Candle in the Darkness - Lynn N. Austin [130]
My dearest Caroline,
How I long to see you. I’m looking at your picture as I write this and remembering all our wonderful times together. I even have fond memories of the arguments we used to have when we first met. You have a way of keeping me on my toes, making sure I don’t take myself too seriously, and I love you for that. You look so beautiful in your picture—the most beautiful woman in the entire regiment—but I’d much rather be holding you in my arms right now than gazing at your image. When I think of how long it has been since I held you and kissed you, I sometimes feel close to despair. But I always draw hope by dreaming of our future together.
We are wintering here outside Fredericksburg, and the weather has been freezing cold. The Yankees shelled the city before they attacked it, then looted what was left of it. Don’t worry, my regiment remained safely above it on Marye’s Heights. It seems that war consists of only two extremes—endless hours of tedious waiting, followed by unending moments of pure terror. We don’t even have time to mourn the friends who are struck down alongside us. But I think we are winning this war. Our city—and you—are still safe, and I thank God for that.
I must admit that I’m not happy about your visits to the prison, but not for the same reasons as my father. I fell in love with you because you are a woman of deep convictions, with the moral courage to stand up for those convictions (even when it means clubbing men on the streets of Richmond). Although I would hate to see your reputation unjustly tarnished, I love you more than ever for not allowing the fear of what other people might think to deter you from doing what God wants you to do.
No, it isn’t the gossip that worries me, nor am I jealous of your cousin Robert. You will always have my complete trust. But I am very concerned for your safety. I’ve seen how men can sometimes turn into animals under such dire circumstances as imprisonment, and my imagination envisions a prison uprising with you being held as hostage. I know Eli would protect you at all costs, and I’m grateful that he accompanies you on your visits. But he’s only one man against how many thousands of Yankees? If I can’t persuade you not to go to the prison for your own safety’s sake, then I beg you to please, please be careful.
It’s hard to believe that I have been in the army for more than a year and a half now, and I haven’t been home to see you except for that one quick visit at Rocketts Wharf. I never imagined that the war would last this long. I’ve been hoping to receive a furlough for Christmas to celebrate the second anniversary of our engagement, but it doesn’t look as though anyone will get a furlough. The Yankees are still camped too close, across the Rappahannock River at Falmouth, and we can’t risk sending anyone home. I’ll think of you on that blessed day—as I do every day—and pray that this will be our last Christmas apart.
I must close before I become unbearably sad—and I make you sad along with me. This is the season of great hope, so let’s draw hope for our future from the hope we have in Christ. God bless you, Caroline. I love you more than words can say.
Charles
Chapter Nineteen
December 1862
“Don’t know how I’m supposed to make a decent meal when there ain’t no butter,” Esther grumbled as she set a bowl of yams on the table.
“Never mind you fussing,” Eli said. “Just sit yourself down now so I can say the blessing.”
The fragrant kitchen was a wonderful blend of smells—cinnamon and cloves, smoky bacon and ham, onions and molasses. “If it tastes half as good as it smells,” I told Esther, “we’ll never miss the butter.”
The six servants and I had gathered around the scrubbed pine table in the kitchen for a simple Christmas Eve dinner. I hadn’t been