bed I succumbed to my theory that the old man had been assassinated. I noticed my wife was awaken by the shriek as well but thought it was me and let her dreams flow again. I told her about my theory, about my fear for the old man’s safety, but she thought I wasn’t being reasonable, that maybe he’d screamed because of a dream. I doubted that. I deliberated no more, and called the police. I was getting nervous as I thought about my gruesome theory being true. My hands shook with every passing second.

            After what seemed an eternity of waiting, a police man answered the phone in a careless way. I started babbling out words too quickly and gave a cursory version of what had been going on. Due to the lack of details in my report, the incompetent man, who apparently didn’t quite get my message, surmised I had made this up. I was about to go insane! Trying to control my abrupt tone, I asked him to let me talk to his chief, for he was nothing but a brainless farm animal, this I kept to myself. When speaking to a decent human being, I corroborated to my story.

            I shook myself out of my flash back avoiding more nervousness, remembering that I had derived information from Mr. Blackwood, chief of the police, that I could examine the crime scene. I crept my way into the house feeling oddly unsettled. I saw various police men and analyzers gingerly examining something. I wanted to stop myself from walking closer to it, but my curiosity was more powerful than my will, and there it was. Cold as ice, stiff as stone, pale as snow, and very dehydrated, lying on the floor was the old man’s corpse! I thought I was going to be thoroughly repulsed, but instead I felt anger. I felt anger towards the care taker who was in charge of his murder. I was glad the cruel inhumane maniac was sentenced to death. I wanted to look away from the corpse, but I just couldn’t. Sadness stroke me and I finally looked away when the body was clad with a dark sheet. Taking a last glimpse of his face, I could swear he was eager for revenge in his expression.

Moving on around the house, I noticed other men inventory the evidence they’d found along with other observations. From the tiniest but of hair, to the broken boards on the floor were valuable hints. I imagined they would also make a simulation of the crime scene to draw even more theories and make the assassination clearer. I suddenly felt pity for the old man, and yet I felt relieved. I pitied him because his life was in vain, he shouldn’t have left just yet, I wanted to say goodbye. And I felt relieved because now he would no longer be sad. He was with his wife now, somewhere better, with no one to be repulsed by his eye. He’d still be vulture-eyed, but he would be so much happier. And as I left his house I whispered goodbye, with tears and a smile on my face. Let him be peaceful and joyful with no more worries of death coming for him soon, for he was free to fly away were the wind would take him.