Letters

Aelia O'Hession

Author's Note: This came across me as I was watching Glory for the umpteenth time. There's a line that Col. Robert Gould Shaw says right before leading the attack struck me, so I'm running with it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Glory or any of its affiliates.

Col. Robert Gould Shaw: "Got some letters here, personal things. Also, if I should fall, remember what you see here."

-.-.-.-

"Miss Lynette? Someone's here to see you!"

I stand up from my writing desk and smooth my skirts. With the war on, it seems like some one is always at the door, bearing news of some sort. That sort of thing happens when you are the Governor's daughter.

I walk down to the parlor, where Molly has shown the visitor to.

The gentleman stands and removes his hat. "Miss Lynette Andrews?"

"Yes."

"I am Edward Pierce, a reporter with Harper's Weekly. Have you received any news about the battle at Fort Wagner?"

I gesture for the reporter to sit. Settling myself in a chair, I reply, "I have not. If my father, the governor, has any news, he has not been forthcoming."

Mr. Pierce looks down at his shoes. "I regret to be the one to tell you this then. The fort was never taken. Colonel Robert Shaw and his Massachusetts 54th Regiment had the honor of being the first ones on the field. Nearly all are dead."

Tears prick at my eyes. "Robert?" My voice chokes.

"He died honorably beside his men. A letter to you was entrusted to me before he rode off to battle."

He withdraws the letter from his waistcoat pocket. He places it on the table beside my chair. "Colonel Shaw fought bravely that day. He inspired much courage in his men, and they in he. I bid you good afternoon."

His departure barely makes an impression upon me as I stare at the white paper of the letter, slightly stained with dirt. Snatching it up, I flee to my room, nearly knocking Molly over in the stairwell.

With shaking fingers, I open the letter.

My dearest Lynette,

If this letter is presented to you by the hands of another, then what I knew to happen has come to pass. Do not weep; I could never bear to see you weep. Know that I went into this undertaking, knowing full well the consequences that may arise. I bore your favor into battle; the handkerchief lay right beside my heart. You gave me strength that day; a day when all of my own faculties had fled me. Give my love to the baby, when it comes. Your parents will undoubtedly be furious when they discover your condition. Just tell them that our union before wedlock was done out of the utmost love. Make sure the baby knows about me, their father. I have no doubt that you will tell stories. Tell them about everyone: Thomas, Jupiter, Trip, Rawlins, Forbes. Remember us all.

All my love,

Robert.

Tears flow freely down my face, spilling onto the letter, smudging the writing. My hand rests on my belly, where Robert's child grows ever stronger. I rejoice in knowing that he had received my previous letter, telling him about the pregnancy. He would have been a wonderful father.

The letter is tucked into the picture frame that holds a photograph of Robert and I at our engagement party. Years later, our son Robert, could be found standing in my room, staring at the photograph of his father.

"Tell me about papa, mum."

Every time little Robert asks this question, tears prick at my eyes. I never remarried. I loved Robert too much.

Gathering my young son in my arms, I begin yet another story about his father and namesake. "Your papa was a courageous man. He did what no other man thought possible; he led an all Black regiment into battle…"