A Letter to Narcisa -- April 24th 1891
My dearest Narcisa,
I am writing you a letter today from the seashore! I have just finished writing a letter to Nathan from this same exact chair, and I think I might venture to stay in it as long as I am allowed. I am even wearing a bathing costume! It is navy, and if I had reason, I would consider bringing it back down with me. But do not worry! I am still being respectable, and have secluded myself away from most prying eyes while in it. Lounging in a chair, in a bathing costume, by the sea. But it is only spring, and I am freezing, my legs and arms all goose-pimpled, and despite the lovely chair, I may have to go back inside soon. I apologise if this writing is shaky because of it.
We have moved to a place called Walton-on-the-Naze, as the sea air is supposed to be good for one's health. It has made me feel better, so I hope that it helps poor Elise. She has seemed to improved somewhat since I first saw her, and a new doctor has been attending her. I hope that she recovers, and the worry and fear in Robin is all too familiar, edging on to the grief of losing one's spouse, each day she is ill. But this is a letter from Above ground, and I should not be writing on anything but good or strange things.
So you may go back to picturing me, sprawled out in this comfortable wicker chair, in a navy bathing costume, trying to look relaxed even while alone, and yet shivering. Flora, Robert, Hattie and Robin have gone off to swim-swimming machines are rather silly, I might add-and I have carried this chair all the way down the beach to be alone and write. Perhaps I will go swimming tomorrow, but for now the sun hitting off the water is lovely, even if the air is still rather cold.
Lastly, I wish to tell you that you do not need to be 'strong' for me. I said that I would miss you "smile, or not", and if you had, or even if I had, cried, I still wish I had tried harder to see you the day I left. I think once again we were being fools. It is not being 'brave' to not cry, and it certainly was not brave for me to rush out of your bed in the morning to not upset you when you on waking. But also you should know that Nathan did come to see me off, I was not alone, and I plan for you to be one of the first people I see Friday or Saturday.
---L****
I am writing you a letter today from the seashore! I have just finished writing a letter to Nathan from this same exact chair, and I think I might venture to stay in it as long as I am allowed. I am even wearing a bathing costume! It is navy, and if I had reason, I would consider bringing it back down with me. But do not worry! I am still being respectable, and have secluded myself away from most prying eyes while in it. Lounging in a chair, in a bathing costume, by the sea. But it is only spring, and I am freezing, my legs and arms all goose-pimpled, and despite the lovely chair, I may have to go back inside soon. I apologise if this writing is shaky because of it.
We have moved to a place called Walton-on-the-Naze, as the sea air is supposed to be good for one's health. It has made me feel better, so I hope that it helps poor Elise. She has seemed to improved somewhat since I first saw her, and a new doctor has been attending her. I hope that she recovers, and the worry and fear in Robin is all too familiar, edging on to the grief of losing one's spouse, each day she is ill. But this is a letter from Above ground, and I should not be writing on anything but good or strange things.
So you may go back to picturing me, sprawled out in this comfortable wicker chair, in a navy bathing costume, trying to look relaxed even while alone, and yet shivering. Flora, Robert, Hattie and Robin have gone off to swim-swimming machines are rather silly, I might add-and I have carried this chair all the way down the beach to be alone and write. Perhaps I will go swimming tomorrow, but for now the sun hitting off the water is lovely, even if the air is still rather cold.
Lastly, I wish to tell you that you do not need to be 'strong' for me. I said that I would miss you "smile, or not", and if you had, or even if I had, cried, I still wish I had tried harder to see you the day I left. I think once again we were being fools. It is not being 'brave' to not cry, and it certainly was not brave for me to rush out of your bed in the morning to not upset you when you on waking. But also you should know that Nathan did come to see me off, I was not alone, and I plan for you to be one of the first people I see Friday or Saturday.
---L****