1862, Philadelphia, USA.
Charlotte Bice, orphaned at age eight, is taken in by one of the city's most prominent families, the Whitcombs, with the promise that she would be raised as a lady. The Whitcombs are certainly not as respectable as they pres...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Charlotte hurried up the stairs along with the rest of the girls, feeling as though she could burst from her skin at any moment. It had been over a month since she had sent the letter to William. She had reminded herself more than once that a letter could take weeks to be delivered, and that was without the hassle of locating a moving army and delays of battle. And, of course, she had to allow time for any response to make its way back to her. But despite those entirely rational reminders, she still checked daily for any mail with her name on it, and it had finally come that morning, addressed in that neat script with the same patriotic lady emblazoned on the envelope.
But she had merely slipped it into her pocket, where it remained throughout the day, a day which seemed longer than usual. It was ridiculous that she should care so much, and yet, something had stirred in her. She hadn't realized until her response was long gone just how confusing and exciting it was to have someone, anyone, care about what she had to say. Someone who thought her words and thoughts were meaningful, perhaps even important. Worthwhile. No doubt a man like William was busy writing letters to all his friends, to his family, and yet, he had taken time to write to her. It was occurring to her now, with the letter secreted away in the folds of her skirt, that she had been afraid he might realize that he had made a mistake in reaching out to her, that he might have realized she was a silly, gangly girl after all.
But he had written back to her, and more than once, she had found herself with her hand in her pocket, touching the edge of the envelope to remind herself that it was there. It indeed was, and now she finally had the opportunity to escape to her room and read what he had sent.
Rather, she almost had the opportunity. She still dutifully completed her schoolwork, waiting impatiently until she was sure Olive was ignoring her existence before allowing herself to unseal the envelope and remove the letter.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Aquia, Virginia November 20th, 1862
Dear Charlotte,
I confess that I had never considered autumn in that light before, but now that I think on it, I can see what you find so reassuring about it. It is a decidedly comforting season, with the familiar aroma of falling leaves. It had always been my favorite time to ride Petra, and I always assumed it was because it was my last chance to give her a run in less miserable weather, but I am realizing that there was a certain soothing in those rides. I know it is ridiculous, but I cannot help but wonder if she misses me as much as I am missing her.
