She has made no inquiries about her husband, whose body also perished in that peculiar barn fire. I have not spoken of him, for I fear the mention of his name would only increase the darkness which now seems to have gripped her mind. At this stage, he can only remind her of the horrible events of recent days.
Like all writers, I place my life in my work and the aforementioned, recent events are no exception in terms of being grist for my literary mill. I cannot use the events as they transpired, again for fear of offending Rachel or of reminding her of things I am certain she would rather not be reminded of. However, in the tale ‘Hopfrog,’ which is still much on my mind, I shall deal with revenge and the destruction of those men who have offended a lovely woman.
I do hope you read some of my tales. The book I presented you before you sailed for London is one of many copies clogging a portion of the attic in Poe cottage. Some publishers do not pay in cash. The literary life is rewarded by them in terms of free copies of whatever books they deign to publish. The literary life, while exciting and spiritually fulfilling for me, is far from lucrative, as you have heard me say before. Publishers lack morals and vision and until the copyright laws are changed throughout the world, as our mutual friend Dickens has urged, the literary life will lack protection for its much needed essence, namely the author.
I am still in an emotional and mental turmoil over the events that you and I shared, but I am sure that they will have their influence on me, opening my imagination more to things unheard, unseen but still in existence on planes of their own choosing. I struggle with the matter of intemperance and I fear that should something happen to Rachel and she and I fail to achieve a union, I may well fall into a serious breech of this issue. It would be better for me to be done with drink forever, but it is not so easy to renounce as it once was.
Let me hear from you. Please send your reply to my home in Fordham. With the most sincere friendship and ardent gratitude.
Believe me your true friend,
Edgar A. Poe
London, April 23, 1848
My Dear Mr. Poe, Esquire,
Please excuse my way with words since I am not at ease around them as are you, but I am proud to say I learnt my letters from my dad when I was young and I can letter after a fashion. You wrote to me of gold sovereigns and I write to you that a man pays his way if he is a man and I am a man. I ate your bread and I slept under your roof, so if I choose to pay, that is my concern not yours.
Like you, there are some things I much prefer not to say. I acted as I thought correct, havin’ to save three lives and all, so I did to Jonathan what I was told to do. I will not say more except to write you that a man has things in him he does not always know of and they come out of him when they want to come out. I have told no one of what I did, not even Mr. Dickens, except to tell him that I met up with Jonathan and the matter was settled.
I am getting on well, thank you, and the hurt from the duel is going away better than any hurt I ever had in any fight I ever had. Still I do not want to step again into the ring and if I never have to come up to scratch agin in my life, I would like that just fine, thankin’ you muchly. I teach young lads and their fathers are proud to watch them become good men, which is what learnen to box can do for you. I am sorry about Mr. Barnum not collecten his gold from Mr. Larney, but we could not help Mr. Barnum in this matter.
May God carry the little Dearborn in His hand. I do not think the life of travellen players is correct for a child but she must learn this on her own stead. Before I close I say hello to Miss Rachel and wish her well and tell her Mr. Figg tips his hat to her, a fine and pretty lady. Pray that the doctors can aid her in recovering her true mind and that she put behind her these sad events. It is a hard thing to do for I know and I must put them behind me as well. Yes I am readen your book of deduction and I tell you that no one has a quick and clever mind as do you. Mr. Dickens thinks the same and he says you will one day be a grand gentulman of letters and Mr. Dickens is a smart fellow himself.
I take my leave of you.
Your obedient servant,
Pierce James Figg