I some how have gotten some of the ‘Aria Emerson’ letters mixed up and/or lost, so I’m not sure which letter this one is, but I thought I’d post it for you anyway. =)
I fear there has been some mix up in several of our letters, maybe it’s just from them crossing over in the mail.
Miss Emily has decided that she will tell me accounts of when she was just a young girl, and has informed me that you might find the stories stimulating, so therefore I should not refrain from “telling you bits and pieces of it here and there” (that is what she said in her own words).
As you probably know, my governess was cultivated and spent several of her formative years in South America, Peru to be exact. The narratives that have graced my ears have been far wilder than I had thought was possible for a governess of a refined lady to have lived through. I don’t doubt it from Miss Emily though, in view of the many strange things that have come to pass since she was employed by my dear Father. (Not the least of which is this somewhat ridiculous idea that corresponding with a stranger in such a way will somehow be a suitable experience for both of us.)
She informed me that when she journeyed into the bare and windswept regions high in the Andie Mountains, one of the main foods they dined on was a freeze-rotten dried potato. I shudder when I dare to let my mind conjure up a picture of the appalling and shocking truth which exist behind her words. She then advised me that perhaps there was something I could do to help the people living there. By now she should be conscious of the fact that Mother is the one who does charity banquets and all that nonsense, not me.