You see what a poor sinner I am, and how unworthy to possess what was given me; for that reason, it has been taken away.
– General Robert E. Lee
Andrea sat motionless on her husband’s bed after the funeral, tearless now, yet sobbing in hopeless agony.
How could the mere span of a week bring with it so much joy and so much pain? Be so phenomenally good and miraculously bad?
How could a woman be a blushing bride one moment and a grieving widow the next?
How could she be here and he not?
Already she missed him; missed his strong presence, his reassuring voice, his gentle hands and comforting strength.
Her eyes drifted to the gray coat that lay folded over a chair by the bed. Her empty stare lingered a few long minutes before she leaned over and touched the woolen fabric. Pulling it onto her lap, she ran her hand across the battered cloth and inhaled deeply the manly scent that lingered there.
Just by holding the material under which his heroic heart had throbbed for four long years, Andrea felt closer to him. Beneath this mere collection of fibers his blood had surged in victory and defeat, and clinging still to its gray threads was the very spirit of him. He was a magnificent man in uniform; even more magnificent in soul. Courageous. Dauntless. Gallant. Bold. Surely too grand to be mortal.
Yet he was gone.
Thrusting her arms into the coat, Andrea pulled it closely around her, and slumped down to the floor, crying again, though she had thought she had no more tears to shed. “Oh, Alex,” she whimpered, clutching it around her and burying herself in its folds. “Come back to me!”
As her hand passed over a pocket, she felt a small lump. Blinking through blinding tears, she withdrew an envelope and recognized his writing: To my wife. She trembled as she unfolded the paper and read:
My dear Andrea,
How my pen trembles as I picture you in your pain and vainly seek the words that will console you now and in the journey that lies ahead.
Andrea hastily wiped the tears from her eyes that she might see more clearly.
Please do not weep, my darling, for I smile as I write these words! Every precious moment with you is one I treasure fondly and remember only with the greatest pleasure. Can you not do the same? Can you remember me with a smile and not a tear, knowing that my spirit will ever be entwined with yours?
Even now, though my strength is quickly draining, sweet memories of our times together stir my heart with their vividness and bring a smile to my lips. Do you know how much you taught me…Of strength? Of devotion? Of honor? Of love?
Think back, Mrs. Hunter, to when first you graced the halls of Hawthorne, (Camp Misery I believe it was called then). Did you guess one day you would become her mistress?
Andrea paused a moment and realized that her lips had curled into a smile at the thought, and that that was his intention, and then her heart broke all over again. Was there ever a man more noble?
And what a wonderful mistress you will be! Andrea, darling, you must be strong—that is my desire (and did you not vow to obey me?) I gave you my name, and know you will bear it honorably, and carry on my legacy, and Hawthorne’s legacy, with the strength and courage that is distinctly yours.
The next lines seemed to be written at a later date. The writing was much more scrawling, making the words more difficult to read.
I fear my time has come. Wife of my heart, my soul, my strength, never forget how much I love you! And know that I honored and respected your spirit with a depth of affection that cannot die. Andrea, whatever else you do, or feel, or believe, never for one moment lose your abiding faith in my love for you. And know as I know, that two hearts, so joined as ours, never part, even if separated through time and space.
Dear wife, I have done what I can for Virginia, and now I turn to my God—and wait for you.
Alex
Andrea opened a second envelope and removed a beautiful gold locket engraved with the letter H. With trembling hands, she opened the clasp and gasped at the image of Alex in uniform, his skin bronzed, his eyes penetrating hers from beneath the glass, just as she had remembered them. On the opposite side was a lock of one of his brown curls. She turned the locket over and ran her finger across the engraved words:
To Andrea from her husband
You are all to me
1865
Although Andrea had thought they had said all they could say to one another, Alex’s words from beyond the grave moved her. Now, when her grief turned inconsolable, as she knew it would, there would forever be his words on paper to comfort her, and his loving keepsake to soothe her.
Mattie knocked on the door and entered. “Is you all right, Mistis?” She knelt down beside Andrea and threw an arm across her shoulders.
“Yes, Mattie.” Andrea held the letter and locket close to her heart and whispered a thank you to her husband. “I think I’m going to be all right.”