Ezekiel,

I ask for your forgiveness, brother.

My regrets have been weighing heavily on my soul as of late. You’ve been in my dreams, standing at the door of the old homestead, watching me leave to go east and study law. I was more than willing to be the prodigal son at the time. The alternative was letting Father force me behind a pulpit for the rest of my life, and unlike you, I never had the temperament for Bible study or preaching. But here I am, my finances in a mess and my soul in disarray. Luke couldn’t have written it any better.

I’m in a spiritual quandary, you see. I’m sure you’ve heard about Phillip Francois and his family, the tragedy with the bears and all. It seems like the gossip’s trickling out of the city bit by bit. Phillip was a client of mine, a friend; I helped him negotiate a land deal some years ago and we’d kept in touch since. I had dinner with them only a few days before they went missing; I was in the search party that found them afterwards. The months since have been difficult on my soul. He was a more pious man than I was; you would have liked him, I think. He made sure his whole household was devout, even the slaves. And yet God let them die in such a horrifying way. I can’t wrap my head around it. I never had a mind for matters of the clergy; my cranium was shaped for contract negotiations.

Even after his death, God seems to be punishing him. Per his will, his entire estate is inherited by the only surviving member of his family: his three-year-old son, Tyce. But as he’s too young to run the place and Phillip didn’t designate a trustee, the courts have put both him and the estate under the guardianship of his uncle and Phillip’s brother Barthélemy, a Louisiana shipping magnate and a crass man of means. He has no love for Missouri, he has no interest in managing the estate, and considering the economic situation, the banks might snatch it away from him regardless. So he’s chosen to simply rid himself of it. Phillip’s estate will be liquidated; all proceeds will be put in a trust for Tyce; and the boy himself will be sent to Louisiana along with whatever can’t be sold and personal effects. Phillip had little fondness for Barth, on account of his gambling habits and Creole wife; he would be horrified to find out that he’d be raising Tyce. I did my best to avert this out of respect for Phillip, but I could only do so much. I’m not licensed for inheritance law, and I lack the funds to put forth a lawsuit. My legal specialty is in land speculation, and nobody’s buying land right now because the Republicans broke the banks.

There’s only one part of his legacy that I might be able to salvage. There was a house slave travelling with Phillip when he died, an unmarried female named Elle. She not only survived but kept Tyce alive and safe until the search party found them. If this was God’s doing, then she was God’s instrument to save Tyce. The least I can do is ensure she’s not sold off to someone who’ll mistreat her; she’s comely enough to attract the wrong attention from the right masters. I might even buy her myself; the executor of Phillip’s will owes me a favor.

You can see where my head has been for the past while. I’m not sure if I miss the comfort of family or the confidence of spiritual guidance I can trust, but whatever it is, I need it. I’d like to come home, at least until the banks recover. I’d like to see you again, see Mother. I know Father has already passed, but I’d like to visit the gravestone at least. I can help out. I know Mother’s been ill as of late and you’ve got your hands occupied with being the town reverend. If I can acquire Elle, I’ll bring her as well. You’ll like her. She knows how to speak articulately; she knows her Bible verses; and she knows her place.