Dearest Fabian

I

March 20, 1635

Dearest Fabian,

   It has been a couple months since you've been gone. Is the war ceasing? I'm sure the Spanish will surrender and I'll be in your arms once again.
   It's been lonely here in France, and my house is nothing but a mere ghost of your presence. Often times I can still here your laugh the day we slid down the staircase railing and scared Cheshire, the cat. If we hadn't stolen bread from the kitchen, perhaps we wouldn't have been caught by father. I still apologize after watching him banish you to the servents quarters for the rest of that night.
   As much as it would warm my heart to recall such wonderful me memories. I cannot find the strength nor the will to do so. Fabian, I'm growing impatient. Father has forgotten of you and he now wishes me wed this Sunday after church. But I do not wish of this, I wish you were here to convince him. Why could he not see past your poor wealth and allow us to be together and happy? Does he not wish his daughter happy?
   I cannot stand seeing myself married to another when you have my heart. I pray every night for him to see such a thing but he has not been keen since Mother died. His judgment is clouded by her haunting ghosts.
   I cannot wait till I receive your letters. Do write back quickly, for I must find a way to convince father that you are my beloved and most trustworthy friend. But in the meantime, I'll be here writing in hopes that father will grant us the blessing to marry.

Yours Truly,
Arlette LeNoir