The Letter

She sat on a hard, stiff-backed chair, gazing out the window at the passing storm outside. The air smelled stiff and sterile, reflecting the hospital atmosphere. The room was scarcely furnished, just enough for one person to live there. A warm fire blazed nearby, but its heat went unfelt.

A cold, deathly hand had gripped the woman's heart in a vice-like hold. An uncommon chill had possessed her body, and her eyes appeared glazed over as she stared at nothing and saw nothing, hearing only the thoughts flooding her mind. While it was evident that she was once rather pretty, her face was now pale and drawn in. Her eyes were sunken hollows, and their color was transformed. They were once a vibrant, ocean-deep blue, reflecting the stars in the heavens and betraying whatever emotion the woman was feeling. But now, they were a dull, icy blue, void of all emotion. Her graceful, slender body was hunched over, and her shoulders shook uncontrollably with dry sobs that racked her body. Her mouth was moving, forming silent words. In her white hands she clutched a letter as if it was her reason to live. And in reality, it was.

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October 20, 1864

“My Beautiful Girl,

I’m sorry that it has taken me so long to write. But as I compose this, I fear that I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I am no longer in danger of the war, and the ‘other side’ is no longer in danger of me. The bad news is why I have been taken out of this war. You see, as I write you this letter in the hopes of conveying every ounce of love and support that I have, even now I lie on my bed, my left arm useless and my right leg and head in bandages. It is not fatal--don't worry--but the ache in my heart hurts so much more than anything that the battles could inflict upon me. Every waking second I see your face, smell the scent of the wild flower oil you wash your hair in, hear your laugh, and feel the comfort of you in my arms.

I understand from your last letter that you have been moved to the battlefield hospitals for duty in emergency care and nursing. I’m proud of you, my darling. I’m so proud that you have conquered your fears of the field and taken up your post as a nurse. But I wish that you were here, and that I was your only patient. I miss you so much.

Dearest, since writing the above I’m afraid that I have terrible news. Your brother, whom I swore on my life to protect, was killed yesterday. He was shot straight through the heart by Lieutenant General Jubal A. Early; killed merely hours after being appointed Lieutenant. I don't need to say it for you already know. He was as much a brother to me as to you. I just wish I could have been there; it was at Belle Grove. Remember that place? Remember the warm air, the soft grass, the cool water, and the birds flying overhead…it was the day we met. I was able to retrieve his badge as a token for you. I’m sorry. May he rest in peace.

Again, my love, I’m sorry to say that I must reveal even more bad news. Over the course of four days I have accumulated enough energy to write this letter. But alas, on this the fourth and last day, I have received another report. This one, however, concerning me. My leg has become infected in these harsh conditions, and they must amputate it. The doctors have also discovered a more serious injury. A shot, while on field, glanced off of my chest plate, but has caused what the doctors call internal bleeding. I grow weaker by the day; I can feel it. I don’t need to say it for you already know. I’m sorry. When all of this was over I had intended to ask you something. You already know that, too. My girl, please don’t cry over me. Your tears would hurt me more than anything. Just keep me in your thoughts and prayers. I’ll see you again, I promise.

Oh, how I wish I could see you one more time, feel your loving embrace, kiss your sweet lips, smell your fragrant hair. I love you so much it sometimes hurts. Keep me in your heart and I promise, I’ll never be far from your side. Until I see you again, take this ring as our token. I love you, with all my heart, and then some.

I don’t know how to end this letter because it feels that if I stop writing then I’ll lose you. And I can’t lose you--I can’t! Please, promise me you’ll never let me go. Promise you’ll love me always. I know you will. Don’t stop this letter, darling. Every day keep adding to it whatever you will, whatever you want to tell me, what you’re thinking, anything. When I see you again, you can give it to me in person. Fill out our story in the pages of a book, remember? And I shall never stop loving you. Nor will I lose you. I love you so much, my girl. Always remember that. Always. Until that day comes…

With all of my heart,

Your Boy.

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Her fingers clutched the letter tighter, and the glow from a silver band on her finger shone from the fire. In the center was a single tiny diamond, and underneath, on the inside, were the words "My Girl" engraved. Even after all of these years she had refused to take it off.

She sat by the window, still gazing outside. On the table next to her, basking in the firelight radiantly was a revolver. She would not let herself cry, not after so long, and finally, her fingers relaxed. Her gaze switched to the rifle, and she stared at it determinedly. One could almost see the shadow of her previous self in her eyes, with the passionate fury emblazing her blue orbs. She reached out her hand and rested it on the barrel of the gun, pulling it closer.

When she pulled it to the edge of the table, she sat for a few moments, staring at it. Was it worth it? She had lived with the pain for so many years, watching the war become history, watching her friends grow old with their men returned from duty--watching them live the life that she should have had.

But the pain had never left. Every day she looked at the band on her finger and was reminded of the man who had loved her so much, and that she had loved right back. It was so hard to watch her friends grow as old as she with their husbands while she dreamt about what-ifs and could-have-beens. It was so hard to live each day knowing that her should-have-been husband wasn't her husband, and wasn't with her. She wanted so badly to be with him; so badly to see his face again, and hear his voice. Sometimes so badly that she would do anything to be with him again. Anything to get rid of the pain that she couldn't let go of. And while looking at the gun, anything sounded pretty good. Her fingers stretched out a little more towards the handle.

So many people had asked her why she clung onto a memory of the past, but then she looked at the letter and knew that it wasn't just a memory. It was like he had said, "Keep me in your heart and I promise, I will never be far from your side." Men had approached her and attempted to court her, but she could never feel for them what she had for him. Everything she had wanted in a husband she had found in him, and those things she had found only partially in the other men. Why should she settle for anything less than what she already had? She had the love of her partner, and that was something she would never lose.

With that thought she set her jaw and pushed the revolver to the floor. Her hand shook and she watched in slow motion as it landed with a deafening clatter. Her arm remained poised in mid-air minutes after the gun stilled. Her heart seemed to be beating a thousand times a second. She closed her eyes and breathed, trying to calm herself. It was over. She had done it and would never go back.

After what felt like an eternity, she opened the desk drawer and pulled out a pen and ink. On the bottom of the letter she started writing.

October 20, 1879…

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