Letter 2

Dear John,
How are things? It has been a while since we have last met. I cannot function correctly since you have gone to Our Father above. It is simply impossible. After you died, my name had become forsaken in Salem, so I fled to Boston. Yet, even there, my name is forsaken too. As it seems, the people around even these parts talk way too much. Perhaps it is because of the habit I have adopted after your death. Without you, I seem to go into a frenzy. I have been sporting with men of all kinds. It makes me a good deal of money, yet, I know better. We know better. No other man on this planet can ever be quite like you.

I also have a few questions to ask of you. The night before you died, why did you not come with me to Boston? I had no idea that Mary Warren would think to place the burden on you. Such was not my plan this whole time. If you had come with me, you would have lived. We could have had a quaint little house and family here in Boston, but you decided not to. One more question now. How is heaven? Is it quite as good as everyone makes it seem? Why do I ask this? It is because I know you must be up there, you were a good man down here.

As you can see, I have been a bad girl. I lie, I cheat, and I steal. That has been my life thus far. Those witch trials that took your life were but a farce. We all knew it. If those judges were not so naïve, you would be here, in my arms. You were a good man, dying for this cause not because you were found guilty, but because you had to prove everyone else wrong about it. Also, since you must be in heaven, I have a favor to ask of you. Please tell Our Father to have mercy on myself. I know no better than I have been doing. Oh, how I long to see you again up there, in the clouds of heaven. If only it were possible for me. Perhaps you could pay me a visit down There. I am sickly without you. If there be paper and ink up in heaven, write back to me soon. I look forward to hearing from you.
Your lover,

Abigail