Author's Note: Picture taken from http://thelinthead.blogspot.com
Dear Annabeth,
I hope you are happy with your new husband. I am doing fine, workin in a cotton
factory. The hours are long and pay is
low, but every penny helps. The farm
isn’t doin too well. The cows are gettin
old and mamma’s gettin stretched too thin, doin papa’s chores and takin care of
four children. Molly is gonna start
workin next year. Eight is a young age
to start workin, but she will be in the cotton factory, so I’ll be able to look
after her. It’ll be sad though to see
her soft little hands turned callused like mine. Pullin on the thread for hours burns your
hands at first, but you get used to it.
The fumes, however, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get over. Every day, I walk through the door, and right
away, I just want to turn around and run right back out. The smell from all those machines is just foul.
I miss you. I know
mamma does too. But she’s happy for you. You were lucky to get to marry a rich
husband. Between all the men being gone at war and me never gettin out of the
factory, I don’t know if I’ll ever get a husband. I’m afraid I’ll be stuck here forever.
With Love,
Farrah
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