A Love Letter Exchange During the American Civil War (1863)

Letter from Corporal James Whitaker to Eleanor Harper

Camp near Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

July 5, 1863

My Dearest Eleanor,

The air here is thick with the scent of gunpowder and the cries of the wounded. The battle has ended, but the echoes of its fury linger in my mind. I write to you now, my hands trembling not from fear but from the weight of all I have seen and the longing I feel for you. How I wish I could hold you close, if only for a moment, to remind myself that there is still beauty and goodness in this world.

I survived the storm, my love, though many did not. The fields of Gettysburg are now a graveyard, and the earth is stained with the blood of brothers. I cannot help but wonder why I was spared when so many fell. Perhaps it is so that I may return to you, to fulfill the promise I made beneath the old oak tree on the night before I left. Do you remember? You wore that blue dress, the one that matched your eyes, and the moonlight caught the tears on your cheeks as you begged me to come home to you. I swore I would, Eleanor, and I mean to keep that vow, no matter how long this war may last.

I carry your letters with me always, tucked close to my heart. They are my solace in the darkest hours, when the cannons roar and the men around me whisper prayers for their mothers and sweethearts. Your words are my beacon, guiding me through this nightmare. I read them over and over until the paper grows soft and the ink begins to fade. Tell me again of the garden you tend, of the roses that bloom despite the chaos of the world. Tell me of the quiet evenings you spend by the fire, knitting socks for the soldiers. Tell me of your love, for it is the only thing that keeps me whole.

I dream of the day when this war is over, when I can lay down my rifle and take you in my arms. I dream of a life with you, of a home filled with laughter and children, of mornings spent watching the sunrise over the hills of Virginia. I dream of growing old with you, Eleanor, of holding your hand as we sit on the porch and watch the seasons change.

But until that day comes, I must endure. I must fight, not for glory or honor, but for the future we have promised each other. Know that wherever I am, whatever I face, I carry you with me. You are my strength, my hope, my heart.

Yours, now and always,

James

Letter from Eleanor Harper to Corporal James Whitaker

Harper’s Farm, Virginia

July 15, 1863

My Dearest James,

Your letter arrived this morning, and I wept as I read it. The news of the battle at Gettysburg has reached us here, and I have spent every day since in agony, fearing the worst. To hear your voice, even in ink, is a balm to my soul. I thank God for sparing you, though my heart aches for those who were not so fortunate.

The garden you asked about still blooms, though it is not the same without you here to admire it. The roses are particularly lovely this year, their petals a deep, velvety red. I like to imagine that they are a symbol of our love—beautiful and enduring, even in the face of hardship. I have pressed a few of the blossoms and enclosed them with this letter, so that you may carry a piece of home with you.

Life here is quiet, though the war is never far from our thoughts. The fields are empty without the men to tend them, and the women and children work twice as hard to keep the farms running. We do what we must, but there is a heaviness in the air, a sense of waiting. We are all waiting, James—for news, for peace, for our loved ones to return.

I think of you every moment of every day. When I wake, I wonder if you are safe. When I lie down to sleep, I pray that you are warm and fed. I imagine you reading my letters by the light of a campfire, and it brings me comfort to know that my words might bring you even a fraction of the solace yours bring me.

Do not doubt, even for a moment, that you are loved. You are my heart, James, and I will wait for you no matter how long it takes. I will wait until the last star falls from the sky, until the last rose withers on the vine. I will wait because I know that you are worth waiting for.

Come home to me, my love. Come home and let us build the life we have dreamed of. Until then, know that I am with you in spirit, always.

Yours eternally,

Eleanor

Letter from Corporal James Whitaker to Eleanor Harper

Camp near Chattanooga, Tennessee

November 25, 1863

My Beloved Eleanor,

The days grow colder, and the nights are long. We are encamped near Chattanooga, preparing for what I fear will be another bloody battle. The men speak of home often, of warm hearths and familiar faces. I speak of you. I tell them of your kindness, your beauty, your unwavering strength. They tease me, saying I am a lucky man, and I do not disagree.

I received your letter with the pressed roses, and I cannot tell you how much it meant to me. They are a piece of you, a piece of home, and I treasure them more than words can express. I keep them in the pocket of my coat, close to my heart, where they remind me of all I am fighting for.

The war has changed me, Eleanor. I am not the same man who left you that night beneath the oak tree. I have seen too much, done too much. There are moments when I fear that you will not recognize me when I return, that the weight of all I have endured will have made me a stranger to you. But then I remember the look in your eyes as you promised to wait for me, and I know that your love is stronger than any shadow this war may cast.

I dream of you often. In my dreams, we are together again, walking through the fields of Harper’s Farm. The sun is warm on our faces, and the world is at peace. We speak of the future, of the children we will have and the life we will build. And then I wake, and the dream fades, but the hope remains.

I must go now, my love. The men are calling for me, and duty beckons. But know that I carry you with me, always. You are my light in the darkness, my reason to keep fighting. I will come home to you, Eleanor. I swear it.

Yours, now and forever,

James

Letter from Eleanor Harper to Corporal James Whitaker

Harper’s Farm, Virginia

December 10, 1863

My Dearest James,

Your letter arrived just as the first snow began to fall. I read it by the fire, the flames casting a warm glow over your words. How I wish I could reach through the page and touch your face, to reassure you that you are still the man I love, no matter how this war may have changed you.

You speak of shadows, James, but know this: love is stronger than any darkness. It is the light that guides us home, the thread that binds us together even when we are apart. I see you in my dreams, too, and in those dreams, you are always the man I fell in love with—brave, kind, and true.

The winter is harsh this year, and the farm is blanketed in snow. But even in the coldest moments, I feel your love warming me, reminding me that spring will come again. And when it does, I will plant a new rosebush in the garden, one that will bloom in honor of your return.

I pray for you every night, James. I pray for your safety, for your strength, for your peace. And I pray for the day when this war will end, when we can finally be together again. Until then, know that I am waiting for you, always.

Yours eternally,

Eleanor