July 8, 1862
Mrs. Melissa Thurber-Wright's Residence
Solar
Richmond, Virginia
10:20 A.M.
Mrs. Melissa Thurber-Wright sat in the solar that morning, reading Nathaniel Hawthorne's novel, The Scarlet Letter, in her favorite chair near the stained glass windows. A silver tea service was set on the small walnut table by her elbow by the incomparable Mr. Myers who knew her habitual love for tea when she was reading.
She was dressed in her favorite wine colored dress with lace around the collar and silver-threaded sprigs of holly embroidered on it, a cameo brooch at her throat that had been a gift from Colonel Nathaniel Mason, her favorite silver slippers and a pair of silver plated reading spectacles on the bridge of her nose.
She'd been having some disturbing thoughts lately and found, much to her surprise, to be agitated for some reason that she couldn't explain. She looked out of the side window onto the front lawn, seeing the beautiful cherry trees in bloom with their pink flowers and heady scent.
Maybe its just simply the War. That's enough to make anyone nervous. She tried to return to her reading but those nagging thoughts kept returning until, with a sigh, she lay the book on the table beside the chair, tucking a lock of salt-and-pepper hair that had come loose from the serviceable bun at the nape of her neck back into its proper place.
She took a deep breath, glancing over at the portrait of her late husband, Martin Wright, at its usual place over the fireplace, a single rose laid at its base. It had rested here since his passing six years earlier and her eyes misted as she looked at it, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
We had nineteen wonderful years together, she thought wistfully, and I miss him still.
After many years alone, she had, five months earlier, chosen a new suitor, a Colonel Nathaniel Mason of the Army of Northern Virginia. They had met at a house Christmas party given by her good friend, Lucinda Deane Edgeworth, in 1860. She had been taken with the handsome Colonel's kind face, with brilliant hazel eyes, cupid mouth, well chiseled features, shoulder length salt-and-pepper hair and a slim, toned body that the navy blue uniform he wore set off perfectly.
He was a gentleman of some means and had a soft and mellow voice, a wonderful sense of humor and a keen intelligence that was reflected in the knowledge he had on many subjects. He had joined the United States Army back in 1859 and had risen through the ranks relatively quickly due to his keep perception and quick intelligence. He'd resigned his commission April 17, 1861, after Virginia's secession, to join the Confederate Army of the Potomac which had been organized on June 20th of that same year.
They had talked for some time on different subjects and he had surprised her by asking her to dance. She hadn't danced for years but he wouldn't take no for an answer so she had graciously given in; she had to admit that he was quite the charming gentleman and a good dancer, to boot. To her surprise, he had, in effect, become her partner for the evening much to the chagrin of many of the younger women present.
They had met several times since then, always in the company of a chaperone, and had gotten to know each other quite well over time. She had grown to like him very much and it was clear that he was quite taken with her, as well, if the soft gaze he had in his eyes whenever he looked at her was any indication.
She had felt guilty for some time after that, feeling that she was somehow being unfaithful to the memory of her first husband whom she had loved with all of her heart and who's passing six years earlier had left her bereft. There was no denying how she felt but she wasn't ready to move on; she'd also demurely rejected Colonel Mason's suit three times previously, saying that she wasn't ready yet.
She'd thought that this would have put an end to the good colonel's attentions to her but she was wrong; much to her surprise, he told her he'd wait until she was ready and he was as good as his word. When the War had started seven months later, he'd gone off with his Brigade but kept in touch with her by letter.
Time, apparently, hadn't dimmed their feelings; if anything, they had grown stronger during their separation and that was quite clear in both his letters and hers. He had told her quite plainly that he was taken with her and that he wished to start courting her officially but wouldn't without her consent. Or, apparently, Phoenix's.
She thought, with some amusement, that he had actually asked Phoenix for his permission to court her!
What Phoenix thought of that I can imagine! She chuckled softly at the memory. I know that he was being respectful by asking the man of the house for permission to court his mother and I can't fault him for that.
Surely Martin would approve of him for he was like him in many ways: warm, kind, loving and respectful. He treated her like the lady she was and not in a condescending manner-as she knew some of her friends' husbands did-with no thought to her quick intelligence or wit, both of which he acknowledged and appreciated.
He was also tolerant of her Union friends which was all to the good; if he had not been, she would have sent him away long before this. She immediately thought of Lucinda Deane Edgeworth, her best friend of nearly seventeen years now. Theirs was a long and solidly built friendship and it was also common knowledge to them both that their respective sons, Miles and Phoenix, were also deeply in love and had been since they were boys.
Dear Martin, she thought fondly, taking another deep breath, I still miss you and I will always love you; I think its time that I went on with my life. Colonel Mason is a good man and I know that you two would get along were you still here. She smiled, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. I know that you encouraged me to find another after you were gone and, though I could not bear the thought in years past, at long last I can fulfill your final wish.
She put her index and second fingers to her lips, kissing them gently and extending them toward his picture. Was it her imagination or did she see a glint in his painted eyes? She sighed, feeling that familiar tug in her heart as she looked away, smiling softly as she thought of Colonel Mason, his handsome face appearing in her mind's eye.
They were very happy together and had been courting for the past five months; she, and he, had been worried at first as to what Phoenix would say-after all, her deceased husband was his father and he'd loved him very much-and both of them were overjoyed when he heartily gave them his blessing.
She had that same uneasy feeling again and it was beginning to cause her some concern; frowning, she lowered her hand, boxing it under her chin. She always worried about Phoenix and Miles-they were at war on opposite sides, after all-and she considered Miles to be as much her son as Phoenix was. She couldn't help it that she was concerned about the two of them.
I hope that this War will be over soon though I know that this is a hopeless wish, at best. Both sides have dug in and refuse to budge though I cannot, in truth, fault Mr. Lincoln for wishing to keep the country together. Mrs. Wright regarded the wall across the solar thoughtfully. God willing, Phoenix and Miles will make it through unscathed and then they can pick up where they left off when its over.
She sighed as she poured herself a cup of tea, placing the silver teapot on the silver platter. Poor children. Our society certainly isn't kind to them and all because they love a person the same sex as they. Her brow furrowed as she picked up her teacup, taking a sip of the hot, fragrant brew. For their sakes, I wish things were different.
She hadn't been surprised when Phoenix had come out in his early teens-she always knew that there was something different about him from the time he was a young boy-and though Martin was initially shocked when he found out, he wholeheartedly supported his son afterward. Poor Miles hadn't been as fortunate with his stepfather and the two had been estranged since 1857.
It was a pity that Richard Parsons couldn't come to terms with it. She looked toward the window. He certainly lost out and I know Lucinda certainly took him to task for it. I could never understand why his image was more important than his stepson's happiness but I suppose that there are those to whom the outward image they project is everything and now it's too late to make amends.
She sipped her tea once again before placing the teacup on its saucer. Poor foolish man... I think he really does regret his coldness toward Miles but he waited too long. A pity that it also had to come at such a terrible time... It would have been better had he done so much earlier.
Her smile faded at the thought and she quickly turned her mind to more pleasant topics. She and Colonel Mason had arranged to meet later on this evening and he was to escort her out to dinner with Mr. Meyers accompanying them as chaperone.
She thought, with some indignation, that this was utterly preposterous. After all, she was a widow of many years but she supposed that the proprieties had to be respected. She also had the sneaking suspicion that Mr. Meyers had insisted that he be the one to escort them since he feared for her safety and she also knew that he had a firearm on his person; he carried it in case of trouble and she thought that this was a wise course to take though she hated guns and refused to touch them.
In a time of War, all niceties and proprieties are thrown to the ground and trampled in the dust. She sighed again as she took a large sip from her teacup, placing it once again on its saucer before she picked up her book, pushing her reading glasses further up on her nose. What fools men can be...
She settled down to read Dickens' latest classic and soon lost herself in the English Victorian world...
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
4 P.M.
She was startled out of her reverie by a terrific din coming from the front hall, crying out in surprise as she dropped her book, her heart hammering in her chest.
Dear God, what is it this time?! She immediately thought that they may have some unpleasant visitors-they had had such in the past-but this one as different, somehow. Once she had collected herself from her startlement, she realized that the voices sounded...familiar...for some reason.
Rising quickly to her feet, she tossed the book down on the chair and raced out of the door and down the hall to the foyer where she was treated to a woeful sight: Miles Edgeworth, his face white as a sheet, crying and carrying on, his blue uniform streaked with dust and mud, his shoes caked with it as well, struggling in the arms of Mr. Meyers and two of the stable groomsmen.
"What is the meaning of this?!" she cried and the commotion stopped almost as soon as it had begun. "Release him at once! Have you gone mad?!"
Mr. Meyers was unperturbed as he nodded to the other two, who nodded back and released Miles who collapsed into Mr. Meyers' arms, his body shaking. Mrs. Wright inclined her head at the two groomsmen who nodded and took their leave, opening and closing the door quietly behind them as they left. Once they were gone, she turned an inquisitive eye to Meyers, her face an angry mask.
"Mr. Myers, what is the meaning of this?" she demanded, hands balled into fists and placed on her hips. "You know Miles Edgeworth, for heaven's sake! He's been a fixture here since he was two!" She stood there to her full height of five feet, seven inches, her greenish-grey eyes snapping sparks. "And I demand to know just what the devil you were doing!"
"Begging your pardon, Madam," Myers said quietly, tenderly stroking Miles' sweaty grey hair, making soothing cooing noises, "but Master Miles came to the house in a terrible state, startling the young house servants who ran out to get the groomsmen from the stables."
He turned his attention to Miles whom he was helping to the douvan that was in the main hall, supporting him as he took step by shaky step in that direction, ably supported by the butler. He leaned on his shoulder, his cries turning into sniffling hiccups.
"That much I can divine," she replied tartly as Myers helped sit Miles down, her eyebrow raising, "given the unholy to-do I heard from the solar but you still haven't explained why you and the two groomsmen were manhandling poor Miles." Her face registered compassion as she turned her gaze to Miles, sitting there dejectedly, his shaking fingers grabbing handfuls of his hair, mewling sounds of pain pouring from his lips.
"I was holding him, Madam,," he explained patiently, keeping his voice soft and low, casting furtive glances at Miles every now and again, "and I was trying to prevent the other two from hurting him. Poor Miles didn't know what to think when he stumbled in, looking like the hounds of hell were hot on his heels. The groomsmen didn't know him and thought he was trying to invade your property; that was what all the shouting was about."
Mrs. Wright moved over to Miles, putting her hand gently on his shoulder. He didn't respond for many minutes, his eyes wide and unseeing.
"Mr. Meyers, what's wrong with him?" She was very worried and Miles' strange state only added to her concern.
"He's had a very nasty shock although what that is that caused this I don't know." Mr. Meyers looked at Miles, his eyes soft. He noted that Miles' right hand had fallen onto his lap though he, himself, was not aware of it. "It has to be something very important for him to go through the rain to get to here."
Miles... If she heard him, Mrs. Wright gave no sign; all of her attention was fixed on Miles and the terrible state he was in. Water was dripping on the marble floor from his hair and dark blue uniform but she ignored it, sitting down beside him, her hand still resting on his shoulder, taking his right hand in her own and squeezing it tenderly.
"Miles?" Her voice was soft, gentle. "What is troubling you so?"
For a long moment, he didn't respond or react at all; she was about to ask him again when he lifted his head slowly, turning to face her and she nearly cried out at the lost look he turned on her.
His grey eyes were red-rimmed and puffy, his mouth an unhappy slash, his lips trembling, small mewls of pain emerging. He was shaking, and not only from the cold; there was something so inhuman in that gaze that she trembled as she looked at him, the uneasy feeling she'd been feeling off and on today coming back with a vengeance.
"Miley?" She used the pet name she'd given him when he was a young boy, watching anxiously as sanity slowly returned to his face. "What's wrong?"
"Mother..." Miles' pained whisper was hoarse, raw with sorrow and unhappiness; his hand tightened around hers and, in a flash, she knew that what he was about to tell her wasn't good. "I-"
"It's all right, Miles. You know you can tell me anything." She swallowed hard, taking a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come. "What is it?"
Without a word, Miles' hand disengaged from hers and shakily reached into his pocket, holding out the small cream-colored envelope, the look on his face heartrending. Her hand shook as she reached out and took it, her mouth set in a grim line, her eyes welling with tears. She recognized the handwriting on the outside as being from her friend James Longstreet, the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia and she also knew what it contained.
Oh...God... PHOENIX!
She clutched the envelope as she bit her lip, scrunching her eyes tightly shut as she lowered her head. She'd seen enough of these envelopes to know exactly what it contained... and what it meant.
She bit her lip as she lifted her hand from Miles' shoulder and, with trembling fingers and a sinking heart, practically tore it open, shaking out the parchment paper impatiently.
July 6, 1862
My Dearest Melissa
I do not know if you have heard the news as of yet-although I suspect that you already know-but it is my sad duty to inform you that your son, Major General Phoenix Wright, was killed five days ago at Malvern Hill.
No...oh, please, no. Dear God above, let this be some kind of terrible mistake!
He died saving Colonel Miles Edgeworth's life, his beloved, taking a Minié bullet in the back as he charged up from below. I'm told that it was a Confederate sharpshooter who fired the fatal shot and your son bravely intercepted it. I'm also told that the one who killed Phoenix is, himself, among the dead so perhaps in this there will be some shred of comfort, however small it may prove to be. That will not bring him back, my dear friend, but I know that I am proud to have known, and have had him serve under me; I can honestly say that I have never known a better, or more unselfish man, than he. He does you, and our late Martin, proud.
I've often accused him of being a reckless, damned fool, dear Melissa, but I cannot fault him for his actions in this case. He did as his deep love for Miles directed he should and I cannot help but feel pride in him for his selfless self-sacrifice.
She couldn't read anymore, her eyes blinded with tears. She whimpered pitifully as the the letter fluttered from her numb fingers, slowly drifting to the floor where it landed with a soft whisper. Her eyed widened with shock, her mouth working though no sounds emerged.
Oh...my son...Phoenix... My precious, precious boy! It CAN'T be true! It...CAN'T... BE!
She felt tears welling in her eyes, her fingers clenching into fists on her knees. The day she had so long dreaded, and hoped would never arrive, had come. Her beloved son was dead. She heard a curious, inhuman wailing that seemed to come from somewhere near her and instantly felt Meyers' arms wrap around her, pulling her head to his shoulder while she wept and wailed, her other arm still around Miles' shaking shoulders.
"Oh, Madam, I'm so sorry... so sorry for your loss." He gently rocked her back and forth, making soft, soothing noises as she wept, tears pouring down her face like rain, her heartrending cries of loss chilling the blood of all who came upon the terrible sight of their mistress weeping as if her heart would break.
My poor, dear son...all my hopes and dreams for you and Miley and your future happiness...gone. She scrunched her eyes shut, gritting her teeth. Oh, God why have You forsaken me?!
More arms went around her and other cries joined hers in mourning Phoenix's loss...
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
5:45 P.M.
Mrs. Wright didn't know how long she had wept on Myers' shoulder but she now started to pull herself together. Her terrible cries had at last ceased into sniffling hiccups and she now became more aware of her surroundings, of all the arms that were around her; despite her great grief, she felt comforted.
She pulled gently back and the arms loosened and let her sit up straight, taking in deep breaths as she did so. She didn't know why God had taken her only child from her but there was no help for it now; he was dead and she, and his loved ones, needed to accept that and move on, no matter how painful it would be.
Miles needs comforting. I need to pull myself together, if only for his sake.
She wiped her eyes with shaky fingers, swallowing hard over the lump in her throat so large it threatened to choke her, smoothing down the front of her dress with impatient gestures. She looked up and nodded; Myers nodded back and gestured for the others to follow him which they did as they turned and left the room.
Miles stared at the floor, his hands hanging between his knees, his head low, his grey eyes wide open and unseeing. Her heart went out to him; she knew that he was suffering from Phoenix's loss just as much as she although for a different reason.
Poor child. They were both mourning the same loss, albeit for different reasons: She had lost a beloved son, her only child; he had lost his beloved and she could plainly see how affected he was. His skin, usually a pale color, seemed even paler; his expressive grey eyes were now dull and lifeless; his mouth worked though no sounds emerged.
She wiped her eyes once again and took Miles' hand in between hers, surprised at how cold they felt, her fingers tightening.
"Miles?"
She could feel the tension in his body before she saw him shrink into himself, his jaw tightening. She didn't know what thoughts were troubling him but she wanted to let him know that she shared his sorrow and she would help him all she could.
"Miles?" She licked her lips and tried again.
"It's my fault," he said dully and her eyes widened at the flat, dead tone of his voice. "It's all...my fault."
She was stunned in silence for a moment and, when she spoke again, her voice was incredulous. "What are you saying, Miley?" She clutched his hand even tighter. "Phoenix's death wasn't your fault!"
"But it was!" he exploded, equal portions of rage and grief in his voice as he half-turned to face her. "I...I...he was distracted...and I...I...tried to shout out for him to...to go back but... he..." He bit back a sob. "I...he...I DIDN'T ...warn HIM IN TIME, Mother; it's ALL MY FAULT HE'S...HE'S... DEAD!"
"How?!" She was trying to remain calm but her own veneer was starting to crack under the strain and it showed in the hight-pitched croak. "How could you possibly blame yourself?! YOU weren't the one who shot him!"
"But...IT WAS MY FAULT!" he shouted back, his voice cracking, his hands clenched into fists. "I might as well have shot him! It's MY FAULT HE'S DEAD! IF I had..had -" He tried to keep back the tears that were pouring down his face but it was a useless venture - "WARNED him sooner, he WOULDN'T have died! If only I had warned him...if only I'd NOTICED the sharpshooter earlier...if only I...!"
"STOP IT MILEY!" Her face sheet white, she surprised herself at how shrill her voice was. "STOP IT! His death ISN'T your fault! It was NOT your doing! You had NOTHING to do with it!"
Dear God, HOW can I get through to him?!
Miles opened his mouth to say something but snapped it shut again, looking back at the floor, his teeth gritted.
Neither of them spoke for some time and it was Miles who broke the strained silence first.
"I wish it had been me." His voice was dead, flat. Mrs. Wright stared at him in shock, her mouth working. "I...wish it had been me who died then I wouldn't-"
She surprised them both by half turning and slapping him as hard as she could with her left hand, the loud cracking sound startling both of them. His head snapped sideways and he stared at her, his shaking hand slowly coming up to the mark on his cheek, his eyes wide with hurt and surprise.
Oh, God... What have I done?!
She stared at her hand in shock and was shaking so badly that she had to exert every ounce of self-control she had not to break.
"Don't you EVER say that to me again, Miley!" Her eyes were red-rimmed but fierce, flashing greenish-grey sparks, her hand clenching into a fist on her lap, her voice low and dangerous. "I NEVER want you to say that to me or anyone else ever again!"
"Mother...?"
"You had NOTHING to do with his death, Miley, and I will NOT sit here and listen to you blame yourself for something you had NO control over!" She was desperate; she could see the lost and haunted look in his eyes and knew that she needed to get through to him somehow.
Her slapping him had surprised them both but it had the effect of snapping him out of his needless self-recrimination. She was determined to make him believe he wasn't to blame and that she, herself, didn't blame him.
"James said it was a Confederate sharpshooter who killed Phoenix, not YOU! Do you honestly think that I would be unaffected if you had died? Did you honestly think that I would be...happy... if you perished and Phoenix survived?!"
"But-"
She cut him off ruthlessly, shaking her head hard.
"NO! You had NOTHING to do with his death and I'm DAMNED if I'll LISTEN to this nonsense!" Her voice was rising again but she didn't care. "You had NOTHING to do with his death, Miles! NOTHING!"
"But..I DID! If I hadn't..."
"NO! You had NOTHING to do with it! His life and death were not in your hands!"
"But...I..." His voice was now a soft, pained whisper and she had to lean over closer to him to hear him, her anger slowly draining away as she caught sight of the pinched and unhappy look on his face. "If only...I..."
My poor lost child!
"No, Miley." Her voice was just as soft and tense as his, grabbing his ice cold hand in hers once again. "You had nothing to do with his death and I don't want you to blame yourself." She reached out with her free hand, her fingers grasping his chin and turning his face to look at her, trying not to cry out at the terrible expression he had on his face. "Did you think that I could have been happy, would have been, knowing that Phoenix was alive and you were dead?"
"I-" He snapped his mouth shut, his lips trembling.
Oh, my dear child, how could you think I would ever- That he would ever - !
"No, Miley," she continued, her voice cracking at the edges, "I would not. And neither would he. He LOVED you with all of his being, Miles; how could you ever think that he would have been happy if you had died? He LOVED you enough to sacrifice his life for you; how could you think he would have been happy had you died instead? How could you dishonor his memory like that?"
"Phoenix..." Miles' voice cracked as he spoke his beloved's name, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I...I..wish that I...that he..."
"I know, Miley," she interrupted gently, "I know. You miss him; so will I and everyone who knew and loved him but-" She paused, taking a deep, shaky breath - "he wouldn't want us to mourn him too long and would like us to live our lives as best we can without... him." She had to stop for another long moment. "Miles, you have always been like a second son to me; did you not think that I would mourn your loss, too?"
He sniffled but didn't reply but his silence was answer enough.
"Miles... I love you and would do ANYTHING to take this burden from you; God knows, I wish that I could!" She paused a moment, taking a deep breath. "But I can't and its up to us to pick up the pieces of our lives as best as we can and live them as best as we can."
"There will never be anyone else for me, Mother. There...can't be..." His voice was hard and she knew that he spoke the truth. There never would be another for Miles, as much as she might wish it to be so if only for his sake; his heart had been, and always would, belong to Phoenix.
"Perhaps, once time has healed some of the wounds..."
He shook his head violently. "Never, Mother. I will never seek another..." He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. "My heart is, and always has, belonged only to him."
She nodded, swallowing hard.
"I know. He would want us to be happy and I..I think... that we should do our best to try and do that." She paused again, trying to keep the sob she could feel bubbling up to her lips. "For... his sake."
Miles sighed deeply but slowly nodded.
"For his sake..."
She didn't say anything but slid her arm over his shoulders, tugging him toward her and he was happy to do so, laying his head on her shoulder while she stroked his sweaty grey locks with a mother's tenderness, her cheek lying against the top of his head.
After some time she finally spoke.
"Where is he, Miles?"
He knew what she was asking. "At the bottom of the hill, three feet to the east of the copse of trees at the bottom." He closed his eyes tightly shut. "Major Shaw...helped... me to... bury...him." He sucked in a shaky breath through gritted teeth, trying to keep a sob from rising. "I...it's a peaceful place..."
She nodded but couldn't speak, her own veneer at last collapsing as they both broke down and wept, Miles' hand clutching hers in a death grip. After some time had passed, she finally spoke, her voice thick with tears.
"Thank you, Miley. I'm sure it is."
Several moments passed before he spoke again, his voice cracking.
"Mother..."
"It's all right, Miles; I know. I KNOW. Just...let it out. All of it..."
He nodded and, turning his face into her shoulder, wept bitter tears for the loss of his beloved, Mrs. Wright's tears mingling with his, her head resting against his.
"I...LOVED him so much, Mother, and...I.. I!" He couldn't continue as his voice broke again, weeping hoarsely, clutching her hand.
"I...know, Miley... I... KNOW..." She swallowed hard once again, her fingers tightening around his shoulder. "I'll...miss...him...too..."
Her own grief once again overwhelmed her and she wept with him, holding the heartbroken Miles close to her.
Phoenix...