My Dear Sister,

I never knew putting your feet on land could be such a glorious feeling. But after over two months on a boat I wanted to start running and dancing on the dock. I didn't, though. I just kept close to Father. Many people talked and shouted but I couldn't understand them. They spoke English fast and with thick American accents.

The air smelled fresh. I had become so accustomed to the smelling dead bodies, I had almost forgotten what real air felt like. We walked from the dock to a building. It was a small log building. We stood in a line behind other crew members. When it was our turn Father began talking to a man at a desk. I can't understand a word they say. I can see Father's face becoming more and more upset as he talks to the man. I desperately wanted to know what they were saying.

We're we not allowed into America? Would we have to go back? Father took me aside to talk to me. "I told you that we had bought a big farm to live in here," Father told me. He seemed mad. "But I guess there was a giant fire that destroyed the house where we were supposed to live."

"What are we going to do?" I asked. "Will we be homeless?"

Then William walked by. "Do you need a place to stay? There are plenty of guest rooms at my house in South Carolina."

"Oh, we couldn't impose," Father said

"It's really no trouble," William said.

"Well thank you we much appreciate it," Father said. Ever since we got here Father has been trying to spreak more properly and act more like a gentleman. It's strange, but also nice. He has been making an attempt to control his temper. I think he wants to turn his life around. I don't think selling people is the best way to do it though.

I am writing this letter from my new temporary home at William's house. It is the largest house I've ever been in. We arrived here this morning after a long wait at the dock while the unloaded the people and then a long carriage ride through the night. William is a large property owner. He owned a large cotton farm with many slaves.

William lived with his brother, John, and John's wife and son. When we arrived, John's wife answered the door. Her name is Berthe. She is a short, pudgy woman with rosy cheeks. She kind of reminded me of mother, but happier. She started talking to William in English but I only understood a few words of what she said (boat, early, you, ladies, breakfast, who).

William introduced us to her. He introduced me as Lorraine. He introduced Father as Gregory Maze.

Then Berthe yelled "Jack!" And a boy about my age came running into the room. He is John and Berthe's son. He talks to his mother in English and she talks to William and he talks to Father and soon everyone was speaking English to each other so I got up and looked around at the house. I had never seen one like it. It was very American. It was also very big. It was so much bigger than our house in Paris. The walls were pale yellow and it was bright inside.

After talking for a while, their maid showed us our bedrooms. First fathers, then mine. My room has a big window and a desk to write letters on. I have a bed and a wardrobe. The maid left me there so put my small bag of things on the bed and fell backwards onto it. I stared at the ceiling for an hour.

This whole thing doesn't seem real. The boat doesn't seem real and this house definitely doesn't. The people here don't seem real either. It is like part of me is back in France and another part is here. Back in France are my emotions and my ideas. Here is my body and my bitterness. Yet, I don't want to go back.

I realized, lying there, that it was the first time I'd ever slept in a room by myself. I've shared with you at the inn, with you mother and father in Paris, and with Father after you all left. And now I was by myself in the room. I could do whatever I wanted. So, I decided to write another letter to you. I want you to send me a sign that things are going to get better. Let me know that this is right.

I felt like I could lie there forever but there was a knock on the door and Berthe's son, Jack came it. He told me something in English. I stared at him with a blank stare. He repeated himself and I couldn't understand him. He started to become frustrated with me and left. Father came in later and told me Jack was trying to tell me it was lunchtime.

I need to learn English. I don't want to only be able to talk to Father. I wish you were here so I could talk to you.

I don't go a day without thinking about you,

Your sister, Azelma