The Fourth Letter

March 13, 1899

Dear Mother,

I have written mostly to brother in the past months, but I believe it is time that I wrote to you. My health has not improved over the past months, and although I want to remain positive, it has become increasing difficult. Recently, I have begun coughing up blood, on top of the fever and hallucinations I have been experiencing. There are times where I can smell the grape vines, and the Italian air, and only later do I realize that it has been my mind playing tricks me. I will spare you the details of my predicament. I do not wish you to worry anymore than you have to, but I feel that you should know. Though I have moved to Kansas to continue my farming job and perhaps recover with some fresh air, I have not been able to work and so I have spent my days in my small room, trying my best to recover. In this vast farmland, finding medical attention is difficult and so my best option is only rest with the meager food supply of bread and soup I can afford. My supervisor grows increasingly impatient, and so I struggle with the pressures of maintaining my position and fighting for my health. I do not have many friends, as most of Italian farmers are only here for the money, eager to return to Italy. I suppose once I have found father, I will be able to return as well. But my sickness has taken a great toll on my optimism, and at times I wonder if it is worth it anymore, that perhaps he has gone, and I am on a fool’s errand to find him. My main focus now is regaining my health, and I am unsure of even that. I miss home, working in the vineyard with Enzo on our farm. Tell him, I send my love.

Love,

Alberto

The Third Letter

January 5, 1899

Dear Brother,

Winter is here, and my fever has not gone away. Instead I have had hallucinations, seeing you, mother, or father in places where I am sure they and you are not. As I was at the market yesterday, many times did I often see a tall man in a dark coat following me, and I was sure he was there until I turned and he vanished. Sometimes when I catch a glimpse of his face, it is yours, sometimes father’s, and sometimes mother’s image that greets me. I believe I am homesick, and I am suspicious of everything now, and so I will try to stay at home until the fever goes away. I have already made plans to move out west, where I can work in agriculture where the air is cleaner and the people are less. With my expertise in English as well as farming, I have already been selected as a translator for other Italian immigrants who may wish to work in agriculture as well.  But with my hallucinations and sickness, I have not been able to work and I have only managed to write this letter with the strength of a long day’s rest and a drink. I do not believe it is a cause yet for alarm as death does not feel close, but I will not be able to send back as much money as before. Without work, it has been more difficult to pay rent, so I much conserve my spending to the bare necessities of food and shelter. I will write again as soon as I get better. Tell mother I love her.

Until next time,

Alberto