storm that Poe also knew could kill them, unless-
It must be done and Poe was sick to his stomach. Almost completely blinded by the stinging dust that filled the barn, he fell to the ground and held Rachel to him, a hand behind her head, keeping her face in his chest. Figg the primitive was sensitive to forces that Poe could only imagine.
And that’s why Jonathan had feared the boxer.
Poe screamed over the wind, “Do as you must! Do as you must!”
Still straddling the dead magician, Figg rubbed dirt from his own eyes.
And with a trembling hand, began to cut out Jonathan’s heart.
New York, March 10, 1848
My Dear Mr. Figg,
In this letter, I am forced to acknowledge some things which should not be acknowledged at all. I am certain that you do not wish my gratitude in the matter of the two gold sovereigns you left behind in my cottage. One could say you forgot them, mislaid them, but Mr. Figg, I am not of a mind to underestimate your intelligence, which regrettably, once was the attitude I carried with me in viewing your existence. I do not accept charity, sir, but my dear Muddy, Mrs. Maria Clemm, assures me that your intentions were honorable and that in no way did you seek to demean me. Therefore, let me say that the receipt of the money is appreciated and Muddy and I will make the wisest use of it possible, though money does not long remain in my company.
The recent events which involved the both of us in this city are still strong within my mind. There can be no logical explanation for much of what occurred and I find that I am unable, unwilling as well, to discuss this matter with others. I cannot explain the sudden, brutal winds that surrounded us that night on Hugh Larney’s property, anymore than I can explain their quick cessation upon your completion of a business best left unsaid. I am forced to repeat what I said to you that night, that you saved our lives even though it was done in a fashion which I personally find abominable. Do not take this as criticism upon yourself, since neither Rachel nor I would be alive had it not been for your swift action. I acknowledge that there are forces beyond my ken and as yet, I am not sure if it is good or bad for me to admit this.
To sum up recent happenings, the death of Volney Gunning was proclaimed to have occurred in a traffic accident, thereby explaining the broken bones he incurred. The demise of Miles Standish is still a matter for police inquiry, though I have learned that Prosper Benjamin is active in keeping that inquiry at a standstill. I surmise that Mr. Benjamin is reluctant to have the homosexual killers of Scotch Ann’s temple of lust traced to him, so I must tell you that it appears as if the matter of Miles Standish will remain a mystery for some time to come.
Hugh Larney was ruled to have been killed by wolves made ravenous and daring by the winter, a conclusion drawn from the condition of his corpse which appeared to have been shredded by wild beasts. I leave a closer examination of this matter to you, dear friend, who I am sure can give a more detailed explanation should you be so inclined.
When the burned ruins of Hugh Larney’s barn were examined, no human remains were found. The fire which immediately ravaged the building after we fled it must have contained flames capable of destroying human bone and tissue in a fashion not yet encountered on this planet, but as I have stated, there are things I prefer not to acknowledge.
Barnum and others with wagers to collect from Hugh Larney are not ecstatic with his having gone on ahead, as the religiosos are apt to proclaim of the dead, but it was agreed by one and all that the fight between you and Larney’s colored was worth any price. The colored is a broken man and at loose ends since Larney’s transportation to other planes and I fear he will end up in Five Points, a soul lost to vice and numerous human weaknesses. Dearborn Lapham, sad to inform you, has run away with a group of travelling players. I wish her bon chance.
Of Rachel, I can say little since her recovery is slow, if not non-existent. Doctors have told me it is her mind and not her body that is the source of her ailing. The shocking experiences she encountered have proven too much for her and I fear for her sanity, dear friend. Again I say there is much I would prefer not to acknowledge but life, as always, is harsh, relentlessly so and I am forced to consider the intelligence that she may not ever again regain her correct faculties.
I do so love her and cannot avoid dreaming of a time when she will be well and I have my magazine and she and I will be as one. All of my life I have yearned for love, for the comfort of a warm and tender heart and I would rather die than renounce this ideal. I spend as much time as possible by her bedside and on those days that she recognizes me, I can truthfully say that I feel no greater joy, no greater euphoria.
She has made no inquiries about her husband, whose body also perished in that peculiar barn fire. I have not spoken of him, for I fear the mention of his name would only increase the darkness which now seems to have gripped her mind. At this stage, he can only remind her of the horrible events of recent days.
Like all writers, I place my life in my work and the aforementioned, recent events are no exception in terms of being grist for my literary mill. I cannot use the events as they transpired, again for fear of offending Rachel or of reminding her of things I am certain she would rather not be reminded of. However, in the tale ‘Hopfrog,’ which is still much on my mind, I shall deal with revenge and the destruction of those men who have offended a lovely woman.
I do hope you read some of my tales. The book I presented you before you sailed for London is one of many copies clogging a portion of the attic in Poe cottage. Some publishers do not pay in cash. The literary life is rewarded by them in terms of free copies of whatever books they deign to publish. The literary life, while exciting and spiritually fulfilling for me, is far from lucrative, as you have heard me say before. Publishers lack morals and vision and until the copyright laws are changed throughout the world, as our mutual friend Dickens has urged, the literary life will lack protection for its much needed essence, namely the author.
I am still in an emotional and mental turmoil over the events that you and I shared, but I am sure that they will have their influence on me, opening my imagination more to things unheard, unseen but still in existence on planes of their own choosing. I struggle with the matter of intemperance and I fear that should something happen to Rachel and she and I fail to achieve a union, I may well fall into a serious breech of this issue. It would be better for me to be done with drink forever, but it is not so easy to renounce as it once was.
Let me hear from you. Please send your reply to my home in Fordham. With the most sincere friendship and ardent gratitude.
Believe me your true friend,
Edgar A. Poe
London, April 23, 1848
My Dear Mr. Poe, Esquire,
Please excuse my way with words since I am not at ease around them as are you, but I am proud to say I learnt my letters from my dad when I was young and I can letter after a fashion. You wrote to me of gold sovereigns and I write to you that a man pays his way if he is a man and I am a man. I ate your bread and I slept under your roof, so if I choose to pay, that is my concern not yours.
Like you, there are some things I much prefer not to say. I acted as I thought correct, havin’ to save three lives and all, so I did to Jonathan what I was told to do. I will not say more except to write you that a man has things in him he does not always know of and they come out of him when they want to come out. I have told no one of what I did, not even Mr. Dickens, except to tell him that I met up with Jonathan and the matter was settled.
I am getting on well, thank you, and the hurt from the duel is going away better than any hurt I ever had in any fight I ever had. Still I do not want to step again into the ring and if I never have to come up to scratch agin in my life, I would like that just fine, thankin’ you muchly. I teach young lads and their fathers are proud to watch them become good men, which is what learnen to box can do for you. I am sorry about Mr. Barnum not collecten his gold from Mr. Larney, but we could not help Mr. Barnum in this matter.
May God carry the little Dearborn in His hand. I do not think the life of travellen players is correct for a child but she must learn this on her own stead. Before I close I say hello to Miss Rachel and wish her well and tell her Mr. Figg tips his hat to her, a fine and pretty lady. Pray that the doctors can aid her in recovering her true mind and that she put behind her these sad events. It is a hard thing to do for I know and I must put them behind
