Dearest Robert,
I know not what to believe, the frozen lands of the Arctic are farther than my imagination can reach, and although the words of great poets assure me of it's wonders and terrors, this tale is more fantastic than any I have heard. Brother, I fear your time in alone in the Arctic (for having none to converse with in a large crowd of people is quite the same as being alone) and at home as well has given your mind leave to create visions of such vivid clarity that you perceive them to be true. And worse, I fear that your mind is not affected, I fear that you have been in the company of a murderer and his creator, who imagines himself Lord and God. Robert, I wish for you to come home with as much haste as you can, do not dally along the way to explore the beauty of unknown cities as I know is your nature, I have feared for your safety these long months and the thought of further separation makes my heart ache with grief. Since Mother's death, I have been burdened with the concern of both mother and sister, and both fear when their loved one is farther than the day is long. I do believe my husband will tear out his hair if I say another word of my fear for your safety, or ask him if ships encounter much trouble in the frozen lands you venture through, but I cannot help myself, it seems that my days consist of waking, worrying, knitting, sleeping, and repeating again and again and again, as wretched as Sisyphus condemned to never vary in his labors until the end of time. Yet all is not as miserable as my troubled mind paints.
All is well at home, tis spring here and the fields are in full bloom, Thomas's colt is nearly large enough to be ridden and I pray you'll be here to teach him, almost ten years old and he swears that he will be the world's best horseman, and will join the army to serve the king in the calvary. My husband finds his desire amusing, but cannot find enough time in the day to show him, nor enough skill to make me comfortable with leaving the two alone to the task. I hardly know where Thomas is all day, he is so much like you, coming home with flushed cheeks tellling tales of cool springs, fields full of flowers, and birds tittering through the trees. The entire world is new again Robert, and this spring is more beautiful than any we have ever had, forget, at least for a while, your wish for knowledge and be content with roaming through the woods and the mountains, your boyhood haunts. Forget the vile monster and his wretched creator, such things are not healthy to dwell on. Susan, the gardener's daughter, who was a shy slip of a thing when you left has grown tall, well mannered and beautiful, however, she seems almost sad, and she is certainly lonely, perhaps the two of you will find solace in each other when you return.
Our home is not a home without you Robert, it often comes close, but is never complete. I find myself turning towards your seat at the table when a guest brings up magnetic fields, the Arctic, or another one of your passions, waiting for your excited explanation of them. I recieve none. It is strange trying to teach myself not to expect you for dinner, some new book clutched in your hands and a wild excitement in your eyes. I have prayed our Lord every night since your departure for your safe return, and now that the eve of it approaches I find myself more worried than ever before. Brother, I don't believe I shall sleep a wink until you are safe home where you belong.
As always, your beloved sister,
Margaret
