till the sea returns you to me

15 October 1787

Dearest Alcott,

The fates do prove to keep us apart once more, my love. I apologize for my absence, but dearest Cecilia has gone into labor prior to expected. I have gone inland to fettle for her and the new babe till Jonathon can return from the hunting trip. I desired to be there to greet you upon your arrival, but alas I pray this letter gives you comfort in my absence.

I, for one, will admit that these little pages we pass to one another have been far from satisfying for myself. The abode has been far too quiet with you gone. Our marital bed so cold I find it hard to return to it each night. These days have drawn into such a mindless monotony that I find myself only revived when the church bells awake me from my walking slumber. Dearest of husbands, I must admit that I find myself in sorrow each time you enter the ocean’s hold, and I ask penance that I was not here to see you ashore.

I acquired a new quilt from the fellmonger’s daughter, and my dear I had such a display planned for you. You, returned home from the sea for these fleeting and few days, myself draped beneath those thickened layers, with nothing but my oh so eager to give flesh ready for your taste and touch. I had planned to toss the bed in such a row, that it would still be warm when you once again parted for the seas. That the taste of me would reside on your lips, no matter how harsh the salted air blew. That the touch of your hands would be imprinted upon my flesh, so that I may grace my fingers over those prints as if I were holding your own.

Not me going on, like a foolish schoolgirl unable to control her carnal desires. The hedonist dreams that leave my body craving yours would give the parson to such shame over my shameless wants. I have offered God a tithe and plus so that he may turn a blind eye to my sinful needs. But if the dearest of Lords did not wish for me to have such unchaste of dreams, he would not have given to me such a perfect man that I have so willingly sacrificed the whole of my heart and body to.

I curse the sea, that those waves do keep us apart.

I do not wish to reignite the row we had upon your departure, but my cousin Wesley and his bride Leslie have offered us a place upon their home, should we indeed decide to take them up on their offer. Her family runs the main bakery in the town, and her mother requests my hire so I may share my bread recipes with theirs. It is a selfish thought, but I would much prefer such a job over this bar I have been tending. She assures that tension in their region have calmed, and their village is a perfect location for young families. If I am to be selfish, I am to be honest, but this village of ours is no longer the location a man should wish for his unattended wife to reside, nor a place to be raising a family.

I know that I must share your heart with the ocean, but the far distance of the sea has grown in violence, and each time I send you out, there is a nagging in my chest that your ship will run afoul the greed of a pirating vessel. How I would crumble should something happen, and you not be returned to me. My soul would happily be forfeited to the Lord to be united with yours, but I hope to direct both of us from such a fate.

Fishing has become a lucrative trade within their port, and Wesley has need of a hand aboard their vessel. Prawn and salmon fishing may not be as adventurous as private shipping, but it would do your poor wife's heart a service if she were not deprived of you for so many months upon end.

Besides, think of the French ocean side. Think of the quiet we would have, without the far too busy port and far too loud brothels keeping us from our sleep. Think of the fresh air, the scent of a clean ocean in the breeze, and the salt of the air against our skin. Think of a future home to call our own, one large enough for a pair of children and a rather lazy cat; without a landlady screaming for her pay, or that leak in the roof that has turned to mold.

I have had the last two months to dream of the life we could build for ourselves, and nothing to do but to dream. I know you must venture back to the sea before I am to arrive back to port, but I ask dear husband that you consider the offer once your contract is set to expire. I do not bring this up to bring conflict to us, but because I have such love for you that I cannot stand having such a lengthy departure from you. It is an ache deep in my bones each time I am forced to surrender you to that ship and surrender myself to solitude.

While I cannot be there for your stint on land, I beg that you leave me such a note in response. I cannot hear your voice, but having your words written before me should hopefully suffice and keep myself at bay. Please, tell me of your travels. Tell me of all you have seen. Tell me of all the ways you have missed me, how lonely and unoccupied your nights have been, so that I may feel less of a fool for how much I have craved having you returned to my side.

May I see you soon my love. In my absence, I hope that I have left enough warmth in our bed that you might feel just a part of me while you are home. May your venture upon the sea be healthy, safe and uneventful. And may the Lord look over and bless you until he delivers us once more into each other’s embrace.

With the deepest of love. Till the sea returns you to me,

your wife, Bernadette