Sitting by himself, Morgan looked out over the mountains, the peaks rising into the pale summer sky. It was rare that he caught moments like these, but after returning from the ambush on the Rural Guardsmen who had terrorized the villagers, he wanted to be alone.
Months had passed since he had left his family on a chilly December morning, months since he had ventured into the mountains to throw himself into a revolution. His son, Billy, would be walking by now. Annie, his daughter, would be close to starting kindergarten. He had never gone this long without talking to his mother. Most of the time, Morgan had to push everything from his mind just to stay alert. One day at a time.
At this point, he had no guarantees that he would survive the war. Too many soldiers were coming to the mountains with too many weapons. He knew he had to do something—something he hadn’t done since he arrived. He reached for paper and a pen and walked over to a corner. It was a letter he had needed to write for a long time but could never get the time or muster the will.
For now, nothing else mattered.
Dear Mom,
This will be the first letter I have written to you since I left in December. I know you neither approve or understand why I am here—even though you are the one person in the world—that I believe—understands me.
I have been many places—in my life and done many things which you did not approve—or understand, nor did I understand myself at the time.
I do not expect you to approve but I believe you will understand—And if it should happen that I am killed here—you will know it was not for foolish fancy—or as Dad would say a pipe dream.
Morgan described what he had experienced: the villagers terrorized by the soldiers and the killings of the old man and the woman who was trying to save her grandchild.
If Loretta understood anything about the revolution, it was crimes against defenseless people. If she had taught Morgan anything good, it was to stand up for them.
“I am here with men and boys—who fight for a freedom for their country that we as Americans take for granted,” he wrote. “They neither fight for money or fame—only to return to their homes in peace.”
He had been thinking about his wife, Terri, and their life together. He rarely talked about her, but he expected her to press for divorce. He was right: She had filed the necessary paperwork four months earlier. “If I live through this, perhaps I can make things easier for the kids.”
He reached for another piece of paper.
These were the hardest letters for him to write. He never stopped carrying pictures of his children. First to his doe-eyed little girl, who would squeal in his arms.
When I saw you last you were a little tyke who was into everything all of the time. You used to sit in the window and when you saw my car drive in you would say—daddy, daddy—and I think those were the first words you spoke. And I know when I did not come home any more I know you missed me and looked out the window for your dad—this was a long time ago baby and possibly you don’t remember—but I do—And always will.
You are going to grow up to be a beautiful girl with a fine disposition. Stick close to your mom. I don’t think you can find anyone better.
Morgan cautioned her that if she grew up and met a man who “dreams of castles in the sky,” then let him go. She didn’t need that kind of man in her life. “Remember, your dad was one of those people. And it is very hard for those to love such a man.”
He folded the paper neatly.
The last letter was for Billy. It would be a long time before his son would be able to read it, but he knew it could be the last time he could ever communicate with him.
“When you read this I expect you will be a big boy who wants to whip the world. Always defend what is right and work to get ahead but do so in a way—that does not interfere with others.”
Morgan then alluded to something about which he rarely spoke.
Love your God—and your country—and stand up for both. I can say very little to you except this, Bill—and I think it is the best advice I can give you.
Always be a man. Defend your rights. Respect the rights of others. Listen to what your mother tells you. You may not like what she tells you but believe it she is right. Study and work hard son and I know that your country and your mother will always be proud of you.
Love always, your dad.
Morgan carefully folded the last letter and slipped each into an envelope. One of the camp runners would take the parcel to Havana. Eventually, it would be smuggled out by guerrilla supporters to Miami. He could only hope it would reach his family.