(Angelica POV)
John smiles at me constantly, even though we have been bumping around in the back of this carriage for around four hours, the third day in a row. He doesn't seem to think all of this is boring. I do.
I try to do anything to distract myself from the awful sound of the spin of the wheels against dried mud, across nibbled grass, and over wooden bridges.
I read many books, revisiting classics like Common Sense and sometimes the Bible (my favorite is Ruth). I write a lot, scribbling away in whatever corner I can find.
I write so much, I wish i had something to do with it. I wish I was as good at it as Eliza, who is sweet and eloquent and always knows when to end the paragraph. She's the only reason Alexander's writing doesn't sound like the drool of a mad man.
I miss her so much. I even miss Alexander. I write both of them often.
Sorry for the rambling, but I have a seceret that is scaring me too much to say outloud. When i talk to John, I always think I'm going to say it, but it will never come out of my mouth.
We're almost there. We should be at his father's plantion by next week. God save me till then.
For now, i'll loose myself in John's arms and try to think of what to say next.