My Dearest Matti,

Words cannot describe how excited I am to become your wife. The subject of us has been soaring in our small town. It reminds me of how the folkstown people spoke of the everlasting glory of the Baudelaire estate. I can hear it in their whispers as they exchange talk from one ear to another, like little birds chirping at one another. Papa was one of the luckiest men when he struck gold in the early 1830s. Both he and my uncle founded the El Dorado Gold Mining Company.

Mama told me he was more pure than those nuggets of gold he had sitting in the corner of his desk. Just like us, they were, and still so in love. He loved her so much that Papa built our sweet estate on top of a red dirt hill using antebellum architecture. Papa wanted the Baudelaire estate as a luscious oasis filled with exotic plants. My favorite part of the garden was the gazebo that sat near the front of our house. I remember, as a little girl, I would sit in the gazebo and watch the town from below. Gazing at the cemetery, to the rushing river, the gold mines, to the mountains.

My life was like a fairytale, straight from the pages of my storybooks. As the years go by, I wanted my happy ending, and when I met you, dear Matti, I knew my life had become complete. You were a vaquero and a partner in Papa’s company. I must admit, I was a little apprehensive when you approached me at the general store, since Papa had a strong dislike for Indians. Especially those who had half of their blood. Matti, I loved your charm and your gentle voice when we spoke outside the store. 

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Not only were you charming but also very handsome. Although I am ecstatic about our wedding, there is still a sadness that lingers deep inside of me. I wished Papa acknowledged our feelings and approved of our marriage like Mama did. If Papa did, then our marriage would have occurred months before the Great Earthquake of 1850. Instead, through those grey days, I argued with Papa. He threatened to take me away from you; he threatened he would take you away from me...from our love.

Unfortunately, I won’t be able to mend those bridges that I ruined between Papa and I. After the earthquake took both the lives of Mama and Papa, it opened another door revealing that we would be together forever! However, on our wedding day, you never arrived, my love. I waited for you, and waited, and waited, and waited. I waited, and you did not arrive. 

Where are you, ma chérie? You’ve talked of love and everlasting bliss, whispering sweet nothings in my ear that sent tingling down my tiny little spine. Why do you not come to me? Do you not see that our future stands before us with wide, open arms? In soft and delicate tones, I listen to the townsfolk gossip among themselves, whispering and whispering. It never ends. I live alone in this quiet manor and I patiently wait, and wait, and wait.

Until we meet again, your dearest,

Castilla