Vox Meditantis

15th October, 1910
Chicago, Illinois

My Dearest Sarah,

The autumn winds that sweep through these industrial streets carry with them a chill that penetrates far deeper than mere flesh and bone—it is the cold absence of your presence that haunts my every waking moment. Three months have passed since I departed Texas, and though the steel mills of Chicago offer the promise of prosperity that drove me northward, I find myself questioning whether any fortune could compensate for the anguish of our separation.

Each dawn breaks with the same torturous ritual: I wake with your name upon my lips, reach across the narrow bed in my boarding house room, and find naught but empty space where my heart insists you ought to be. The other men speak of their sweethearts with casual affection, but they cannot comprehend the fierce devotion that burns within me—a love so consuming that it threatens to reduce me to ash if I cannot soon hold you in my arms once more.

I confess, my darling Sarah, that doubt creeps into my thoughts like shadows at dusk. The distance between us feels insurmountable, stretched across endless plains and rivers that might as well be oceans for all the barriers they represent. When your letters arrive—those precious missives that I clutch to my chest before reading by candlelight—I devour every word, searching for assurance that your affections remain steadfast. Yet between each correspondence lies a gulf of silence that fills me with the most wretched anxiety.

Do you still think of me when the evening star appears over the Texas horizon? Do you remember the promise we made beneath the oak tree behind your father’s house, when I vowed to return for you once I had established myself? These questions torment me through sleepless nights, for I know that other suitors surely call upon you, men who can offer the comfort of proximity that I cannot.

But hear me now, my beloved—though uncertainty may plague my dreams, my resolve remains unshakeable as granite. I am determined to make myself worthy of your hand, to forge a future that will provide the security and comfort you deserve. The foreman speaks highly of my work, and whispers circulate of promotions and increased wages. Every dollar I earn, every hour I labour in the furnace heat, brings me closer to the day when I can return to Texas not as a penniless suitor, but as a man capable of providing for the woman who has captured his very soul.

I have written to your father, formally requesting permission to court you with honourable intentions. Though we are separated by distance, I refuse to allow propriety to lapse—you deserve to be courted with the respect befitting a woman of your virtue and grace. I pray he will look favourably upon my petition, despite my current circumstances.

The winter approaches, and with it, the harsh Chicago cold that will test my endurance. Yet I welcome this trial, for it shall serve as a crucible to strengthen my determination. When spring arrives, I intend to have secured sufficient resources to make my journey back to you—not as a temporary visit, but as a permanent return, ready to claim you as my bride if you will have me.

Until that blessed day, I beg you to remember that though miles separate our bodies, our hearts beat in perfect synchrony. Close your eyes on quiet evenings and know that somewhere in this vast country, a man thinks of nothing but you, dreams of nothing but your smile, and lives for nothing but the moment when he can kneel before you and pledge his eternal devotion.

Guard your heart carefully, my dearest Sarah, for it carries within it the hopes and dreams of your most devoted admirer. I count the days until I can surrender this anxious longing for the joy of your presence.

With unwavering love and steadfast determination,

Walter Clark

P.S. I have enclosed a pressed violet from the small garden behind my boarding house. Though it pales beside your beauty, I hope it might serve as a token of my constant thoughts of you.

---

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