St. Louis

Rosalie Ludlow and her cousins met us in St. Louis, to see us off. Oh, how can I write this wretched pleasantry when I want to shout ROSALIE ROSALIE ROSALIE ROSALIE I am deeply shamed at my actions here, and quite undone. Nothing like this has ever happened to me, at least not with a gentlewoman, not in Rome, or Switzerland or Dusseldorf or Paris, or least of all, New York, and not with the wife of a friend! Imagine my horror at discovering her innocence, of all things, after four years of marriage to Ludlow. I am appalled and can barely look Ludlow in the face. No doubt we will have many more things to occupy our thoughts in the weeks to come. Today we leave St. Joseph and begin the ride to Fort Bridger. The Army escort we'd planned for has not arrived, communication is hopelessly mired in the War, which is not going well, the outcome very unclear. I must ride on regardless, making contact with the Shoshone, Pawnee and PiUtes (if I may) and drive hard for the Fort and on to Salt Lake City. Ludlow will have to muddle along best he can, the poor wronged creature. What infernal ambition induced me to bring him along!