Are other faces of women in your mind? Have they lost themselves as women's faces so often--so soon--are lost from a man's mind? Can you see me, Meriwether Lewis, your childhood friend?
Do you remember the time you saved me from the cows in the lane at your father's farm, when I was but a child, on my first visit to far-off Virginia? You kissed me then, to dry my tears. You were a boy; I was a child yet younger. Can you forget that time--can you forget what you said?
"I will always be there, Theodosia," you said, "when you are in trouble!"
You said it stoutly, and I believed it, as a child.
I believed you then--I believe you now. I still have the same child's faith in you. My mother died while I was young; my father has always been so busy--I scarcely have been a girl, as you say you never were a boy. You know my husband--he has his own affairs. But you always were my friend, in so many ways!
It is true that I am laying a secret on your heart--one which you must observe all your life. My letter is for you, and for no other eyes. But now I come once more to you to hold you to your promise.
Meriwether Lewis, come back to us! By this time the trail surely is long enough! We are counting absolutely on your return. I heard Mr. Merry tell my father--and I may tell it to you--that on your recall rested all hope of the success of our own cause on the lower Mississippi--for ourselves and for you. If you do not come back to us, as early as you can, you condemn us to failure--myself--my life--that of my father--yourself also.
Perhaps your delay may mean even more, Meriwether Lewis. I have to tell you that times are threatening for this republic. Relations between our country and Great Britain are strained to the breaking-point. Mr. Merry says that if our cause on the lower Mississippi shall not prevail, his own country, as soon as it can finish with Napoleon, will come against this republic once more--both on the Great Lakes and at the mouth of the Mississippi. He says that your expedition into the West will split the country, if it goes on. It must be withdrawn or the gap must be mended by war. You see, then, one of the sure results of this mad folly of Thomas Jefferson.
Go on, therefore, if you would ruin me, my father--your own future; but will you go on if you face possible ruin for your own country by so doing? This I leave for you to say.