September 6th, 1824

On the porch

Dear book,

Cora is once again upset with me. Yesterday when she returned home, I told her Charlie's offer. She yelled that I do not trust her and that she needn't be followed like a child. No matter what I say, she thinks none of it. She is just as stubborn as I, book. Right now, however, I cannot tell if she is angrier at me or Charlie. I sit at home right now, having gotten back from work a few minutes ago. I wait for their return and their resentment. Such an emotion I am so used to now. Such shame. I have already eaten my fill of bread and cheese. It is funny how I eat more since I started working the railroad. Cora seems not to have minded. Stews fueled by coin make a better ox, she says. Such a darling she is. Work was strange today without Charlie by my side. But I make do, talking with the other workers. They are good men, all in the same boat as Charlie and I. On my way home I sing songs from the war. I feel almost as if I am walking alongside my platoon, but that was so long ago. Too many memories, none of them good. Charlie hates to talk of the war. I do not blame him. Charlie and Cora return now, so I must go.