August 28, 1885 (Elizabeth)

Cincinnati, OH 

Dearest Imogen,

 I apologise for this long interval between letters.  My old complaint has blown up again, worse than before (if that can be imagined!).  The air gets worse every year, and when the days become so warm and close as now my lungs seem to lose their capacity to draw the air in.  Then it does not matter how strong Cook brews the coffee, nor how much of it I drink.  I do try, but then I both cannot breathe and cannot sleep, and so am in a very bad state.  I drag myself around like a pitiable worm!  It is infinitely frustrating to have to lie down half the afternoon, exhausted merely by the effort of going downstairs to lunch!  After a while I feel rested, my breathing eases, and I remember all the things I meant to do and want to be doing.  But five minutes’ activity drains me of all energy, and cursing my weakness I am grateful to collapse once more on my couch.

We had some plans to go to the mountains this summer.  New Hampshire is so pretty this time of year.  I have heard that the air in Montana is restorative as well, but the fuss and bother of packing up house and dragging eight or ten individuals with me (for the boys and Kathryn and Aunt Lena could not be left home alone) made the prospect unattractive.  Besides, last summer was not so bad, and I am always able to fool myself that I am getting better.  Then too, I was busy arranging the charity ball for the new Archbishop (how his predecessor, may God have mercy on him, managed to run the Diocese into such a mess, I will never comprehend!) and did not have time to think about it.  Now, however, I am regretting my foolish optimism.

For now, I am a little better.  Sweet old Doctor Stein has given me pastiles to be burned in my rooms, which helps a little.  He is trying to persuade me that opium might help, at least with the pain, but I do not like it.  The best thing for me would be a change of climate.  I am so tempted to join you in your mountain retreat, dearest!  However, I shudder to think of what would happen to my family and household.  Father talks of building us a new home futher up the tall hills that surround us.  There, perhaps, the air would be purer and healthier for me.  I confess that at times like these, when the pain is so bad, I am willing to consider almost anything for relief.  However, I know that while Father says that he will oversee it all, soon he would be distracted by some problem at the plant and the whole thing would land in my lap.  Then I would be the one overseeing architechts and workmen, spending my days choosing baseboard trims and upholstery fabric.  I saw Mary England go through this purgatory, and though her new home is lovely (in the new Queen Anne style), I do not know that I want to do the same.  And, too, I would miss our friends and neighbors so.  The neighborhood may be crowded, but it is so homelike, with its German architecture and streetnames.  I think of moving away to live among strangers and can only feel sad.

I miss you very much, dearest.  I have not heard from you in so long!  I have hopes that perhaps in a month or so – when the days become cooler and the air is easier to breathe – I may be able to start thinking of travelling again.  I would love to come visit you a while.  But – we shall see what God and Dr. Stein say.

 Affectionately,

Elizabeth