Josef Calloway
1325 Queens Avenue
London, England
July 20, 1892
My dearest Josef,
I realize it has been a long while since last I have
written. I am dearly sorry. It has not been easy. John has been difficult, but
Father has promised him a more canvas and some paints if he helps with the
chores. We own 500 acres of land. It was more expensive than rumor, but we are
living on some of the most fertile land available. Father hopes to purchase
another 500 acres in the next year.
Our new home was finished last week. Father
recruited some men from the nearby town to help. He initially sought John’s
help, but then conceded for most of the construction. John was pleased and
spent time drawing the lake animals he sees. The folk in town have warned us
winter is fierce this far north. Mother started working as a seamstress so she
could afford fabrics for winter clothing. Father has found work in odd jobs and
as a farmhand to our neighbor in the east. It is too late in the season for
summer crops and too early for winter crops, so these jobs shall support us. I
am aiding with the income, working as a maid to a wealthier couple in town. Mother
insists I stop, but their wages combined are not near enough to cover the price
of food and clothing, John and Marie are growing out of everything they own. Father
makes one dollar and fifty cents (the American currency) a day, plus whatever
he is paid for odd jobs; Mother makes seventy-five cents a day. Both work every
day.
Marie has taken to playing by the lake with John. You
should see them. Both have skin as tan as the Indians. Mother says it is a sign
of good health and youth. She wishes she could stay in the sun all day instead
of work in the musty shop of Madame Coutier. She is French, but one of the best
seamstresses I have ever seen. She works quickly and accurately. Mother
struggles to keep up.
Father still wishes you join us. He says there is
room for another at Mr. McGreggor’s farm, should you be interested; I know it
is different work than to which you’re accustomed. John says he is too creative
and young to work right now, but Father encourages him to take up an
apprenticeship in the spring.
John ignores Father when he tries to show him skills
and trades. He would rather be a boy the rest of his life than do any work. Mother
is too exasperated with him to begin to point out what we have been through and
what he must do to help. I have tried many times and failed. John only wants to
paint and write and play. Father is worried he will amount to nothing, never
marry, and live at home forever under the protection of Mother and him. He
fears most for when he and Mother pass to the heavens and John is still acting
like a boy. I know from the way his brow furrows at supper this troubles him
greatly, and from the way he glances at me, that I am his hope for John. That
if they should leave the earth I should take care of him, but he is too polite
to impose. Marie also knows he is worried about John, but John refuses to think
anything of it. He is convinced Father hates him. I fear this shall become true
if he does not come out of his conceited dream. He is not aware of it, but he
is destroying us in this new land.
Marie is learning to sew. Most nights, Mother is too
exhausted to show her, so I teach her as I was taught. I am tired when night
falls, but her energy and eagerness to learn is enough to keep me up for hours
teaching her on scrap cloth. Mother is impressed, I can tell by the way she
beams in the candlelight the next morning looking over Marie’s work. I am
pleased as well. Neither of us knew how quickly Marie would learn; she will
best me before long.
My work is hard, but I am paid well. Fifty cents a
day, in fact. I work from sunup to sundown, nearly twelve hours a day. And when
the lady, Mrs. Johnson, has her child, I will have to stay nights to tend to
it. The child is due next month. Her midwife predicts a girl. The Johnsons will
be joyous when the child joins their family.
Most of the time, Mrs. Johnson is by herself while
her husband does business in New York and other cities along the coast. She
sits mostly in her room because she is with child. I tend to her needs while
the other maid cleans and prepares the child’s room. They also have a chef who
cooks every meal as well as shops in the markets each morning. Sometimes, Mrs.
Johnson invites me to dinner. This is only when her husband is away and she craves
company. They have sumptuous food. I’ve had dishes I never knew existed. Mrs.
Johnson inquires frequently of my past. She knows there is someone special to
me back home. She says she can tell by the glow in my eyes when I speak of
home.
Mother is pleased with my earnings. She believes I
only make three dollars a week. I have not told anyone but you that I make
three dollars and fifty cents a week. I hide the extra fifty cents in the
jewelry box you gifted me. Yes, I still have it with me. I’ve saved five
dollars; I am saving for something special.
I hope this update does not bore you. There are many
young men here, but none know me as you do. You are the only one to whom I can
entrust my true feelings. It is difficult here, but easier than in England. We
can survive month to month without worrying from where the money is coming to
pay for our needs. I miss you terribly.
I pray you come to America. If you decide to come,
inform us. Father will use some of what remains of our savings to meet you at
the port and bring you to Michigan. There is plenty of room for another.
Please write back. I miss you too much.
Always with love,
Caroline Smith
152 Country Lane
Alpena, Michigan, America
