My Heart’s Eternal Flame

July 14, 1863

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

My Dearest Eleanor,

As I sit beneath the tattered canvas of my tent, the dim glow of a flickering lantern casting shadows upon this weathered parchment, I find solace in the thought of you. The scent of gunpowder lingers in the air, and the distant cries of men echo through the night, yet amidst this chaos, it is your face—soft and serene—that remains my only comfort.

How I long to feel your delicate hand in mine, to trace the curve of your cheek and whisper your name under the moon’s watchful gaze. It has been but six months since I last laid eyes upon you, yet it feels as though eternity has conspired to keep us apart. The war rages on, and though I am bound by duty to my country, my heart remains a prisoner of your love.

I often think back to the afternoon we spent beneath the old oak tree by the river. The sun, golden and warm, painted your auburn curls with its radiant light. We spoke of the future, of the home we would build, the family we would nurture. How cruel fate has been to postpone those dreams! And yet, I hold fast to the promise that one day, we shall reclaim them.

The battle at Gettysburg was more harrowing than words can convey. For three days, we fought as though the devil himself had unleashed his fury upon this land. I have seen men—brave, noble men—fall beside me, their eyes fixed on the heavens as they drew their final breath. It is in these moments, dearest, that I cling to the hope of returning to you. For without you, what meaning does survival hold?

There was a moment, amidst the chaos, where I felt certain I would not survive. A cannonball struck mere feet from where I stood, sending debris flying in all directions. I was thrown to the ground, dazed and gasping, my ears ringing from the deafening explosion. When I opened my eyes, the world around me was shrouded in smoke. My heart pounded as I searched for my comrades, but all I could think of was you. Would I die here, on this blood-soaked battlefield, without ever holding you again? The thought sent a terror through me greater than any enemy charge. And so, I rose, pushing forward, clinging to the hope that I would live to see your face once more.

My love, I must tell you of a man who saved my life. His name is Samuel Carter, a fellow soldier from Virginia. When I was struck down, unable to rise, he pulled me from the line of fire, shielding me with his own body as bullets tore through the air. He spoke of his wife, much as I speak of you, and we found solace in knowing that our love gave us something to fight for. He did not survive the final charge. I write this letter with a heavy heart, mourning a friend, but also grateful for the sacrifice he made. His last words were of his beloved, and I promised him I would write to her, as I write to you now, to tell her of his bravery.

Each night, as I lay upon the cold earth, I think of home. I see you walking along the garden path, the scent of lavender trailing in your wake. I recall the gentle hum of your voice as you sang while mending a tear in your dress, your nimble fingers weaving love into every stitch. I remember the evenings on your father’s porch, where we would watch the fireflies dance in the summer air, our hands entwined in secret promise. These memories are my refuge, my sanctuary amidst the horrors of war.

I carry your locket close to my heart. Each night, before closing my eyes, I press it to my lips and whisper a prayer that you might hear me, even across these miles. Your letters, though scarce due to the perilous state of the roads, have been my lifeline. The last one arrived weeks ago, yet I have read it so many times that I have committed every word to memory. Your mention of the roses blooming in your mother’s garden, the laughter of our neighbors’ children, the warmth of your touch lingering in the ink—all remind me of the world I fight to return to.

But my love, I must confess a fear that gnaws at my soul. What if I do not return? What if this war, with its insatiable hunger for life, claims me before I can see you again? The thought is unbearable, yet I must acknowledge its possibility. Should such a cruel fate befall me, promise me one thing—do not let sorrow steal the light from your eyes. Love again, if love finds you. Build the home we dreamed of, even if my hands are not there to lay its foundation. Find happiness, for that is all I have ever wished for you.

I remember the first time I kissed you, in the orchard behind your father’s house. The summer air was thick with the scent of ripened peaches, and your laughter rang out like a melody. I was a boy then, foolish and nervous, yet when our lips met, I knew my heart belonged to you and you alone. No force in this world could change that, not even the cruel hand of war.

Yet, if fortune favors us and I do return, I swear upon my very soul that I shall never leave your side again. No war, no force on this earth shall part us. I shall marry you beneath the very oak tree where we once dreamed, and together we shall build a life unshaken by the storms of the world. I will wake each morning with you in my arms and fall asleep each night knowing that I am the luckiest man to have ever drawn breath.

Eleanor, my love, I beg of you to be strong. The war cannot last forever, though it may feel as though it will. The world is ever-changing, yet my love for you remains steadfast, unyielding as the tide. When you next stand by the river, beneath the boughs of our tree, know that I am there with you, if not in body, then in spirit.

Until we meet again, my dearest, know that I am yours now and forever.

With all my love,

Nathaniel