There is only four weeks till the annual Stevenson ball, and I can't wait a
moment longer then needed, for you know how I am. It also means that you will
be coming back home from your horrid aunt's house in New York. How you can
bear to be away from Boston when the season is about to start, I do not know;
I cannot wait to hear of your adventures in New York. Your letter did not do
it any justice, I can tell.
Oh, how so much has happened since you have been gone. Mary has found herself
a beau and they do seem so happy. Just last night, I saw them kissing behind
the tree out in the garden. I do not say this to Mother, for she will be very
displeased with them even thought Mother herself arranged the courtship.
Mary may be my dear older sister, but her happiness bores me, for all she will
talk about is what dress she should wear to see Will, or do you think that
William would like me in this color. Sometime it seems as if her mind has
turned to mush.
Let me tell you a secret, but you must not tell anyone, not even George (for I
think it would break his heart, given that he fancies himself in love with
her). I overheard Mama and Mrs. Stevenson talking about a proposal. I think
that William is going to ask Mary to marry him at the ball, to which I hope
she says yes.
I mean, they have mills in all of the major cities and they are by far the
wealthiest and most politically tied family in all of Boston. It would also
make me and Margaret relations- what a thought that is!- and when you marry
Henry, then we will all be related. What fun will it be for us at family
picnics, sitting under the willow tree gossiping about the cousins.
You won't believe what Mama is going through for this proposal; she has
imported silk from India and has had the seamstress make it in the style of
the French. I do not know what she is thinking, but I am sure that it will
come out wonderfully. Mama is calling me for dinner, so I will end this letter
to you and wait for your own response.
Your sister, in everything but name,