Linda's Musings

All the contents of this page are written by and copyrighted by Linda's Musings. They may not be used without our express permission.

LETTERS FROM CAROLINE
LETTERS FROM CHRISTOPHER
CORRESPONDENCE FROM TWO LOVERS DURING THE FIRST WORLD WAR

Christmas 1915

And here I stand waving a Merry Christmas to you
And here I stand at my window waiting for you to come home.

My dearest love,
Once again, I must wish you Merry Christmas when you are far away from me. And once again, I'll make a wish on the first star I see tonight that you'll be home for Christmas next year.

In your last letter, you asked me about our preparations for the holidays. Well, mother and Martha have been busy baking for the last three weeks. We are expecting a large gathering at Christmas and they are both afraid we'll run out of food. I think mother is worried because Aunt Ruth is coming this year. You remember they haven't been speaking since Father told uncle Grayson that he has big ears, which is only the truth because they do stick out like an elephant's and you're always afraid he'll fly away in a stiff breeze. Anyway, after much coaxing from Mother, Father apologized to him and now, they'll be spending Christmas with us. And Mother now says aunt Ruth is just coming so she can criticize the fruitcake. Sometimes, I get dizzy trying to understand my family.

I sat in my own private corner and thought of you last night. Happy thoughts mostly, of the two of us walking and making plans for the future.

Mike Wilkins won't be coming back. It's hard to think of life without his pranks and his laughter. We'll be walking with so many ghosts, now, Christopher, ghosts of friends we'll never see again. And I can't understand why this war had to happen. Funny isn't it, but we are celebrating the birth of the God of love while we send men off to kill each other.

Be careful, Christopher, very careful. You have to come back to me.

But this is a Christmas letter and I want it to be cheerful. We decorated the tree last night and carolers came to sing after supper. Most of my shopping is done. I bought you a present, as I did last year and I'll give it to you when you come back.

Mrs. Johnson has formed a Ladies' Aid Group. They meet once a week to roll bandages and do other good deeds for our brave soldiers. I have to smile because their efforts won't be of much help to you or anyone else. Luellen Saunders started to knit a scarf and she ended up with a blanket. Sue Walters knit some mittens without any thumbs. I think the ladies mostly use the soldiers as an excuse to meet and gossip once a week.

Mother had hoped to sing a solo with the church choir this year, but that honor went to Marge Reilley instead. You had to expect that, according to mother, after all the cakes Marge fed to Reverend Foster. A man can't be expected to think straight when a woman tempts his stomach. Still, mother decided to remain with the choir so no one would think she was jealous of Marge. Pity us, her poor family, who'll be hearing of this grave injustice at least until Easter.

I will leave you now, darling Christopher, because I want to mail my letter before it gets dark. Look closely and you'll find I've sent you a bit of my heart in each word. I pray God keeps you safe and that you come back to me soon.

Merry Christmas, my love,
Caroline.

I walk with ghosts each day and sometimes I wonder if I have become a phantom also, like all the others I met briefly and who died before I could remember their names.

My sweet Caroline,
I wish I knew the date to put on this letter, but somehow, I've lost track of time. Each day melts into the other, each only a long march through country I can barely glimpse before we stop, load our guns, shoot into the fog, then start walking again until it becomes dark and we pretend to sleep. Sometimes I ask myself if I've killed anyone, but I don't want to know the answer. It's better that way.

I could smell Christmas in the pages of the letter you sent me and I so wanted to be with you. Did your father cut the tree from our favorite spot in the forest? He always wanted the tallest one and I was always afraid we would never get it into the house. But we managed each year and I wondered if he knew some magic that made the tree fit in the doorway. Did your mother make her gingerbread men? I can taste them on my tongue right now. Remember how she would let us put raisin buttons on them?

It was such an innocent time, before the war and the killing. Sometimes, it feels like a dream, like that couldn't be me with you in my memories. You'd love the flowers that grow here, some in ruins we sleep in at night. I imagine a woman with your eyes, your dark hair, planting them, singing to them like you do to your roses. And here we are, trampling over them as if no one had ever loved them. So sad, but I can't cry anymore. You can't really, because you would go crazy, there are so many reasons to cry each day.

There is a bit of beauty I can send you, pieces of a stained glass window I found in the ruins of a church. The sun was shining on them and they looked like rainbows lying on the floor, tiny little promises the storm would pass and the world would be whole again. So hold on to them: they're my promise to you that I'll come back safe to you.

I have to go, Caroline. I love you.
Christopher.

January 3rd 1916

My dear Christopher,
Christmas has finally come and gone and now I have more quiet time to myself. There were difficult moments during the holidays; times when I had to make polite conversation about you with people who were only asking out of curiosity. Now I can go back to my private corner and be alone with you.

I keep a piece of the stained glass window you sent with me all the time. It makes me feel closer to you. The days feel so empty. I wander about in them, trying to find something to do when all the time I am by your side fighting the war. Father doesn't share much news about it with us. He thinks women shouldn't know what's going on in the world. So I read the paper when he's not home and there's no one to help ease my fears. You seem so far away from me, on another planet I can't even imagine.

I shouldn't be talking to you like this, but you were the only person I could confide my thoughts to without having to censor them. I never had to play dumb for you. Do you remember how we loved to sit in the park and talk about everything and nothing? I miss that. At the moment, I am trying hard to be a proper young lady, according to my mother's code of behavior. Can you imagine me helping her serve tea to her Ladies' Garden Group? I now know all I care to about Mrs. Stones' problems with insects on her roses. They are dear women but I have nothing in common with them and I think it bothers them too that mother insists on having me there when they meet. They can't gossip as much as they would like because there are certain things not meant for a young lady's ears.

Nothing will happen to you Christopher because my love will always be there to protect you. And you are not alone because I walk by your side wherever you go.

I love you.
Caroline.

Somewhere in Europe
I don't know the date

Sweet one,
I'm so sorry your mother is making you pore tea for those ladies. I can only imagine how boring it must be for you, but it will only make you appreciate my great wit even more when I return.

It has been quiet these past days and I finally have time to look around me and see where I am. It is beautiful country, with hills that seem to roll into the sky and flowers that still grow by the roadside. The people can be friendly, but you have to give them time to come to you. If you rush at them, they turn away like scared deer. Speaking of animals, I now have a pet, a small dog that's decided he's going to be my friend. I don't know what kind he is, just a mixture of a lot of breeds I suppose, but we talk to each other at night before I fall asleep. It makes me feel human to have something to take care of.

The children seldom smile when you speak to them. They have an old look in their eyes and walk with stooped shoulders, as if the world weighs too heavily on their shoulders. We took away their childhood and some day; we're going to have to answer for that.

It has started to rain. I hate that because the world disappears behind a gray curtain and when it lifts, we walk through mud for a few days.

Spring will soon be coming to your garden. What will you plant this year? When I return, I'll help you plant that lilac tree you've always wanted.

I have to go now. I love you, Caroline.
Christopher

I'm so far from home and sometimes I think I'll never find my way back.

A sunny spring day 1916

Darling Christopher,
A bit of gossip to start off my letter: Hetty Miller ran off with Wilbur Thompson yesterday. Her mother went upstairs to find out why she hadn't come down to breakfast and found a note on her bed saying she loved Wilbur and they were going away to get married. I think you must have heard Martha's scream in Europe. Doctor Browning was there all day, trying to calm her down. But Mr. Miller was seen smiling when he went into the general store a few hours later. I think he's glad he'll have another man to help him out with his women. Hetty is as bad as her mother is and I can't imagine what Wilbur sees in her. Isn't it awful of me to be saying these things, but I never liked Hetty, not since the day she told her mother she had seen me kiss John Winslow, which I hadn't been doing in the first place. Who would want to kiss him, anyway, he looks like a basset hound.

I've been looking at seed catalogues and trying to figure out what I'll put in my garden this year. Some of the flowers have such lovely names but I don't want too big a garden, just enough to have a few of my favorite flowers around me when I read. A bit more gossip: mother and I have just received an invitation to a reception for Wilbur and his bride, to be held this Saturday. I have to go just to see how Martha is doing and to get a look at the new bride. Somehow, it's hard to think of Hetty that way. I can't figure out why she chose to elope. Martha has been waiting since the day Hetty was born to give her a big wedding. Well, I suppose some of the mystery will be lifted on Saturday when we go to their reception.

I can be truthful with you and admit I'm jealous. We should be the ones who got married, not Wilbur and Hetty. Sometimes I miss you so much, Christopher, I think I won't be able to stand the pain one more minute. I think of all the things I need to tell you, of all the things we should be doing together, and I get angry at all those men who are keeping us apart. Then I get scared because I tell myself my anger could become a jinx and you would be hurt. But my heart would tell me if anything happened to you.

I have to go now. Take care of yourself and don't forget how much I love you.
Caroline.

Somewhere in the war during spring

Dearest heart,
I wish Wilbur all the best of luck. He's going to need it if he's married to Hetty. You're right to be jealous so don't apologize to me. We should be getting on with our lives, getting married and starting a family. Instead, we're apart with no idea of when we'll be together again. I try to keep hope alive in my heart, but some days are harder than others.

I never thought flowers could grow in mud, but today I picked a bouquet of wildflowers I found growing by the side of the road. Then, I realized I had no place to put them, so I threw them away. Do you know that children can laugh even in the midst of war? A group of them has attached itself to us, as if they think we can protect them from harm. Right now, they're outside my tent learning how to play baseball from Pvt. Taylor. You would like him. He's a gentle giant, almost a child himself, who seems able to forget the war and find joy in each day. Yesterday, I caught him nursing a small kitten he had found in an abandoned house. When I asked him why he was doing that, he told me it was because someone would miss him and come back for him later.

That evening
Innocence is always the first thing killed in war. Pvt. Taylor is dead. His kitten walked into a minefield and he went to its rescue. His body flew through the air before landing on us in tiny, bloody pieces. And I sit here trying to understand why I am here so far from home and you, so far from my life.

Do you remember all those speeches we listened to, all those important people who told us what we were fighting for from the safety of home? Well, none of what they said was true. War is not an adventure; it is not about saving the world for democracy. Soldiers do not die with trumpets and drum rolls sounding in their ears. Wars are about mud and rain and walking until you don't care where you are going, only that you're going to stop some time soon. Men die in blood and tears raining down their faces, crying for their mothers. There is nothing glorious or brave about what I am doing and all I want to do is go home. Go home and lie down in a clean bed next to you and make love until all the death is washed away from my body and my mind.

I am so sorry to be saying all this to you but no one else will listen. I feel so lost, Caroline, lost and alone.
Christopher.

In my garden

My dearest Christopher,´
You are not lost. You are close to my heart where I keep you safe from harm. How I wish I could go to you right now and bring you back to me.

I never talk about you or the war with anyone here. They don't understand and sometimes when they try to comfort me, it only makes me hurt all the more. Mrs. Solomon lost her son last year, you remember Ben, don't you? I see her at church each Sunday and I want to go over and talk to her but something in her eyes warns me to stay away.

Mom and her friends go on just as if nothing is changing in the world. Yesterday, she asked me what kind of wedding I wanted when you came home. I told her I wanted to wait until you were here and we'd plan it together, but the truth was I didn't want to share my hopes with her. I don't want to share you with anyone, Christopher, because I have so little time with you I don't want to give any of it away. Can you understand that? Besides, a wedding belongs to a different world than the one I live in right now.

I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I'm so mixed up right now, and I don't know what I'm saying. I'll end my letter here but I promise to send you a longer one tomorrow. I love you.
Caroline.

In an old castle

Good morning, Caroline,
I found Sleeping Beauty's castle. It is high in the clouds, far from the war and a small bird is singing on the windowsill. Hear him, he's saying hello to you. We will be here a few days and I made my room in one of the turrets so I could be alone. That's one of the things I miss most over here, solitude. We always seem to be packed in one on top of the other and you're positive the other person can hear your thoughts.

Please plan our wedding. I can imagine you in a long white dress with a lace veil on your head, smiling as you walk down the aisle to me. I can hear the music and smell the candles and somewhere high up, the sun is shining in rainbows through the stain glass windows. I want to believe this will happen when I get home.

I am trying to take care of Pvt. Taylor's kitten, but I'm afraid I'm not good with animals. Somehow, they don't seem to like me. Remember Chance, the dog your brother found one summer? He would do tricks for all of you, but never for me. I could swear he sneered at me whenever I talked to him. And I can't forget how he ate one of your mother's pies and I got blamed for it. He had a very smug look on his face that day.

While out taking a walk, I found an abandoned garden in back of the castle. I sat on a stone bench and imagined all the people who had come here before me, even thought I heard them telling me their stories. I'm enclosing a rose I found growing on a vine. I would like to build a house in the country when I get home, somewhere far from people and noise. I think I might like to try my hand at writing. Someone is going to have to tell what really happened here. If we leave it to the politicians and the historians, they'll only weave stories that will make more boys anxious to fight in a war. We can't let that happen, Caroline. Those young men have to know all the horror of being a soldier so they refuse to come if another war erupts. Maybe it's the only way to stop the killing.

Do you believe in ghosts? Well, I think one is trying to visit me, or it could be the wind. Whatever, I could swear I heard someone talking outside my window last night. You have to know that I am fairly high up and that only a person with wings could stand outside my window. I looked in some old books in the library and it seems the son of one of the early owners of the castle was killed in battle, leaving his young wife to mourn him. When I talked to one of the villagers, he told me everyone knew of Lady Maude who walks the castle walls late at night, crying out for her lost lover. I'll be sure to let you know if I ever meet her.

I have to go now, supper's ready. Caroline, look out at the moon tonight and make a wish. I'll make one on the moon I see here and perhaps they'll both come true.

I love you.
Christopher.

In the garden

Good evening, Christopher,
The only ghost I remember hearing about is the one Grandpa Wilson claimed he saw every Christmas. But that was usually after he had had a few glasses of whiskey, so I don't know if I could never quite believe his stories. I really want to know about Lady Maude whenever she chooses to come visit you. And no, I'm not laughing. Her story is sad and I want to find out if she and her lover were ever reunited.

Do you remember the poems you wrote me? I kept all of them and sometimes, late at night when I can't sleep, I'll take one out and read it. You have talent, Christopher, and I think when you come home, you should go to university, read all the books you can and become a writer.

She has hair dark as the night
My one true love
And when we lie together
And when our bodies touch
I feel the universe dancing all around me
She has eyes color of the sea
My one true love
And I lose myself in her smile
And I find my way home in her arms
She has a voice like the music of spring
My one true love
And when she whispers my name
I am born again
Born again in the embrace
Of my one true love

That's my favorite poem, Christopher. You gave it to me the day after we first made love and each time I read it, I'm back in your room that warm summer day, safe in your arms watching the clouds sail by outside your window.

Mother has just called me in for supper. Honestly, sometimes she makes me feel like a small girl, not the woman I've become. What do you think would happen if I stomped my feet and refused to come in? Something tells me she would make me sit in the corner until we left for aunt Bee's house. Which is where I will be spending the evening so do spare some pity for me. She has just come back from her annual trip to Niagara Falls and will entertain us with picture after picture of said fall. Plus, I just know she will have made molasses cookies, you know, the ones you always said could be used as hockey pucks. The only saving grace of the evening is that uncle Mortimer won't be there so we'll be spared his snorts of laughter. You know, he sounds a lot like Bessie, Jim Dawson's horse, only like she had a cold. Boy, I hope no one but you reads this letter or else I'm in deep trouble.

Think of me in all my suffering tonight, Christopher, and send a few compassionate thoughts my way.

I love you.
Caroline

In my castle room
Looking at the clouds passing by

My dearest Caroline,

I don't think I'm going to ask you how your evening with your aunt and her pictures went. I can still see us sitting on her sofa being entertained with postcards and her impressions of Paris a few years ago. She is the only person I have ever met who could make that city sound dull. And you're right about your Uncle Mortimer: he does laugh like a horse with a bad cold. So I do send my sympathies your way. Why don't you come sit besides me and I'll tell you about my conversations with the Lady Maude?

Yes, she has finally spoken to me. It happened one day last week and at first I thought I was going crazy. We had just come in from one of our long marches and I was getting ready to go to bed when I heard her voice. Knowing how high up I am, I began to look around the turret to see where she could be hiding. Then, I saw her standing by my window. No, that's not right, all I saw was a fine mist in the shape of a woman take form on the window seat. Her voice was soft as the breeze and I had to really strain to hear what she was saying.

"She loves you very much, your Caroline, and like me, she suffers because she waits for her lover, not knowing if you will return to her. Be sure to return home to her, Christopher. Don't try to be a hero like my Stephen. A woman's arms are very empty when all she has left to hold are trophies of war."

And then, she disappeared. I went into the library and looked her up in some books I found. There wasn't much about her but there was a lot about Stephen. He went away to the Crusades and never came back. There was so much sadness in the air while the Lady Maude was in my room; it was almost like another presence there with us. I think she wanted me to promise I would come back to you but Caroline, that is simply not something I can do. Do you understand that while I'm here, my life doesn't belong to me? But my heart will always be yours.

Caroline, what are we doing to ourselves? In all the years since the Lady Maude lost her Stephen, we still haven't learned how to live together in peace. Men still march off to war and women still stay home to wait for them, their hearts breaking a little more each day they are apart. And we call ourselves civilized. All I want is to go home, lie down besides you and sleep without dreaming, no more dreams ever again. When men dream, they always seem to end up destroying something. All I want to think about from now on is my garden and finding new ways to show you how much I love you.

The children don't come to us anymore. Now, they're afraid of us. That's because they've seen us walking by with little bodies in our arms and they don't understand we didn't kill them. You see the enemy shot a school last week and killed the students and the teacher. We had to go in, get the bodies and bring them back to their parents. The streets were silent as we walked to the different homes and the parents just took the bodies of their children, didn't say a word, walked back into their houses and closed the door in our faces. As we left, we could hear the women crying. Later, the bells began to ring for the funerals. No one openly reproaches us these deaths, but the people are tired of having all these soldiers in their midst. They want us to leave so they can be safe and get on with their lives. I want to tell them how much I long to be far from here too, far from this land where all I seem to do is kill people.

Caroline, do you think I'll have to kill people when I get home?
I love you.
Christopher.

She looked just like Caroline, the woman I killed yesterday. I took her in my arms and kissed her lips, brushed the hair from her forehead and whispered in her ears that she shouldn't die, not today, that the sky was blue and flowers were growing not far away, that it was much too lovely a day for her to die. She looked just like Caroline that woman and it was so important that she know how much I loved her, that I wanted to go home and be with her, forever and ever and never leave again. But her eyes only stared at me and I knew she was dead, this woman who looked so much like my Caroline and that I had just killed. Please someone tell me this is a dream and that I'll wake up safe at home in Caroline's arms.

In my room late at night

Darling Christopher,
I wish I could fly to you right now, take you in my arms and carry you back here to my bedroom. I would lock the door, make sure no one knew you were here, and heal all your wounds. I hate being so far from you right now.

I do not think you will kill anyone when you come home. You are not a killer, Christopher, but a warm, gentle man who cares about people. Who you are right now is not the real you, that person is safe in my heart and when you come home, I will take him out and let him roam free again.

Those poor children, being taught to hate at such a young age. They should be playing games and reading fairy tales, not be caught up in a war. Why can't all those who make decisions about our lives see them and stop this madness? The mayor was here yesterday for tea, spouting all the usual speeches, and I wanted to scream I was so mad. He reads the newspapers; he knows even better than I do what's going on where you are so how can he keep saying all the same tired phrases? Doesn't his conscience ever bother him? Mother saw how upset I was and kept making faces at me so I would be quiet. Finally, I just got up and left the room.

Will we create a better world, Christopher, or will we forget all the pain and suffering and do even worse than our own parents?

In my dreams, we make love, Christopher. I hold you close and I taste you, the sweetness of your skin on my tongue, the softness of your hair when I run my hands through the dark river of curls. And I feel the weight of you on me, your lips kissing me and it is so real, so beautiful, that I cry when I wake up and find you are not lying besides me. Then all I feel is the coldness of each day stretching out before me without you to smile at me, without you to share my secrets. Please be careful and come home soon.

As punishment for my behavior when the mayor came, I will have to spend a few days with aunt Lavinia, who is complaining of arthritis and other mysterious ailments. You remember aunt Lavinia, don't you, the one who is still crying for the man who left her at the altar forty years ago. Probably realized what he was letting himself in for and decided to get out while he still could. Sorry, but I am not in a good mood right now and I don't feel like being charitable. I haven't heard about Lady Maude in some time. Have you heard from her lately?

I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. There, now I've woven a chain to protect you from harm.

Till you come home to me, my Christopher,
Caroline.

In my castle room late at night

My sweet Caroline,
I wish I could hold the future close to me, keep it safe next to my heart, but it keeps slipping away like a balloon sailing into the sky. The Lady Maude comes to visit me more frequently now, as if she can smell my loneliness like a scent only the two of us are familiar with.

She is beautiful, Maude, not like you, sweet and gentle, but like a tree standing in moonlight in a forest far away, with her brown hair and green eyes. She tells me of a woman's feelings as she waits for her lover to return from war. And I tell her of the pieces of myself I have lost and how afraid I am those are the pieces you loved. Sometimes we sit together at my window and stare at the night, trying to see what is hidden in the shadows. The silence between us is comfortable, as if we are speaking to each other but without words. Don't be jealous of her, Caroline. In some ways, she is putting me back together so I can return whole to you.

I have to go now. We are marching to a nearby village because the officers suspect the enemy is hiding in some ruins. That means we will be killing people today and it is such a beautiful day, filled with sunshine and the scent of flowers growing. Much too beautiful a day to kill or die. What do you think would happen if we simply put down our guns and refused to fight? They couldn't have a war without us, now could they?

I promise you a longer letter the next time I write. I love you so much, my Caroline.

Christopher.

I kill a man on a warm summer day and I want to cry but no tears come to my eyes. I kill a man on a warm summer day and I stand looking at his face, surprised as if he can't believe he is dead. And I wait for the tears but none come. So I simply walk away leaving him alone in a field of yellow flowers, the man I killed on this warm summer day.

Sitting in aunt Lavinia's parlor

Dearest Christopher,
I now feel I know all there is to know about aunt Lavinia's ailments. I now feel I know all anyone needs to know about her ailments and believe me, there are many of them. But I feel sorry for her because she is a lonely old woman no one comes to visit. If you listen closely, in between the aches and pains, she also has wonderful stories about her girlhood to tell. In fact, I told Mother I wanted to stay a few extra days so aunt Lavinia and I could go through her trunks in the attic. Mother was very surprised to say the least and couldn't understand why I had chosen to stay longer. I didn't bother trying to explain myself because I'm sure she wouldn't have understood Mother is a very busy woman who couldn't understand that someone can be lonely. If you are lonely, it's probably your own fault because you are boring and no one wants to listen to you speak. Such is the extent of my Mother's compassion.

Christopher, do we still have something to talk about? Sometimes I feel we are living in two different worlds and we can't understand each other's language anymore. And I can't help but be jealous of Lady Maude because she's there with you, she can help you while I have to wait hear feeling so helpless.

Before I fall asleep
Charlie Watson came by tonight. You remember Charlie; he was in our English class in High School. He was the one who wanted to be a world-famous journalist. Well, he's just come back from the war and he came to see aunt Lavinia to talk with her. Seem she's the only one who can listen to what he says without making silly comments. It broke my heart to listen to him, Christopher. He made what you are living with become real to me. I could smell the gunpowder and hear the people dying. And he made me afraid, so afraid as he described what it was like in the trenches. I saw the children, those poor little children with the eyes of adults who have seen death and I wanted to take them in my arms and sing lullabies so they could feel safe as they slept. When he left, I ran to my room and cried. Aunt Lavinia came in and asked me what was wrong.

"You could listen to what he said and not feel like crying?" "What will you do when Christopher comes home, Caroline, run to your room each time he shares a memory with you? You're going to have to be strong for him if you want to help him heal. Do you love him, Caroline, really love him?" "What do you mean? Of course I love him." "So much that you feel the sun rises in him, Caroline, so much that you feel you can't live without him, Caroline, so much that he is the beginning and end of all you want in life? Because that's how strongly you're going to have to love him when he comes back from war."

And then she left me. I never imagined the strength there was in her. Christopher, is that how much I'm going to have to love you when you come back?

Take care of yourself. I love you.
Caroline.

My darling Caroline,
Will you be able to love me that much when I come back? I can't ask you to love me that much; you have to find the answer in your heart. What Charlie told you is only a small part of what I see here each day. Will you be able to hear my memories, listen to my nightmares without being afraid? You're the only one with the answers to those questions, Caroline. Make certain of them before we are together again.

Christopher.

Back home in my room

Dear Christopher,
Your question really made me stop and think. I didn't want to promise something and then, when you came back, find out I couldn't keep that promise. But you know all that came to me was how empty my life was without you. I miss simply having you by my side each day. It's as if I walk around only half real, that there's a part of me missing. So yes, I do love you enough to face whatever happens when you come back. Lean on me, Christopher, and share your fears with me. Help me understand what you are seeing right now.

I have been back home for two days and Mother hasn't stopped asking me questions. She can't understand why I chose to stay with aunt Lavinia longer than I had to and I don't feel like explaining myself to her. She still treats me like her little girl but I've grown up a lot in these past few months. I'm a woman now and I can make decisions for myself without needing her approval. I think she senses the change in me and it scares her. But it makes me want to fly out the window and discover the world outside, beyond the horizon. Will you help me do that when you come back, Christopher?

I have been learning how to cook. I know that strawberry pie is your favorite, so I've had Sarah teach me how to make it. My first attempt wasn't very good, although Skippy, the neighbor's dog enjoyed it. But the second one was suitable for human consumption, although no one asked for a second piece. I do promise to keep trying and cook you a great pie your first night back home.

I've been reading history books from the library lately, trying to understand how we came to be in this war. I haven't come up with a good answer yet, but I have read letters written by soldiers during the Civil War to their wives and sweethearts. The emotions never change, you could have written some of them to me.

I have to leave now. There's a concert at church tonight and since Mother was on the organizing committee, it seems only right her whole family attend. I promise to tell you all about it in my next letter but I should warn you Miranda Snow will be singing. Do you still want to hear about the concert, Christopher? Seems to me I remember a time when you enjoyed Miranda's voice very much.

I do love you so much, my Christopher.
Caroline.

Know you will never be lost
Because wherever you go
My heart will find you
In my castle room

Dearest heart of mine,
So you are a bit jealous after all, but why of Miranda? Every time I called on her, her mother would insist she sing for me. By the time we broke up, I was certain I was deaf. I'm sorry you have to spend an evening listening to her.

There seemed so much I had to tell you but now that I'm finally talking to you, all I want to do is sit by your side and quietly watch the night around us. There is so much noise here: shells exploding, men screaming and always and always someone talking. I long for one moment of silence when I can listen to my own thoughts. Perhaps then I will make sense of what is going on around me. Or that might not be such a good idea. If I could understand why I'm here, I think it would make me crazy. Better to think there is no reason then I can close my mind to what I hear and just do what is expected of me, the better to return home soon.

There is a huge moon smiling at me, big and round. Did you ever think of going to the moon, Caroline? I think it would a thousand million stars followed by silver shadows where we could hide and watch the earth sail by. Wouldn't it be wonderful to lie in a crater and make love while the universe sang all around us?

Does it shock you when I talk of making love? I hope your mother doesn't read these letters because she would certainly stop you from ever writing me again. But we seem to be living so far from them, in a completely different world. It's just the two of us there, Caroline, no one else.

I did make some friends here, not that I really want to because then you have to worry about them when we go out on patrol. There's Mitchell, who lives in a small town just like us. You'd like him: he smiles all the time, finds the best in each day. And there's Paul, the poet with a wounded soul. He's lost his words and he can't write down what he feels. Each night, he asks me if he'll find them again when he goes home and I don't know what to tell him. But you would find much to talk about with him because he shares your love of books. I should tell you about Robert, not that I want to because you wouldn't approve of him. Robert wants to start his own business when he gets home and he gambles to make money. He's not too successful at it but nothing I say makes him stop. He does find food for us when no one else can and he's been know to tell the captain what he thinks of him, which has gotten him into trouble a few times. But I enjoy his company: he doesn't take himself very seriously which is good for me, helps me see the ridiculous in some of the things we have to do.

I have to tell you I have become very good at peeling potatoes. Don't ask me how I learned this talent but it should come in handy when we're married. No, I learned it honestly. We each have to take our turn doing the job, but some of the guys don't like to do it so I take their turn. It gives me a few precious minutes alone with myself.

I'll leave you for now. I love you, my precious Caroline.

Your own
Christopher.

During a rainstorm in my room

Darling Christopher,
I am so glad you are learning to peal potatoes because it is a job I detest. I do promise not to cook them too often so it won't become too much of a chore for you.

Before I forget, Miranda sends her greetings to you. You will be glad to know we have now become good friends, not a situation I wanted to find myself in, I can assure you. She decided we had much in common, not the least of which was you. She asks me a lot of questions about you, but I don't tell her much. Miranda is not someone I am comfortable confiding in, she has a face like an eager rat waiting to devour cheese. Do rats eat cheese, by the way?

I am making a quilt for us. Aunt Lavinia is teaching me and at the same time, telling me much about the family and the town. I really enjoy being with her. She has a good sense of humor and sees right through peoples' pretensions. Some of the stories she told me of mother when she was a girl were hilarious. I am sure they are not something I was supposed to know about.

I used some of the material from the dress I wore the first time we met in my quilt. You remember, it was blue velvet and I wore it to the Christmas dance at church. When we danced together, you kept apologizing for stepping on my toes, but I never noticed because all I could do was stare into your eyes. You were so handsome that night, Christopher and so charming. I remember you kissed my hand just before I left. I wish we could go back to those days, don't you?

Did you know aunt Lavinia had been in love? It seems impossible to me because she's always been referred to as the old maid in the family. His name was Adam and he was studying to be a minister. He died of tuberculosis before he could ask her to marry him. She's mourned for him ever since. Isn't that sad? When I asked, she showed me his picture. He was such a handsome man, Christopher, with a beautiful smile and intelligent eyes. Aunt Lavinia sighed when she put it away and made me promise not to tell Mother about him.

"The family thinks I'm nothing but an old maid and let them think it. I was loved once and when you've had that, Caroline, it stays with you all your life."

And she's right: when you've truly loved someone, when you've given that someone part of your soul, it doesn't matter how long the two of you are together. The love lasts a lifetime.

Please be careful, Christopher. Keep yourself safe for me.

I love you.
Caroline.

During a rainstorm

My dearest heart,
Did you ever notice how lovely it is when it rains? It's as if the earth is washed of all its ugliness and is made new again. I love the smell of grass after rain has fallen on it, don't you?

There is a silver curtain between me and the world and I pretend I am not at war, but somewhere in a magical kingdom where no one has to fight, where we can all live in peace. Lady Maude came for a visit last night. She senses when I miss you and she comes to keep me company. I feel silly talking about a ghost this way, but she's becoming very real to me. I think I can tell her things she wishes her lover had told her. Anyway, I haven't told anyone hear about my friend, although sometimes I think I should just to be sent home. They do that if they think you're crazy, but it seems to me it's the ones who keep fighting who have lost their minds.

There's a rainbow that stretches from my window to the hills far away. I could walk on it all the way to the horizon and maybe I'd find a pot of gold at the end, or you waiting for me. That would be better than all the gold in the world. I find myself thinking a lot about the fairy tales we read as youngsters, all those magicians and fairies. Sometimes, I wish I could meet one and she would grant me a wish. Why are fairies always women? Maybe because we men have forgotten about the magic there is in the world.

I am sorry not to be in a more cheerful mood. Sometimes, it's hard to pretend all is well and I don't feel like making the effort.

I'm going to leave you now because I seem to have run out of things to say. Please never forget that you are always in my thoughts.

I love you so much.
Christopher.

I must already be crazy or how else can I explain the blood that doesn't wash from my hands? How else can I explain the voices I hear screaming in my head all the time or the eyes that follow me even in my dreams, eyes that ask me why I had to kill another human being? How will I ever be able to lie next to Caroline when I smell of death and I can never wash myself clean of it again? Does someone have the answer to my question?

Alone in my room

Dearest Christopher
Please write me, please. It has been such a long time since I have heard from you and I have been having bad dreams, dreams about you dying. I know dreams don't come true, but I am so afraid and I don't know why. You feel so far away from me, so far away. I can't see your face anymore. Where are you, my darling Christopher?

Caroline

Christopher is dead. My heart knew the truth but I didn't want to believe it. How can he be gone and what am I supposed to do with the rest of my life? It was going to belong to him, all my days, all my nights, were going to be shared with him, and now I have nothing, no one. How can he be dead?

My last letter to you, sweet Caroline

I wish I didn't have to write these words, but the Lady Maude told me I had to say good-bye, that just leaving without explaining to you would be too cruel of me. And yet, I have no words to explain what I don't understand myself. I do love you; Caroline and I did want to come back to you. But lately, I have become so tired, so tired even my bones ache. All is gray around me, like I am living in a thick fog. I can't go home to you, with all these deaths on my hands. How could I ask you to lie with me when you would smell death on me every day? And you can't wash it away, I tried, really I did, but it's always there. Lady Maude has become my only comfort. Late at night, I stare out my window at the stars. They seem so close, Caroline, as if I could touch them. Lady Maude told me I could fly right into them and find peace. That's what I want, peace. Peace and to forget what I've seen here. Please don't hate me. Remember the man who loved you, not the killer I became here. Soon now, soon, I'm going to fly into the stars and be free. Let me go, Caroline, let me go. I love you.

I let you fly from me, my love
I let you fly like the bird freed from a cage
But still I keep a part of you alive in my heart
Be at peace, my love, until we are together again.

View Sign

The rose/book used in the title graphic was done by Audrie of Celtic Mists