August 2nd, 1911

From a lady to a sailor,

Dear Mr. H,

You wrote to me in the gentle language of Hawthorns, and I have since answered with nothing but silence, pregnant with so many of my conflicting hesitations.

It is likely, by now, that you have forgotten all about the letter you penned me from the RMS Cedric.

You will be, perhaps, surprised that yours did not go unremembered.

I can only fancy your astonishment then upon receiving this humble letter now. Please excuse this intrusion on your time and attention, on account of my anxious fretting over choosing a perfect synonym for the wordraw.

Mrs. P and Miss D (dears to me, as they are) thought the word too crude for a first impression, and insisted I use something more ladylike instead, likecandid,unfeigned,ingenuous.

And losing quite a lot of hours crossing out empty words I don't fancy,therawtruth of it is, I'm penny plain.

By that, I mean, forgive me, sir, if you are one offended by the wordraw. It is quick, it feels exceptionally good when shouted out a window on a Sunday, and it is only three letters long.

And with regard to apologies, I am truly sorry that I have taken so long following my crossing at sea to pine over how best to honor your extraordinary kindness with a reply.

When I am not distracted by unbearable uncertainty for my footing in the world, and the this-and-that of daily life at my new home in Liverpool, and have a quiet moment when my thoughts may go where they please, I remember your letter and how unexpectedly refreshing your great, gentle heart.

I could not suffer through another day without penning you an answer.

What should come of this, I can't say, sir, but at the very least, please do not feel sorry for taking notice of my discarded letter and writing me.

I am not by any bit offended for you doing it.

I lost something of mine, and you nobly gave it back to me, and now I am in your debt.

I am indeed grieved to learn that our mutual heartsickness is so alike, and of the late beloved you have lost. I instantly worried that my recklessly abandoned, broody letter may have invoked painful memories of your grief that are still too tormenting to reckon with.

I suppose I thought nothing but of myself, and how alone in my melancholy I imagined I was, and that no other person who found my discarded letter aboard that ship would ever give my letter even an afterthought, before doing me the favor of scowling at its sad state and properly chucking it away.

I did not, in the end, expect that soul to be you.

After everything I have endured before the Cedric, I cannot imagine what sort of man would take it upon himself to show me such a quietly heroic service.

Letters truly are intimate little things, but just when you believe nothing can surprise you anymore, how arresting it is that such a small thing as a letter can interrupt a whole world for you.

And what a small world it was for us, wasn't it?

That day I went looking for the mailroom aboard the Cedric, I faintly remember passing several crew members and gentleman alike, but being so lost in thought about the letter I had put myself up to post, I scarcely remember any faces or words spoken to me that day. I had all day been thinking only of my letter, and all the words I wished I had the courage to say to its intended.

Thinking back on our last day on the voyage, I regret now being so obsessed with my own problems and feelings, I didn't look up and take notice of you once.

Should we have been in the same place at that very moment, it might've happened that we walked by the other without each knowing it.

Had I taken notice of those around me as keenly as you had my letter, I might've had a garden of faces to imagine for my hiddenrose.

Now, I am only left to guessing games for who you are.

Though, knowing that it is indeed unlikely we will ever be near each other again, and how you went through the trouble of sending my letter to me, I feel I should at least tell you what became of it.

Thetruth being, I have decided to never post my letter, and want nothing else to do with it, or the stirring memories it makes me think of eternally.

I meant fully to throw it away for good, but because the clever thing had spent three weeks warmed by your greatcoat pocket before it came back to me, it has enchanted itself into becoming something quite different to me now. Something no longer deserving of a dust bin or my contempt.

How am I to let go of the one thing that connected one broken heart to another, and accidently made one a mutual comfort to the other.

I was happy to know that at least one person in the world found some good in it.

This being so, in answer to your aftermost question, I was certainly honored by your request to write each other. However, I'm afraid my presentsituation is so dire, sir, that I can hardly bear to ask another intimate of mine to descend with me into my private abyss, let alone put two coherent words together to describe to you the extent of my regrets. It is the reason why I have struggled to write this letter out of a perfection I can no longer pretend I have. And out of a graceless lady's raw imperfections, I must regrettably demur from your desire to have me as your pen mate.

Knowing that my days of feeling strong and feeling utterly broken are completely changeable-maddening to myself, even-it would be unkind of me to ask another to take me and my troubles on. Therefore, I fear I would not be a very indulging correspondent to you, sir, as I can not guarantee that I will always be a comfort to you. I fear that my circumstances are so heavy on my shoulders, that it would be cruel to force another soul to bear the brunt of my heartache.

And to be quite candid, sir, I hope that no one ever comes to understand what it feels like to sail my wandering boat through this moonless night.

As you guessed correctly of me in your letter, I am still no master of goodbyes, and feel already the pain of coming to the end of this letter as your pen mate. Even so, I know I shouldn't be selfish, and demand more of your attention than I can ever repay you.

For your sake alone, I regret that I can not say yes to you in this exact moment of my life, and beg you not to fret hereafter for me or my troubles.

I only wish you would know, that despite my reluctant answer, your letter was in the end as you hoped it would be.

You were more than a small comfort to me, of which I am barely temperate in surrendering to your request.

And though I should very much like to cross out that last line, afraid you will write me off as some "batty" full of contradiction and temptation-I won't.

Raw, it is then for us, sir.

Believe me,

Your most obliged,

R