Epilogue

Washington, DC

April, 1878

Seated at her writing desk, Alexa dipped her pen and pondered the blank parchment before her.

Beside the desk, seated in a wooden rocking chair that had once belonged to Grammy, Caleb gently rocked their youngest son. She smiled at the sight the two made, young Jackson’s cheeks a bright pink, his maple sugar curls mussed as he snoozed on his father’s chest. Caleb’s large hands stroked the child’s back and not for the first time, Alexa marveled at her husband’s patient nature. The toddler had woke a short time ago, probably cutting teeth again, and Caleb had patiently rocked him back to sleep.

He rose from the chair, the sleeping child still pressed close against him. “I think he’s out again. I’m going to try putting him down.”

She nodded, warmth filling her as she watched him leave the room with the baby, then began to write.

Dearest Felicity,

I wanted to tell you again how much Caleb, the children and I enjoyed having you, Will and the girls for the holidays. The children love visiting with their Northern cousins, and I think Caleb enjoys rehashing those old war stories with Will.

Thank you for your congratulatory note on Caleb’s election to the senate. The move to Washington has been an enormous change for all of us, but I think we’re finally settling in. I look forward to beginning a new practice here as a physician, though the past thirteen years in the south has taught me much patience will be required before people readily accept a female as a doctor.

Of course we understand why you weren’t able to travel here to see Caleb take the oath of office and we send our heartfelt congratulations on the birth of your eighth daughter. I cannot tell you how much it touches my heart to hear you’ve named her Alexandra Mabel. I do hope Will has kept his sharpshooting skills from getting rusty, with that many daughters he’s going to need them.

We’re looking forward to being able to visit with you more often now that we’re in Washington and not so far away. Liberty, especially, enjoys the time spent with her female cousins. Having three younger brothers to boss around suits her, but I think she is secretly hoping this next one will be a girl. I confess I’m hoping much the same; with Lee, Stewart and Jackson already under my roof, I’m ready for a change from naming our children for Confederate generals. If it is a boy, I’ll be suggesting we name him Lincoln or Grant.

She paused as Caleb came back into the room.

“Is he sleeping?”

“His thumb is in his mouth, I think he’s out for a while.”

She smiled, a tender image of her sleeping son coming to mind. Caleb stepped up behind her, his hands sliding over her shoulders. “Answering Felicity’s letter?”

“Yes. It’s been a week, and I never wait that long to answer her, we’ve just been so busy.”

He bent to nuzzle the curve of her neck. “Don’t take too long.”

She reached up, sliding her hand behind his neck and pulled his head toward hers until his mouth met hers in a hot, openmouthed kiss that left no question about his intentions.

He unfastened the buttons down the front of her night dress, brushing the material aside until it fell from her shoulders. Sliding a hand purposefully down the length of her breast, he teased her swollen nipple until she moaned in sweet agony.

She tore her lips from his, scarcely able to think after his sensual play. “I’ll just be another few minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you, Mrs. McKenna.” She returned her pen to the paper, eager to be in her husband’s arms

Please send Father our love. He is, as we noted over the holidays, beginning to slow down a bit, but I believe Miss Adelaide keeps him young. They seem so happy together.

Felicity, do you ever think back to that terrible summer when the battle came? I find myself thinking of it more and more lately. Especially when we were there visiting last summer. When the windows were open to catch the breeze, there were nights, I swore I could hear the cries and moans of the boys who fought and died so valiantly in Gettysburg that summer. Caleb says it’s my overactive imagination, but I’m not so certain. I think for them, somehow, the battle goes on.

Well, my dear cousin, the hour has grown late and I must close and head to bed.

I think of you often and miss you terribly, but look forward to seeing you soon.

Yours with great affection,

Cousin Alexa