My Dearest Willamina

My Dearest Willamina.

20th October, 1856

The Braithwaite Farmstead, near Sudbury, Ontario.

Dearest Aunt Catherine, 

I hope and pray this letter finds you and Uncle Tom in good health. Almost feels like we have been at sea for eternity but finally made it safely to Canada. It was a long journey and at times, I feared I would never feel solid ground under my feet again! But now that we are here, I am starting to see the adventure in it all.

Oh, Aunt, you ought to see this place! It is bigger than words can describe, unfathomable, further than I thought I’d ever go. The trees loom like great green sentries, and the air is so clear and mercifully free of toxic London smog that it feels as though I am taking deeper gulps than ever possible back there. But it is also wilder than I anticipated — so much land, unmapped and waiting to be tamed. It is nothing like the streets and buildings that we left behind.

Since we haven’t built our house yet, we live in the barn. It isn’t as terrible as it sounds; Father and the boys have made it rather comfortable. We have piled hay high against the walls to block the cold, and Mother has arranged what little furniture we brought with us to give it the feel of home. I have my own corner with a wee cot, and while the nights are cold, I’m warm enough under my blankets.

Father and my brothers quickly jumped into the work on our land. They have made room for the farmhouse to sit, and intend to build it before the first snow. We will have to manage until then.

I miss you terribly. I miss our evenings by the fire, where we would talk and sip tea. You say to Mother you will come three years after we left London once you have saved enough. Three years, that is 30 months now as I write this. It’s still such a long wait, but I will tick off the months until we see you again.

How is Uncle Tom? Hope he is doing well with his railways work. I imagine the streets of London must be quieter without us — though, maybe they were never as full of noise as they were with us. Write soon and tell me all the news from home.

Sorry this is such a short letter, but I have chores to do and father is going into Sudbury tomorrow and will post this.

With all my love, 

Your devoted niece, Willamina

12th May, 1857

121 Port Dock Road, London, England 

My Dearest Willamina, 

How delightful to get your letter! I read it again and again and saw each word as if I was standing right beside you. What a relief, though, knowing you and your family made it! Every day since you’ve left we’ve thought of you and although we are comforted to know you are well, I can’t help but wish you still lived just a short walk away.

I cannot seem to picture the mighty home you have become accustomed with. The way you describe it — the towering trees, endless land — seems like a dream! And yet, I admit, the notion of you sleep in a barn instead of a cosy room, makes my heart weep. I hope you get the farmhouse constructed quickly so that you can have a proper home again. Have your father and brothers made much progress? I hope they are well and busy with the work in front of them.

You have to tell me about this new life of yours! Have you managed to make any friends yet? Are other families in the area? I worry about you being lonely, so distant from the world you once knew. And what of your schooling? My dear, you have such an agile mind and I hope you will be persisting in your lessons. You better not let all those big Canadian trees and open skies get in the way of your reading!

As for London, it’s roughly as you left it. However, the streets remain as they always have been, teeming, and the rain falls just as frequently. Uncle Tom is still working on the railways, though he complains every now and then about the hours. You see, every ounce of effort brings us one step closer to our journey to you, I tell him. The twenty-two months before we leave is a long time, I agree, but it will zoom by much faster than you anticipate. Until then, I will write whenever I can, and I will savour every word that you write back to me.

Take care of yourself, my sweetest. Send my love to your mother and father and those two dear brothers of yours. I will look forward to your next letter eagerly.

With all my love, 

Your devoted Aunt, Catherine

4th October, 1857

The Braithwaite Farmstead, near Sudbury, Ontario.

Dearest Aunt Catherine,

Your letter made me so happy! I read it aloud to Mother, and the glow of her smile was so warm that for a moment I actually felt we were back home in London, sitting together in the parlour with tea in our hands. Those were the days, I miss them too, but I’ll be honest, Canada is more home to me than I ever thought it would be.

Finally, the farmhouse is coming together! Father and my brothers have laboured, and the walls are done. We hope to have a roof over our heads by next week as the cold winds have returned. The barn is still our home for now and we are happy enough. At night, I hear the horses and cows, a much different kind of lullaby than the murmur of the London docks.

You wondered if I made friends, and I am happy to say I have! There is a girl named Margaret who lives with her family a little way away from us—though ‘a little ways away’ here means an hour’s buggy ride away! She is a year older than I and knows so much more about farming. She's even started teaching me to ride! At first, I was scared, but I love the wind in my face when the horse is running. It gives the feeling of having wings.

School is different here. I don’t go every day as there is always something to do here on the farm. But Mother sees to it that in the evenings I stay up with my lessons. I still read every book I can, and I write whenever I find a quiet moment.

The land is so alive, Aunt! The trees are verdant and lush; the river runs clean, and the fields go on forever. We have started planting, but it will be a while before we actually can reap anything of our own. So for now we barter with neighbours for what we need. It is a tough life, but a worthwhile one.

I miss you and Uncle Tom like I can’t even explain, but I cling to the idea that in seventeen months you’ll be here with us. I count the days, and until that time I shall write and hope for your letters in response. And more about London. Is our old street still the same? Do you still go to the markets that we walked through? I long to hear every detail.

With all my love,

Your devoted niece, Willamina

10th April, 1858

121 Port Dock Road, London, England 

My Dearest Willamina, 

What a treat to receive your most recent letter! I read every word so carefully, as if I could see you standing there among the tall trees, galloping through the fields with your new companion Margaret. Knowing that you’re not alone, and that you have companionship and joy where you live now, brings me such comfort.

What a joy hearing the farmhouse progressed enough that you will now be moved in! I can only imagine how hard your father and brothers must have worked to get it finished before winter set in. I pray that by the time you read this letter, the roof will be above you and everyone will be warm in the shelter of its walls. I wish I could see it with my own eyes! Do tell me what it’s like when you write — how many rooms it has, where your own little corner will be. I would love to think of you there while I am warming myself in front of my fire here in London.

I smiled at the thought of you learning to ride! My courageous girl, you've changed so much. I can just picture you now, gripping those reins for desperate — dear life as your hair flies in the wind as you gallop across fields. Be careful, though — horses are beautiful animals but require patience and respect. I have no doubt you will learn the skill in no time whatsoever.

Your studying pleased Uncle Tom greatly. No amount of work on the farm should prevent your learning, he insists, and he’s confident your dear mother will attend to that.” I am confident you will be as clever as you are kind when you grow up. Are you still keeping up with your reading? I will bring some books with me when I come.

Here in London, though, the weather is colder day by day. The streets are soaked with rain, and most mornings the fog rolls in thick. Uncle Tom toils away, grumbling more and more about the soot and the noise. He envisions open fields as you have now, and I think it makes him even more eager to join you in time.

Oh, Willamina, how I long for the day we shall meet again! I realise that a year sounds like an eternity, but in fact, I expect it to go by in the blink of an eye. Until then, write some more of Canada, tell me everything—every little thing, for even the most minute details is a great comfort to me.

Take care, my dear girl. Give my love to your mother and father and those of your dear brothers. I will wait very impatiently for your next letter.

With all my love, 

Your devoted Aunt, Catherine

29th October, 1858

The Braithwaite Farmstead, near Sudbury, Ontario.

Dearest Aunt Catherine, 

How glad I was to see your letter! I read that one to Mother, as I had the last one, and she had to wipe a tear from her cheek. We all miss you and Uncle Tom so much, but your words just make you feel a little closer to us.

I am beyond excited to share that the farmhouse is complete! Father and my brothers toiled away at it through the last autumn, and only just managed to finish it before the first snowfall. It is not grand, but it is sturdy and warm now the stove is in, and best of all, it is ours. My room here is small and cosy, filling up fast, and it has a little window that opens over the fields. In the mornings, I rise to the golden drenching of sunlight spilling across the land, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

We survived the long, cold winter well. The snow was deep; it came up higher than my knees at times! Father had to shovel trails between the barn and the house so we could get to the animals and not get lost in the drifts. But there was much joy, too. My brothers and I built the largest snowman that you ever did see, and at night we would gather around the fireplace as Mother read to us.

When spring came at last, the ice dissolved, and I’m now able to hear the river flowing from my window now. The trees woke up, and we started planting the fields.

I still visit Margaret when we can work it out. Just last week we rode together through the muddy fields, laughing as the horses kicked up pebbles from the ground. I feel more confident in the saddle now, but realise I have a lot to learn. A full gallop makes me feel "free" like the birds above.

I do love my reading, Aunt, as you and Uncle Tom hoped! Mother sees to that, and I even tutor Daniel and Gordon with their homework. There are not many books here, but I value each of them highly.

Winter has returned, and outside the world is cloaked in white. The first snow fell a lot earlier this year, covering the fields overnight with a thin coat. It was so gorgeous that I just stood at my window, watching the sunlight hit the snow, turning every flake into a diamond. It was beautiful, but it’s gone now. Snow brings with it hard work. We hope it stays away for another month. The animals need tending no matter how high the drifts are, and there’s always wood to chop and carry for the fire. Snow maybe beautiful, but it’s not a friend. My hands have grown strong, Aunt, and while I grow tired by the end of it, I take some satisfaction in that as well.”

Father says we had a good harvest, not as bountiful as he'll hope future harvests will be. We have a lot to learn, he says, and will do better next year. We preserved what we could for winter and traded with neighbours for what we didn’t have. Everyone helps one another here — London is not like this.” There’s a closeness, an interdependence, that makes even this great expanse seem smaller.

I still ride when I can, although the snow will make it harder to do. Last week, Margaret and I got bundled up and went outside, laughing as our breath fogged in the cold. We all seemed to appreciate the fresh air, including the horses! I’m far steadier in the saddle now, but I do remember when you used to tell me to always be careful. I swear to you, Aunt, I shall never become reckless.

I think all the time about the day you and Uncle Tom arrive. With each letter, it feels more real, like the distance between us shrinks with each word. Does Canada feel like home to you already? I don’t know if you will miss London when you get to this place or if the wide sky and open fields will turn your heart the way they have mine.

Give my love to Uncle Tom. Tell him I'm saving up stories for the long winter evenings when we'll be ranging together on the hearth.

I count down the days until you are both here with us. You will be here in the spring. I can’t wait to see you. It’s getting closer and closer.

Please write soon! I miss you so.

With all my love, 

Your devoted niece, Willamina

1st February, 1859

121 Port Dock Road, London, England 

My Dearest Willamina, 

How happy your last letter made me! I was so joyous when I read that you wake to the golden morning light pouring in through your window — it fills my heart with warmth more than I can express. I picture your cosy little room, resilient to the cold Canadian winters, ringing with laughter. I can’t wait to see it all.

I smiled, imagining you plodding through the deep snow, bundled against the cold. I can’t imagine drifts that high, but your words made it so clear I felt the chill! And the thought of you galloping the open lands, fills me with pride and a lingering anxiety! Just promise me, that you will always be careful.

So glad to hear you are getting your reading done! I will bring a book for you with me, one of my favourites when I was a girl. As for London is just as busy now, although this summer has been painfully hot. The streets smell of dust and of horse mess. I dream of the fresh, open air of your new home.

Your Uncle Tom has been working harder than ever, and I do think his heart is with you in Canada already. He speaks often of the tomorrow, of the day we will at long last step onto that great ship’s gangway and lay our bony hands upon the looming trees of Canada. It’s not coming soon enough for either of us. We hope to be there in time to help you with planting. I’m so interested to see how the land treats you, what flourishes and what doesn’t. I can barely imagine a life that you have — although I suppose I’ll find out soon enough!

I can hardly help my joy in writing these words — finally, dear girl of mine, we are returning to you! In just three weeks, Uncle Tom and I will sail away on the ship heading to Canada for good—the same as you all went, all that time ago. It is truly real, and soon the great distances that had kept us apart for so long will vanish now, day by day.

I don’t know how I will stand the waiting until then.” Now that we know the date, time has stretched endlessly out in front of us. I catch myself thinking of the day we finally step off the ship and I'll find you there, waiting, all grown and imposing and standing strong, prepared to take us into your home. Oh, what a day that will be!

We have started to pack, but I don’t think we will be bringing much apart from essentials. What need is there for city trinkets when soon I will have the warmth of family and the blue sky above us?” That’s all your Uncle Tom talks about — dreaming of the fields, dreaming of work to be done, dreaming to stand next to your father and your brothers as they create something that can last. And I can only dream of when I can hold you in my arms again.

And how I have cherished your letters, my dearest girl. They’ve been my window into the life you have created, into the world that awaits us. Pretty soon we won’t need letters anymore — just the sound of our voices, the laughter of family finally all together.

Send my love to your mother and father and those dear brothers of yours. I wrap my arms around you across the ocean. Tell your mother and father, tell your brothers — tell them we are really coming! We will be there soon.

With all my love, 

Your devoted aunt, Catherine