Love Letters Through Time

June 14, 1863

Dearest Catherine,

I write to you from a candlelit corner of my tent, where the Virginia air is thick with the scent of gunpowder and magnolias. The war rages on, yet in the quiet of this night, my thoughts are not on battle but on you. I see you in every flicker of the flame, in every rustle of the wind against the canvas. Have you received my last letter? Do you still wear the locket I placed around your neck that autumn eve when we bid farewell?

The days bleed into each other, a cycle of commands, marches, and the relentless echo of musket fire. But amid the chaos, it is the thought of your voice that carries me through. I read your last letter so many times that the ink has begun to fade, yet your words are etched into my soul. Do you still sit by the window with your book in hand, waiting for the news of me? I pray that the Lord keeps you safe, that He brings me home to you.

I cannot tarry long, my love, for the dawn brings new orders, and I must not be found idle. But know that in this hour, I am with you, as I always shall be. Keep your faith in me, and in our love.

Forever Yours,

William

July 3, 1863

My Beloved William,

Oh, how these days stretch unbearably without you! I clutch your letters to my heart, reading them until my tears blot the ink. I long for your voice, your laughter, the warmth of your hand in mine.

The town whispers of victory and defeat, but my concern is only for you. Tell me, my love, are you safe? Do you eat? Do you sleep? The papers bring nothing but dreadful news, and my heart clenches each time they arrive.

Your mother visits often; she tries to console me with talk of God’s plan, but my soul refuses to find solace in fate alone. I will not believe in a future without you. I will not accept a world where you do not return to me.

I still wear the locket, William. Every night, I press it to my lips and pray that it carries my love to you, wherever you may be. Come home to me, I beg of you.

Each night, I light a candle and set it upon my windowsill, hoping its glow reaches you across the miles. The flickering flame is my silent prayer, my beacon to guide you home. I whisper your name into the stillness, hoping the wind might carry it to you.

Yours in love and longing,

Catherine

August 10, 1863

My Darling Catherine,

I have seen hell and returned to tell of it. The battle at Gettysburg—God help us, the very ground was baptized in blood. I have lost dear friends, seen men crumble beneath cannon fire, but by some mercy, I am still standing. Though I cannot fathom why I was spared while so many were not.

The screams of the wounded echo in my ears, and even in sleep, I find no escape. But I must tell you—though my body remains in this war, my heart is already home, in your embrace. I keep your locket close to my chest, and in my darkest hours, I press it between my fingers and pray for strength.

Do not weep, my love. Keep your faith, as I keep mine in you. If there is still breath in my body, I shall return to you. If not in this life, then in the next.

I long for the simple days before the war, when I would steal glances at you across the garden, your laughter ringing like church bells through the summer air. I wonder, will I ever again know such peace? I dream of holding your hands, tracing the lines of your palm as though they are a map leading me home.

The officers whisper that the war will rage on, that more battles await us. I do not know what future lies ahead, but know this—my love for you is unyielding, unshaken by time or distance. Should fate keep me from you, I will find my way back, one way or another.

Yours, now and forever,

William

September 2, 1863

My Dearest William,

A telegram arrived today. My hands tremble as I write, my tears smudge these words. They say you are lost, that the battlefield has claimed you, but I do not believe it. I cannot. You promised me, William. You promised you would come home.

I refuse to mourn you, for I know in my soul that you are not gone. I will wait at the window until you return. I will keep the candle burning through every dark night. Until the day I hear your voice again, I shall live only on the memory of your love.

I went to the riverbank today, the place where you first told me you loved me. The willows bent in the wind, whispering secrets I cannot understand. I traced your name in the dirt, letting the soil stain my fingers as though it might bring me closer to you.

Your mother says I must learn to move on, but how can I? How does one move on from the love of their life? I will not—no, I cannot. I will write to you still, in the quiet of the night, and send my words into the void in the hopes that you may hear them.

Come back to me, my heart. Come back.

Eternally Yours,

Catherine

November 10, 1863

My Dearest Catherine,

If this letter reaches you, know that I am alive. Barely. They left me for dead upon the battlefield, buried beneath the fallen, breathing only in shallow gasps. The Lord, in His mercy, sent a kind soul who dragged me from the brink and nursed me in secret.

I have spent these months in hiding, my wounds healing slowly. It is only now that I find the strength to write, to send word that I have not abandoned you. My love, I am coming home. It will not be easy; the journey is long, and my body is weak, but I will crawl if I must.

Tell me, do you still wait at the window? Does your heart still believe? I beg you, hold on a little longer. Soon, we shall have no more need for letters. Soon, I shall hold you in my arms again.

I dream of your touch, the scent of your hair, the warmth of your breath upon my skin. I dream of sitting by the fire with you, of waking beside you on a crisp winter morning. These dreams sustain me, Catherine. They are my lifeline, my hope.

With every breath, I love you.

William