Dear Diary,
It feels like I haven't written in forever, I've been so busy! Hoenehim and I have been spending more and more time together now (only when he isn't working on his secret alchemy project. No matter how much I beg he won't tell me what it is), and I've started a winter vegetable garden. I know, gardening in winter! Mr. Gates claims I would never make it as a true farmer, and I fear he is right. But, I love my little garden dearly and can only hope for the best. Since Hoenheim is working, I have been able to weed and plant. It took awhile to pull up the weeds, and the rest of the day to plant the seeds correctly. Even though these grow in winter, it still has to be done very carefully, or else I will lose them. But, it's gratyfying work and hopefully I'll soon be able to eat them and sell them!
Hoenheim sometimes looks very tired and I've noticed that he wears sweet perfumes, almost sickly sweet. While we were visiting friends together, someone asked him why he wears perfume and where he got it. Hoenheim said, that he wears it to drain his sinus and to clear his headaches. He gets the perfumes ('m assuming he has more than one type) from some shop in the west areas, or he makes them himself. Imagine, wearing perfume for headaches! Well, he can wear his perfume whenever he has to; I'll still love him.
I vaugly remember saying that Hoenheim smiles sadly. Not that he does that much anymore. In fact, he smiles very brightly now and beams when people tease us. I have yet to hear him laugh. The only time I ever really see him down in when he's had a bad day, or when someone tells him he is getting old and needs to get married and start a family. He'd probably never admit it to me, or anyone else for that matter, but I think he did have a wife and child, but lost them somehow so he won't talk about it.
Oh, someone's at the door. I'll be back as soon as I can.
It was David Thompson. Again. He's been coming over every chance he gets. Funny thing is, he never comes when Hoenheim is around. David is sweet, but I don't like him much. When he stares at me, I start to sqirm. He gives me the creeps.
Mother finally wrote to me. I can't say that I wrote her every day, but I have a few times. But, this is the first time she's written back. Here's a bit from her letter:
"I, meaning your father and I, was hoping that you would come home for a while. Juding from what happened to you in your last letter, I'd say it would do you good.
"We missed you at Christmas. When my friends asked where you were, I simply told them that you were with some of your father's relatives.They believed, thank goodness, but I don't know how long it will last or when the truth will come out. Darling, I really wish you would come home. When is this rebellion of yours going to end?"
I think you can get your own conclussions from the last sentance. Right now, though, it's time for bed. Until next time.
Love always,
--Trisha