Obligatory disclaimer: The Mouse owns all, save my own original characters.


A/N: No years listed as I don't claim enough knowledge of history to pinpoint when the movies took place. Also, I thank you in advance for your understanding in the structure of the letters. I tried very hard to keep them of the period while also putting in a more modern context. I am not entirely sure I succeeded.
Evening, August 15th
Boston

Dearest Jewel,

It has been many years since I have sat down and taken ink to paper for anything other than business transactions, so my communication skills are quite unpracticed. Please forgive me in advance for any impairments or errors I might make in this correspondence. And please forgive my atrocious handwriting – my tutor must surely be turning over in his grave at this scrawl that is masquerading as handwriting.

That said, now, what do I say?

Well, I am sure you are curious as to why you are now the proud owner of a cat. His purpose on the ship was to keep the rodent population down to a minimum, at most, but since your departure, he has been useless. Please do not be angry, but the men and I were at our wit's end, as the cat did nothing but pine for you. Others might have disposed of him, but if such news reached your ears I knew you would have had my head – or worse. He has no name, for which I grievously apologize, so please, choose wisely.

At this juncture I must admit to a slight hesitation in knowing what else to say – knowing what else to write. But more so, I must confess to missing our daily conversations during this latest voyage. Well, what I call conversations, others might call discussions. Loud heated discussions, I know. But in their absence, I find my days a little less lively.

Once you and I parted ways, I made sure that the ship was able to set sail later that afternoon, lest I be tempted to see you again. Thankfully, the men had acquired a shipment to take to Boston and once we reached port there and disposed of the delivery, the men decided to head back to the Caribbean in the hopes of picking up another delivery – for we had just missed several opportunities to bid on several shipments by just minutes. Frustrated, we all wanted to go back to familiar territory. Boston is one of the much more impressive cities in the Colonies, but it is foreign to us in its newness.

We do have a passenger that will be traveling with us from Boston to Jamestown. Not quite as interesting as you and certainly not as engaging, but kind of heart and broad of knowledge nonetheless. Prior to his desire to see the world, he taught at a university back in England, mostly math courses. He and I chat daily, mostly about weather and current events, but his manor is dry and he is devoid of all humor and I am most pleased that he was never a teacher of mine in the past.

If I stop to think about what I have written – and what I am attempting to write – I stagger under the weight of knowledge that I have turned to you as my confidant. If you choose to tear my musings into tiny pieces, I would blame you not. But please, may I request you to drop me a line, to inform me that you have received my letter? And to grant permission that I may write you once again?

Think of me, sometimes, as I think of you. Which is quite fondly.

Your humble servant,
James

P.s. Again, please excuse my inability to write legibly and, more than that, please forgive my forwardness in presuming that I might write so candidly. I just know of no other way to express myself around you.


Morning, September 20th
Charles Towne

Dear, dear James,

This letter is written in receipt of your correspondence.

The recent acquisition to my household is adjusting well to his new surroundings. He does not prowl or plead to be out-of-doors like most other cats; rather, he is my most constant companion. It is like I have two shadows in the afternoon hours. After searching my heart for an appropriate name for your former employee, I have decided upon calling him Triton.

However, if I find that the delivery was made with the Amphitrite docked in Charles Towne harbor and nary a visit from you, I shall be quite disappointed.

I have recently acquired into my employ another servant. She is the sister to my Molly and came across from England as an indentured servant. Many men look forward to the shipments of women coming into port so that they may buy themselves a bride. Worse than that can also happen to these women, so with that consideration, I retained Sarah's services into my household. I shall not enforce the indenture, but neither will I free her without some compensation. An answer will need to appear soon, but until that time she will have a roof over her head and a warm meal before on the table.

Because my financial limits are being stretched, I have taken to doctoring some of the local Indians. 'Tis a very troublesome situation. Our illnesses are new to them, despite their peoples being of a much hardier stock. It is difficult to treat for illnesses that we have all grown accustomed to, but all in all, the local peoples seem very appreciative of my efforts.

I also am dancing a fine line in the opinions of the community. If it were not for the help of the local peoples, then we would all suffer. But since they are so different than us, many of the townsfolk find them confusing. So the Indians are often misunderstood. Which makes for a very volatile situation that I would rather not participate in, but find little else that I can do.

I make no money off of my work, but rather work in trade – enough to keep my larder stocked. Turkey, venison, bear's oil. What I cannot use, I sell to others in order to keep my household fed, clothed and otherwise tended. The monies allow me to purchase overly priced goods shipped over from England. And while the prices are higher than I feel proper, without the goods being sent we would not exist. Certainly as a child in Cheshire, this is not what I imagined my life becoming.

I know I am being bold in saying this, but I, too, miss our conversations. In person, I would not feel that I was being so forward in speaking about such matters, but putting pen to paper causes me to feel more than a twinge of embarrassment for writing so freely.

And due to said discomfiture, I think I that I shall bring this letter to a close. If, after all of this, you care to continue in corresponding, I would be greatly indebted.

As always,
Julia


Morning, October
Barbados

Sweet, sweet Jewel,

I scribble only a few words before I go to sleep in just a short while.

I know not even know what day it is, as we traveled with such haste. The ship flew along the waves as a bird on the air. We reached here at five o'clock this morning. After having the good luck of procuring another shipment of sugarcane – this time bound for St. Augustine – the men are all retired to a small inn and are tucked away in their beds – and I shall be turning in soon myself.

However, I could not resist sending you a gift I happened upon this morning.

It was Cicero who said – wrote? – that 'A room without books is like a body without a soul.' I have read this book at several junctures in my life and each time I come away with a different perspective or outlook of the world. I hope that you take interest in the writings, but short of that, I hope you get a little bit more insight to who I am. Chaucer is a favorite of mine and his poem, Troilus and Criseyde, has been explored by your Shakespeare, but not so well as dear ole Geoffrey. I sincerely hope that you enjoy the book as much as I have.

Shining Jewel, I have just been told that the mail coach is departing – therefore I must close at once so that I may post this letter.

But, my favorite Jewel, soon I shall see you, if only while I slumber.

Your obedient servant,
J.

P.s. I sent your feline friend via another ship making way for Charles Towne, but only with the promise that he would have free reign – or nearly so – of the ship before the cat was delivered to your safe arms. Rest assured, I would not have been in Charles Towne and been able to resist calling on you.


October
Charles Towne

Sweet, sweet James,

I believe I am indebted to you by way of letter and while I have a few moments, I will write you a few lines.

I thank you for your kindness. Your gift was very unexpected and very appreciated. I feel overwhelmed with your generosity. However, the tome keeps me company in the night and resides under my pillow during the day.

This place affords little news – certainly nothing worth noting. Still more work than I ever thought possible when I was younger, but it makes the days slip by quickly and keeps me warm and fed.

Life is settling back into place around me. But I am not settling back into the same life I left, as I am not the same person. Most of my activities are the same, and most times I feel as if I am just going through the motions. Which is not to say that I begrudge or resent any aspect of my routine. Quite the opposite. I feel like I have a newfound appreciation for what the world can offer.

Ah James, I know not what to write. I wish not to give you false hope, but I also wish to pour forth into this letter all of my secrets. My wants. My hopes. I suppose I should just chalk it up to loneliness, but I miss having someone to care for. I reread your letters over and over many more times than I should admit.

I cannot believe I just wrote that.

And here I am, trying not to make improper impressions in my expression of feelings, only to spill words onto paper that directly contradict what I had intended. But unless I ball this letter up and toss it into the fire – or across the room for Triton to play with – I cannot undo what was already been written. So do I plunge forth and continue with my fancies? Do I tell you that I sometimes wake in the middle of the night and reread your letter a few times? Or that your correspondence has given me more happiness than I ever gained from a letter? I thank you for the time you take to write me.

I should change the subject.

The weather is turning colder and despite the harsh winds, I find myself growing weary of staying indoors. So, in the free time that I do not have, I find myself changing my travels so that I might see the sea before I go home for the night. The smell of the salt spray, the waves breaking against the shore, the tide rising… Oh, I am so weary of the walls surrounding me in my home!

I shall be ending my period of mourning Twelfth Night. I do not know if your travels will bring you this way, but there will be a celebration at a neighbor's home that promises to be the fun that I need after this period of mourning. While I know such mirth will not be long lasting, as life will sneak back in and rear it's ugly head, a night of feasting and merriment is just what I need to feel like a person again – rather than this… this… this shell of a former member of society.

Please write me and tell me that I have not made a mess of things.

With Affection,
Julia


Morning, November 16th
St. Augustine

Jewel,

What a splendid morning! I awoke to hear the church bells ringing out their joy, the sky an almost exact shade of blue as your eyes… and your letter slipped beneath my door.

Yesterday, after we arranged for the shipment to be unloaded and delivered, I found myself with some unexpected extra time on my hands. So I found myself wandering along the water's edge of a beach not far from the wharf.

Watching the water, with the crash of every wave awakening long forgotten reasons for taking to a life on the sea, I remembered bygone days, when life was straightforward and my only passion was the ocean. I sat and watched the water for quite some time and let those memories ebb and flow like the tides.

When I finally stood and made for my way to the inn, I must admit, as I walked the shore, with the crunch of seashells under my feet, I wished for you by my side.

Ah Jewel… I know that you wish to keep your heart closed. So I wished that for me also. I still do. And while I do not profess anything other than profound admiration for you, I must confess that I miss more than just our conversations. I miss the life I never knew I wanted, but realized, through you, that I did not have said life. And now I want that life.

Bugger. This correspondence was supposed to be light and nonsensical and such. How I went from such enthusiasm to such seriousness, so quickly, I do not know. Maybe it is because I have not felt so light-hearted in such a very long time.

Pardon the familiarity with which I write. When your epistle reached me, with all the candor and forthrightness that I have come to expect from you, I felt the need to answer it immediately, thus complying with your request to write soon. And yet it seems like I have forgotten how to converse in a proper manner.

My next voyage will indeed take me to Charles Towne, so I hope that our paths will cross – and often. But not in any official capacity until 12th Night. This I understand and respect – if you will still see me after reading this letter. You are truly kind if you would grant me the one request of your company for just a few moments at the party you so kindly make me privy to.

I must close for fear that if I do not, I will not get to send my letter off, as the post is due to go out at any moment.

Yr. Humble servant,
J.


December
Charles Towne
Evening

James,

A quick note. Please come to the celebration. We need to talk, for I am confused also. Writing letters, while certainly a day brightener to receive, is a difficult form to communicate feelings. Especially feelings that are… complex. So please – celebrate Twelfth Night in Charles Towne. If need be, I can provide you with directions. Just let me know.

Julia -- Jewel