Vox Meditantis

15th October, 1923
The Palmer House Hotel
Chicago, Illinois

My Dearest Ida,

The golden autumn light filtering through the tall windows of this grand hotel lobby reminds me, with startling clarity, of the way the late afternoon sun catches the copper threads in your hair. I find myself pausing in my correspondence with clients, my fountain pen suspended mid-sentence, as memories of our last evening together wash over me like the gentle waves of Lake Michigan just beyond these bustling streets.

Chicago hums with such vigour, darling. The motor cars jostle with horse-drawn carriages along State Street, whilst the elevated trains rattle overhead like mechanical thunder. Yet amidst all this metropolitan symphony, I carry with me the quiet music of your laughter, the soft cadence of your voice reading aloud from that volume of Keats you so cherish. How remarkable it is that a man can find such perfect contentment in the memory of a woman’s smile whilst surrounded by the most magnificent city in the Middle West.

The business meetings have concluded most favourably—the contracts for the grain shipments are signed, and I dare say our firm shall prosper greatly from this venture. But I confess, my sweet Ida, that success feels hollow without the prospect of sharing such news with you over Sunday dinner at your family’s table, watching your eyes light up with that particular mixture of pride and gentle amusement that so captivates my heart.

I had occasion yesterday to visit the Art Institute, where I stood before paintings that critics proclaim as masterpieces, yet found myself thinking that no artist’s palette could capture the delicate rose of your cheeks when you blush, nor the intelligent sparkle that dances in your dark eyes when you speak of your work at the schoolhouse. You possess a beauty that transcends mere physical loveliness—it is the radiance of a soul both gentle and strong, compassionate yet steadfast in its principles.

Your last letter, with its account of the harvest festivities and your pupils’ enthusiasm for their autumn recitations, filled me with such profound admiration. How effortlessly you weave joy into the lives of others, how naturally you nurture young minds towards knowledge and understanding. In a world that often seems harsh and mechanical, you remain a beacon of genuine warmth and wisdom.

I have purchased a small token for you—a delicate silver locket from Marshall Field’s finest jewellery department. The shopkeeper assured me it was crafted by skilled artisans in the East, but I fancy it pales in comparison to the treasure of your affection, which I carry always close to my heart.

The evening mist is beginning to rise from the lake, and the electric lights are flickering to life across the city’s sprawling expanse. Tomorrow I shall board the afternoon train back to Iowa, my heart growing lighter with each mile that brings me closer to you. Until then, I remain, as always, utterly devoted to your happiness and forever grateful for the remarkable privilege of earning your love.

With deepest affection and constant devotion,

Arthur

P.S. I have asked the hotel’s concierge to post this letter via the swiftest route, though I confess no mere words upon paper can adequately convey the profound joy I feel knowing that in but three days’ time, I shall once again hear your voice calling my name from your family’s front porch.

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