Ben Longbow & Margie Blackthorn
July 1929
Cleveland, Ohio >>> New York, New York
My dearest Margie,
I know you are from Merry England and, therefore, not as familiar as I with the geography of this great young nation in which you find yourself on your travel year. Therefore, you must heed my most solemn advice:
Never, ever visit the Midwest.
As you are well aware, I find myself in Cleveland, Ohio for my family’s annual two week trip at my grandparents’ house on the shores of Lake Erie. Perhaps you think it sounds nice - Lake Erie is a Great Lake, after all - but it is still and boring, on the whole, and the pillars of smoke from all the factories nearby ruin any of the supposed calming effects of nature. Lake Erie is fairly standard - it is just a large lake, really, and too great to see the end of in any direction - and rather disparaging these days; while I will admit that it is good fun to see the rum runners, as they’re called, darting ashore to sneak alcohol and other prohibited items from our friendly neighbors to the North, I must admit that the lake has lost a lot of its beauty. The factories produce all sorts of sludge and sewage, and they are dumped, unceremoniously, into Erie. It’s waters have turned a rather sickly green, and I’m afraid more fish can be found dead ashore than in the buckets of the local fisherman.
Nevertheless, I decided to look up the lake in my grandfather’s study, to see if I might find any interesting factoids about the surrounding area and it’s history to share with you - I know how much you love to learn and look for any nuggets of journalistic inspiration. The history was rather dull, really, mostly accounts of early European explorers, treaties with the Canadians, and the like. But I did find one interesting thing: during the War of 1812, Oliver Perry captured an entire fleet of British warships in the lake, with far inferior numbers. The schematics of the battle are truly fascinating - perhaps you could share them with Edmund, as you told me how much he loves history.
If you cannot tell by this point in the letter, Margie, I miss you so much that I find myself struggling to move through the world without you by my side. I know I have only been gone for three nights, but I cannot tell you the number of times I have turned to tell you a joke or show you a great photograph, only to find you not there. Everything has been reminding me of you - I think the Battle of Lake Erie only stuck out to me, in truth, because I saw an illustration of the English flag, which of course just made me think of you and miss you more.
Allison thinks I am acting morose out of despair at the prospect of spending two full weeks here - you know my aunt and uncle and cousins from California are all here, too, and I must admit they can give me a headache at times - but it is truly because I miss you. I cannot stop thinking of how you will return to London in December - that is only five months away - and I am spending two of our precious weeks together away from you.
I miss you. I miss New York in a way I never have before; sure, I missed the Giants and Yankees games, the moving pictures, and my family when I was away in Brazil, but I never missed the city so intently before. And I know it’s because of you; you have become so entrenched in everything I love about New York, Margie, that it just makes me want to run home to New York - but really I know I’d be running back to you.
I do not share your talent with words, but I hope you can understand how much I miss you. I’m counting down the days until I can see you again.
Yours, most sincerely,
Ben
New York, New York >>> Cleveland, Ohio
My dearest Ben,
Well, well, well, another US destination to avoid according to Mr. Benjamin Longbow.
Truly, you have told me so many places not to travel in your “young great nation” that I am starting to doubt the validity of your recommendations. So far you have told me to avoid the following places, for the adjoining reasons:
- Connecticut: because everyone there is “too rich and stuck-up”
- Upstate New York: see “Connecticut”
- Washington DC: because the politicians who live there are “awful pricks who hate our First Amendment rights as journalists”
- The South (which is apparently from Virginia down to Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, and Mississippi, but not Florida? Why is this country so odd?): because of the former Confederacy and poor socioeconomic ideology (actually, fair enough on this one. After your stories of Tennessee I’m scared of the South.)
- Florida (which isn’t the South?): full of “giant land lizards” (alligators) and “weird people” (retired Wall Street bankers)
- Texas: it’s “too big to trust,” and I’d “get run over by a bull” (?)
- Utah: it’s full of a religious sect who would “marry me off as some man’s sixth wife.”
- And now the Midwest: because it’s “boring.”
Slowly but surely, you are crossing off all my options for extra travel. One might accuse you of trying to entice me to stay in New York, Ben, because then we would have more time together. Perhaps I could go visit your family in California…
I’m just joking, of course. I won’t lie; the thought of my departure in December fills me with dread too. I can hardly believe how quickly I have grown to feel at home in New York - and at home with you, a boy who I did not even know until five months ago.
I miss you too, Ben. A lot. It is so odd to wake up alone here in my bed in the New York Institute; I open my eyes and immediately look for you, and feel so cold (despite the summer heat) to find that your arms are not around me. I have not been sleeping well since you left - my nightmares are back worse than ever, I’m afraid - but do not fret; Elizabeth is here, and on the worst night I went to her for comfort and slept in her bed, like we were little girls having a sleepover in one of our bedrooms once again.
I do hope you will enjoy this time with your family, however dull the surroundings may be; if you get bored once again, feel free to send me more factoids about this mystical Great Lake Erie in the odd land of Midwestern Ohio.
Oh, and I almost forgot to tell you! Do you remember that story we were investigating, about the shady transatlantic investments of the Munich Institute? I’ve found a new lead; there’s a warlock here (name redacted for journalistic integrity), who apparently fled Munich during the Great War. He knows the Lisveills family, and he said he’d agree to talk to me so long as he is a) kept off the record, and b) the story is published in the Downworlder Uptown instead of the Idris Gazette. Can you ask your father if they’d be interested in the piece? I’ll talk to (redacted) as soon as possible, and try to cross-check everything he says with German shadowhunters I know (my cousin Erich, for example, or Owen’s fiancée Lydia!)
I wish you were here with me. I must admit, as much as I’ve always loved reporting, I really, really love when I get to do it with you (and not just because I’m a rubbish photographer.)
I miss you, Ben. Take care and give your family my love!
Yours,
Margie
Cleveland, Ohio >>> New York, New York
My lovely Margie,
Your letter made me laugh, then filled me with affection so great I nearly teared up (nearly), then made me laugh again, then filled me with such affection once more that I had half the mind to run out into Cleveland’s dirty, smoky streets in just my pajamas and hop on the next train bound eastwards. Angel, what I wouldn’t do to be with you right now.
Firstly, I am not fond of your implication with regard to my travel recommendations. My warnings are borne of a lifetime of trying to make the rest of the US be as wonderful as New York, and eventually caving in and realizing that, should I remain in the States, I will have to live in New York or nowhere. There is simply no alternative option.
(Okay, okay, I do want you to stay with me in New York as long as possible. I would offer to take you on a road trip wherever you wanted to go, even swampy Florida, but you insist that is beyond the bounds of English propriety. To which I say: let your king come and try to punish me. Historically, such conquests do not go well for the British on American soil. Just look at our friend Oliver Perry.)
(I know, I know, your father would have it out for me more than the king of England. To which I say: I’m sorry, sir, and I will never even look at your daughter again. We will simply stand back to back - not touching, of course - and communicating through written notes passed back and forth, for the rest of time. Do not bemoan me as dramatic; all American adults love me, as I quickly win them over with my talk of football, baseball, automobiles, and general muckraking, but I do not know how to win over Jesse Blackthorn. I rather fear he would throw me in that haunted house your family owns and leave me for the rats to nibble upon in the winter.)
Speaking of fathers, my own said he is “quite inclined” to read this piece of “relevant investigative reporting” from the “most promising young journalist” he knows. I am disappointed but not surprised; I’ve known for sometime now that my father likes you more than I, but I must admit I was burnt by his words. Photographic journalism will be more and more relevant in the coming years, I am telling you now.
However, he is correct: your talent, passion, and commitment to journalistic integrity continues to astound me every day, even though I am eager to know the true identity of this (redacted). You are a very special girl, Margie; I know one day you’re going to change the whole world, and I’ll just be proud to be able to say that I knew you back when.
I miss you. I hope you and Elizabeth are enjoying Manhattan during the hottest, stickiest month of the year - can’t wait to be back there with you soon.
Always yours,
Ben
New York, New York >>> Cleveland, Ohio
My darling Ben,
Now I am the one laughing - are you truly afraid of my father? That is funny; amongst the Blackthorns, my father is probably the least of your concerns. It’s my mother you’ve got to look out for… and Hazel… and Madeleine… and honestly little Alaina too, though I trust you should be able to best her in a fight for my honor should it come to that.
In all truth, my father has always made it clear that all he wants for me - for any of his children - is for us to be happy. And you make me happy, Ben. It’s not just you; New York makes me happy, this city that is so alive I can feel it buzzing in my veins each morning when I step outside. I love the jazz clubs and the speakeasies and the secret parts of the city that you show me, that feel like our own hidden oases in the midst of the metropolitan sea. I love going to Yankees games (even though they take too long) and eating American hotdogs (even though I don’t get why they are called that) and hanging out in Central Park on Saturdays, reading in the shade with Elizabeth, while you and all the Conclave boys play American football (which requires, as I’ve complained at length, neither a foot nor a ball). I love driving around the city in your car and sniffing out new leads and I even love when you take pictures of me, even though I always complain about it at the time because my hair is always too messy or my outfit is all askew…
What I am trying to say is that I love my life here, Ben. It is becoming more and more clear to me that I do not want to go back to London, and if I want to stay, I know my father will support my decision.
And I know he will support us, Ben. Trust me when I say my parents have perhaps the most unusual love story you will ever hear, and he will not judge us for finding one another and being happy. He will love you, and you will have to meet him at some point.
(But yes, maybe the Florida road trip should wait until after that encounter.)
And if he doesn’t, well, at least we already know your parents like me. That’s half the battle won, in my mind.
You and your father are both too kind, Ben. In all honesty, I sometimes fear of my passion for journalism going nowhere; I am a Shadowhunter first, and I fear that will stand in the way of me achieving my goals.
But I have my mother to look up to; she is a Shadowhunter and a writer, and if she can do it then I have to believe that I can one day, too.
I really, really miss you. I know I said to make the most of Ohio and enjoy it, but now I just want you back here with me. Hurry home to New York, and we can get this story done for you father (no matter what he may say, I do need your photography skills!)
I’ll see you soon.
Yours,
Margie