Vox Meditantis

Denver, Colorado Territory
15th October, 1909

My Dearest Florence,

Your most cherished letter arrived this morning with the dawn post, and I confess I have read it no fewer than six times, each perusal revealing fresh treasures hidden within your elegant script. The very sight of your familiar hand upon the envelope set my heart to such violent palpitations that I feared Mrs. Abernathy, my landlady, might summon the physician, believing me seized by some dreadful malady.

How ardently I wish I could convey to you the tumultuous emotions that course through my very being as I pen these words! The distance between us—some thousand miles of prairie, mountain, and heartache—grows more unbearable with each passing day. Yet simultaneously, the prospect of our reunion fills me with such exquisite anticipation that I scarcely dare allow myself to dwell upon it, lest I abandon all propriety and board the next eastward train this very instant.

I must confess, my beloved Florence, that your father’s recent correspondence has left me in a state of considerable unease. His inquiries regarding my prospects and character, whilst entirely proper and expected, nonetheless fill me with apprehension. Have I not proven myself worthy through these many months of patient courtship? The mining venture here in Colorado shows tremendous promise—indeed, my supervisor speaks of advancement opportunities that could secure our future beyond my most optimistic projections. Yet I cannot shake the persistent anxiety that time itself conspires against us.

The social conventions that bind us seem particularly cruel when viewed from this western frontier, where men and women forge partnerships with greater freedom than the rigid proprieties of Indiana society permit. Here, I have witnessed couples unite after mere weeks of acquaintance, whilst we must endure this agonising separation, our affections held in check by circumstance and expectation.

Oh, Florence, how I long to abandon all restraint and declare myself openly! Each day brings fresh rumours of young ladies in Indianapolis society accepting proposals from gentlemen of established families. The very thought that another might seek your hand whilst I labour in these distant mountains fills me with such desperate urgency that I can hardly bear it. Yet I dare not speak precipitously, knowing full well that your reputation and my own future prospects depend upon conducting this courtship with utmost propriety.

Your description of the autumn leaves along the Wabash River transported me instantly from these stark mountain peaks to Indiana’s gentle countryside. How I envision walking beside you through those golden groves, your hand resting lightly upon my arm, the rustling leaves providing a symphony to accompany our whispered confidences. The image haunts my dreams and torments my waking hours in equal measure.

I have secured lodgings for the Christmas holiday and intend to journey eastward by the fifteenth of December, assuming the mountain passes remain clear. The prospect of seeing your dear face again, of hearing your sweet voice speak my name, fills me with such profound joy that I fear I shall make a perfect fool of myself in your presence. Yet beneath this happiness lurks the terrible uncertainty of our future—will your father receive me favourably? Will society’s demands continue to keep us apart?

Forgive me, dearest Florence, for burdening you with these anxious musings. Your last letter spoke of patience and faith, virtues you possess in abundance whilst I struggle daily with doubt and longing. Know that every sunrise brings renewed determination to prove myself worthy of your affections, and every sunset finds me counting the days until we might be reunited.

Please give my respectful regards to your dear mother and father, and assure them of my earnest intentions and steadfast character. I remain, as ever, your devoted correspondent, counting each moment until I may hold you in my arms once more.

With all the love my heart can hold and the deepest respect for your gentle spirit,

Your most faithful and devoted,

Louis Phillips

P.S. I have enclosed a pressed wildflower from the Colorado mountainside—a small token to bridge the cruel distance between us.

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Bob Lynn | © 2025 Vox Meditantis. All rights reserved.