December 1789
Dear Journal,
I can barely hold my hand still from shivering long enough to write anything. My fingers and lips are as blue as the summer sky. We have finally moved into our new home, but it is not all finished. The home is large and drafty, and there are minimal furnishings. Half the rooms are empty or unfinished. I sit beside the small fireplace, the heat doing little for my cold body. My empty stomach growls pitifully. Food is so scarce! I hope that Bob will come home soon. He ventured into town for some more building supplies despite my insisting pleas that he stay here. I here some boots on the porch, and a silhouette of a hunched man in the window. It is Bob! I must go greet him!
Love Ellie
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