Julia sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the dirt floor. It had been more than three years since they had come to this godforsaken place. Tears running down on to her stationary, she thought it odd that anyone could survive here. It was oppressively hot during the summer months and brutally cold in the winter. To make matters worse, despite living in the middle of the prairie, precious little light made it’s way into the cabin. And no matter what the season, the wind always blew creating a sound that could only be described as unsettling.
Perhaps, she thought, it wouldn’t be so bad if circumstances didn’t demand that great portions of each day be spent alone. But crops needed tending to and that was that.
With no one to turn to, Julia felt herself being swallowed whole by the darkness. Melancholic, she would sit for hours looking out over miles of empty grasslands. And, all the while, the wind blew.
In her heart, Julia knew she was nearing the end.
Lifting herself from the corner of the bed, she carefully folded her letter and placed it in the envelope. Propping it up against her pillow, Julia quietly said goodbye.
On the plains of South Dakota, in the summer of 1899, Julia Mae Swenson hung herself. Against her wishes, she was buried on the property by her husband Matthew. Shortly thereafter, he left South Dakota never to return. Some say Julia still roams the grasslands of the Swenson homestead.
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