From The Riverbank To The Battlefield...

Santee South Carolina
Sept 1863


My Darling Colonel,

Though the time we’ve been apart has only been a few weeks, it seems like an eternity has passed since I felt your arms slip securely 'round me and the heat of your skin warming mine at the Santee that stormy August night.

I hear, that along with every other civilized convenience we once enjoyed, our mail system has broken down and I can only pray that somewhere on the battlefield you will receive this loving correspondence. To say simply that you are missed would be to belittle the growing ache in my heart and body both day and night to feel you near me, not in reveries, but in the flesh once again.

Forgive me for doing so but I did ask those who have known you for years and they have informed me that you were at Chancellorsville where our esteemed General Stonewall fell. What a dark moment for The South. Did you know him personally? Were you there when he was struck down or when he later died? I know that you were decorated for valor not only there, but only a short time before our meeting, at Gettysburg as well. And now My Gallant One, you have been awarded yet another trophy, not of war, but of love, my heart.

I hope you do not think me an immoral woman regarding the intimate pleasures you and I so freely shared without even so much as a proper introduction! I am a passionate woman, ‘tis true and I’ll not deny it, but immoral is something I have never thought of myself as being. Passionate.... yes. Sensual, and far too easy to fall in love on moonlit or stormy nights when an attentive, tender, yet forceful man such as your self kindles my imagination and desire.

You thought you were in stealthy pursuit of me as you followed me to the river that night, but now I feel I should confess it was I who was the huntress, and you.... my willing prey. I saw you in the billiard room as I tiptoed by and thought to myself what an endearing and exciting picture of all that is masculine and desirable you made. So handsome in uniform, the manly attire for which I have always had a weakness. Your brandy snifter held in such large aristocratic, yet rough hands. Your dark eyes glancing out the window into places only known by you. Places of delightful pleasure and unspeakable pain. Yes I will confess, I wanted you, longed to feel those sword-practiced hands caressing each pleasured inch of my ivory skin. And so you see, Dearest, it was I who chased you, until you caught me and made me your own.

When are you to return to South Carolina? We shall sit on the veranda and sip juleps or if in winter lie hearthside and you can read love poetry to me while our passion begins to burn hotter than the crackling oak logs. My bed is so insufferably cold, my body tortured without you. I remember your tears and the words of need you whispered against my ear as the breeze of your brandy-scented breath burned against the nakedness of my shoulders. I remember the wild abandonment of our tryst and I yet blush. Yes My Love, I can yet blush and do at just the thought of you and your touch.

I had my maid clean the Lavender silk frock and will leave it hanging in my chifferobe until I wear it for you upon your return to me. I’ve not worn it since nor will I, until I know you will be returning to my door. I had only just put away the black of my mourning and the Lavender was the first color I had worn since I became a widow after my darling Major died at Shiloh. Little did I know I would not only be losing the black but my celibacy to my handsome Colonel that very night.

I still walk on the riverbank. The moss hangs like gray lace doilies over massive oak branch and palmettos. I wear green like the grass that made our bed where the rain soaked us and we were so lost in love and lust we never realized the lightning struck that old summer house on the shore. Then there are times I wear yellow, to remind me that the darkness of this hated war will one day end and the sun of our love shall light our way and warm us into the sunset of our lives. And when our sun has set, we will once again and forever lie side by side on the banks of the Santee.

Write to me, tell me all, all your dreams. Share with me your pain that I might kiss away your many tears. I know you will follow the intrepid General Bobby Lee to the war’s end. Perhaps the end will be soon, I pray so, for you and General Lee and all our other Gallant Sons Of The South.

Be safe My Dearest Love, you are hero enough. Do not take foolish chances or covet any more metals. Think of me and the companionship I so yearn to give to you the rest of our remaining days. Come home to me and the Santee....soon.

With Truest Affection And Longing
Your Lady

Music "Ashokan"