My Dearest Tabitha,

It is my hope that this letter finds you in good health and high hopes. As I write this, our regiment has been surrounded, and there is talk of surrender from our captain and many of the men. I am of the belief that should the order be given, he would be more than happy to remove his breeches and wave them in surrender. Unfortunately, his cowardice during the last round of cannon fire has seen them permanently stained brown! God be with him should he ask to utilize mine instead.

I am writing to you in this late hour, dear sister, because whether we receive orders to surrender or retreat, it can only end in my death. Should we surrender, those of us who are enlisted will likely be sent to the gallows. However, if retreat is sounded, there will be no escape if we all flee. Someone must stay behind to slow the enemy's advance, and the unfortunate duty has fallen upon myself, amongst others.

If you are reading this letter, then I regret to inform you that I have gone to meet our Father and His heavenly host. My sweet sister, I have many regrets, most notably the fact that I will be leaving you alone to fend for yourself. I would not have any hardship befall you, but I fear I have little say in the matter now. It is for this reason amongst others that I beg you in my final moments to reconcile with Lieutenant Benjamin Tallmadge. I understand your distaste for the man better than any, but I feel certain that he can protect you. I fear for your safety, Tabby, and would rest peacefully knowing you had a man of his caliber at your side.

My love, my dearest friend, you have been a sweetness most can ill afford in this life. Know I march to my death with my head held high, a prayer on my lips and your smile in my heart. Pray for us, Tabby. Pray for General Washington. Pray for our freedom. Pray for our men.

I will watch over you always.

Aaron

Tabitha carefully laid the letter on the table in front of her, as though too harsh a touch could cause it to crumble. She'd known death was a possibility for every man who left home to fight in a war, be it for England, the Colonies, or any other nation that sought to resolve its conflicts with blood. But never had she thought for a moment that it would be her brother's fate when he left home.

"You're certain?" she whispered, a numbness creeping from her fingertips to spread throughout her body. She could still feel the paper in her hands, despite the fact that it sat, untouched, in front of her, and knew she would likely have the feeling for the rest of her life.

"Quite certain, yes." The man sitting across from her, a middle-aged priest with a contrastingly youthful countenance, looked every bit as distressed as she felt. His hands were fisted in the black material of his cassock, his blue eyes downturned and slightly wet. "Tabitha, I am so sorry." Tabitha grasped her knees as she willed herself not to tremble.

"Are you, Father?" Tabitha shot back, ignoring the blatant hurt on his face as she spoke. There had been a time when she saw Father Michael Ahearn as family—not only her father confessor, but as her father in the parental sense as well. But that time was long gone. "He joined Washington for a reason, and it was not because he held the delusion of independence! But you know that, don't you?" She didn't wait for him to respond, and continued, "This should never have happened! And yet, you let it! You allowed the only family I had left to run amok with those dull-swift shites who call themselves soldiers!" She ignored the tears threatening to fall from Michael's eyes as she slumped back in her chair, breaths shallow and pained. "You claimed to want a good life for me, Father," she whispered brokenly. "What is to become of me now? Eric Jennings has had his eye on this house since our father's death, and now that Aaron has gone, and I have no husband to speak of…"

"What about Lieutenant Tallmadge?" Michael asked softly, glancing up from his hands but unable to meet her eye. "If you wrote to him, explained your situation, informed him he has a—"

With flurry of skirts and petticoats, Tabitha leapt to her feet, rage burning in her teary eyes. "I would sooner abase myself and crawl on my belly like a worm than appeal to the sympathies of Benjamin Tallmadge!" she spat, his name practically a curse in her mouth.

"I don't know what you would like me to say," Michael replied, plucking Aaron's letter from the table and glancing through the hasty scrawl and bloodstains. "I am not the only one looking out for your best interests. Which," he added a bit more sharply than he'd intended, "contrary to what you may think, is all I have endeavored to do." Tabitha pursed her lips, glaring. "But if you will not hear it from me, then allow Aaron to convince you." He held out the letter, offering it to her. "He wants you protected, and feels the Lieutenant is well-suited to do so. Those are his final words."

"Do not assume that disregarding my brother's advice in the way of my romantic prospects reflects in the slightest on my opinion of him," Tabitha snapped. "I have always held Aaron's words in the highest esteem. But I am afraid that he knew very little concerning this matter, and if he had, I assure you he would not have suggested this."

Michael's face colored slightly, and he glanced back at the letter in his hands. "I did not expect you to see reason," he said. "Tabitha, you know Aaron was as dear to me as he is to you. And it is for that reason I was unable to stop him once he set his heart on joining Washington's forces. The same way I was unable to stop you from doing anything you were determined to do, regardless of the consequences."

"You sent me away," Tabitha said, voice shaking more than her hands.

"Do not make it sound like I wanted you gone," Michael replied. "You are a daughter to me, as Aaron was a son. Separating the two of you, seeing you leave, it was a pain I would not wish on anyone."

"Don't speak to me of pain!" Her voice was a harsh shriek, reverberating throughout the room as she took a challenging step towards the priest. "I know how it feels to be separated from someone I love! To have them ripped from my arms and stolen from me! You think you know pain, Father? You have no right to even speak the word!"

"Tabitha…"

"I sincerely hope it hurt you," she hissed. "I pray it tore at your heart and left you awake, weeping into the night. I hope you suffered! You cac ar oineach!"

Michael was silent. Tabitha wasn't sure what she'd expected, if she'd even expected anything when she spoke. Michael had never been a man to take an insult lying down, no matter what the circumstances, and she hadn't thought this to be an exception.

Then she noticed the shaking of his shoulders. His head was bowed and his back curved, and she couldn't see his face, buried as it was in his hands. But the soft gasps were clear enough, no matter how he tried to muffle them.

"Father?" she said hesitantly, softer this time. In all her life, she couldn't ever recall having seen the man weep. Upset, yes. Angry, certainly, on numerous occasions. But this vulnerability, this despair…

"I did," he said finally, and Tabitha felt her heart twist at the broken sound of his voice. "I suffered. I wanted you here. Aaron wanted you here, and he let me know it at every turn." He looked up finally, and his face was wet with tears. "You belonged with your brother, always, from the time you shared a womb. I never should have separated you. Tabitha, I am so sorry."

She knew she should still be angry, and on some level, she was. But the worst of her rage had passed, and she felt some of the tension leave her body as he continued.

"When I sent you to Connecticut, I had hoped you would find a decent man to marry—a man you could love as strongly as you hated the men around here." Tabitha's lips twitched briefly in amusement. "You have always been strong, and I know you are every bit as capable as any man in matters of finance and learning. But I come from a family of eight sisters, Tabitha, and all of them were every bit as independent as you. I am familiar with and open to that sort of thinking. And though the world may one day change in your favor, I do not see it happening in your lifetime. If there was another way to go about this, I would not hesitate, but the way things are now, the only way for you to keep this house and your livestock is to marry."

Tears leaked from Tabitha's eyes as she sank back into her chair, feeling utterly spent. "I have no desire to marry, Father," she said weakly. "Not Lieutenant Tallmadge. Not anyone."

Thoughts spiraled through her mind. Images of Aaron—Aaron smiling, Aaron shouting. Aaron's voice. Light, musical, lilting, yet somber in voicing his farewell. He had been an educated man—no proper schooling to speak of, but as well-versed as any college boy. Self-taught in nearly everything, and always willing to pass his knowledge to his twin sister. Penmanship, marksmanship, sewing, brawling, lying. They had been inseparable since birth, and shared everything from secrets to desserts, toys to clothes, and rooms to beds. She had always thought they were two halves of the same person, and any time one was without the other was time spent feeling sorely incomplete.

"What if Aaron wasn't dead?" she asked softly.

Michael shook his head. "He is dead, Tabitha," he said firmly. "Denying it may bring you a sense of relief, but will only hurt more in the end."

Tabitha shook her head. "But have you seen his body?" she asked. "Has anyone? The man who delivered the letter, did he? Can you tell me for a fact that the blood on this paper is indeed Aaron's?"

"You know I can't."

"Then if I were to find him alive, his estates would be secured?"

Michael sighed. "Yes, that would be correct. But it cannot happen. Aaron is dead."

"If I find him," Tabitha continued as though he hadn't spoken. "I should obviously wish to remain at his side for an extended amount of time. I could request that his earnings be sent directly to you, as proof that he still lives and for safekeeping until I return home."

Michael slowly got to his feet, placing the letter back on the table between them. "And what will you do should you find proof of his death?"

"Then I shall seek out Lieutenant Tallmadge, and attempt to win back his favor."

With a shake of his head, Michael reached out to rest his hands on hers. "Go n-éirí an bóthar leat, a leanbh," he said in resignation, and Tabitha finally smiled. It was a rare event to hear him speak in their native tongue, especially after his constant reprimand of the twins for refusing to speak English.

"Go raibh maith agat, a athair."

Michael rose to his feet and, after a final pained glance at the letter on the table, locked his eyes to Tabitha's. "Be careful, won't you?" he said. "I can't lose both of you."

Tabitha stubbornly refused to acknowledge the tears resurfacing in her eyes. "I promise," she said, voice a bit shakier than she'd intended. She cleared her throat with a small cough, and tried again. "I will be safe, Father. You needn't worry about me."

His smile was slow, but sincere, even if it didn't quite touch his eyes. "I'll show myself out, then." Tabitha found her face mirroring his as Sara held the door open, but let out a long, shaky sigh as soon as he was out of sight.

Sara closed the door behind him, then glanced back at the dark-haired woman seated in the parlor. Her fingers were once again clamped to her knees, trembling violently now, and her head was bowed as though in prayer. Saying nothing, Sara quietly made her way towards the kitchen. She could hear Tabitha's sobs echoing from around the corner, but knew the lady of the house would never forgive her if she'd known Sara had seen her cry. So instead, she busied herself with chopping a pile of vegetables that would be the night's soup. After such distressing news, though, she doubted Tabitha would have much of an appetite.

Not three minutes into slicing the carrots, she heard the sound of a teacup shattering in the other room. An inhuman shriek echoed through the halls, and Sara dropped her knife and ran back towards the parlor.

Tabitha's green eyes were red and puffy, as was the end of her nose. She had a wild look about her, and for a moment, Sara was afraid. She had seen grief do terrible things to the woman before, and was not eager for a repeat. "Miss McKenna...?" she began hesitantly, pausing as she saw the shattered fragments of what had once been a fine tea set surrounding her mistress. "Don't move, mum," she said, stooping to grab the larger pieces. "You'll cut your-"

"Don't touch it," came the hissed reply, and Sara froze. "Fetch the shears, Sara, and meet me in my dressing room. I have a journey to prepare for, and my hair is much too long."

Sara could only nod mutely, eyes bulging slightly as Tabitha walked straight through the china fragments, leaving a small trail of blood dotting her footsteps.

Irish translations:

Cac ar oineach - scoundral (translates literally to 'shit on honor')
Go n-éirí an bóthar leat, a leanbh - Good luck on the road, my child
Go raibh maith agat, a athair - Thank you, Father