Missing Home

A story told in Postcards and letters.

Dear mother,

The riverbed smells like flies here, but I’m not sure we can do anything about it.  It’s been far too long since I’ve seen you, and it’s harder to live out here in the middle of nowhere.  I miss you.  I miss the farm.  

We’ve stopped by the river for now, but it’s mostly dried up.  We need water so badly.  It’s 1841, you’d think by now we’d have a better system in these old United States for traveling out west than these old wagon trains.

What I want more than anything is to see your face again.  Dessie says we’ll be there soon, but I can’t believe him.  Every day, he tells me “Susan, we’re almost there, just hang in there,” but I don’t believe him.  

I’m 23 years old, and what do I have to show for it?  My skin is clear, free of wrinkles, except for the mud that covers me all day long.  My eyes no longer have their blue shine, and my hands ache from holding the horse’s reins all day long.  I just want to come home!

Maybe one day.

Love,

Your daughter,

Susan