Josef Calloway
1325 Queens Avenue
London, England
May 10, 1892
Dearest Josef,
We found land the day after my last letter to you. Yesterday
we left Ellis Island. For every kind person we encountered there, we met
several more who were weary and unpleasant. Thankfully we hadn’t needed to stay
long, Mother had all our paperwork in order, and the medical tests were short, given
we all are in good health. The literacy tests were quite simple for us, though
I know others from our ship struggled. Marie had some difficulty, but she is
only a child of six. It was expected. For her age, though, she did extremely
well. And John informed me he found the test unbearably dull. He thinks they
should tell fascinating stories of old instead of political accounts.
Father is purchasing a ticket to Michigan. The
gossips were correct; there is no land available near where we arrived. All of
the land is in the west. Because of the Gold Rush and Transcontinental
Railroad, it has opened for settlement. There is lots of land for little money,
or so we are told. The trick is having enough to get there. We are not taking
the Transcontinental for it begins in a place called Omaha and goes to
California, a place where the streets are rumored to be paved in gold. We will
travel on a different locomotive. (We are lucky it has not left yet.) But
Father says a ticket that far is too expensive. One day when I am wed, he says,
he will pay for two tickets so that my spouse and I may live by the ocean in
wealth and happiness. He does not understand that I love the country. It is all
I know. As I sit here in this crowded place writing you, I feel at a loss. There
are so many people; the streets are filthy and reek with the smell of waste. People
dash from one place to another and dress strangely. Why would I want to live in
a place such as this?
Father will purchase land by the lakes in Michigan
and build Mother a new home. John is dreading this, often questioning why we
cannot live in town. They fight more everyday, Father and John. I begin to
think Father is ashamed of him. I do not understand why, though, when John is
so talented in other careers. But it is not my place to wonder.
Mother wishes you well, and Father bids you join us.
He has offered to pay your ticket to Michigan if you can find a way to America.
And he will aid in building you a house, as well as give you some of the land
he intends to buy.
Everyday Marie begs to hear a story. She misses your
fanciful tales of knights and dragons. I am not good at that sort of thing. And
John misses you dearly. You were a role model to him, following your heart as
you do. But he misses how you drew Father’s attention away from him. Forgive my
brother for such selfishness, but he does not like it when Father nags him.
We are preparing to leave. Father is dreadfully
confused. The language is similar, yet so different. I am mailing this from New
York, and promise to write from Michigan. By then, we shall own land, a home,
and maybe an address so you can write.
I am dreadfully sorry this takes so long. It is not
an easy journey. I shall explain more in my next letter.
Loving you always,
Caroline Smith
New York City, New York, America
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