Chapter 11
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - 1866
May 24th, 1865
My Dearest Siobhan,
Word has at last reached these dusty plains – the war is over, praise be! I pray this letter finds you and your mother well, safe in the shelter of your Uncle Shamus's home.
My plans, however, have taken an unexpected turn. As I readied myself for the journey north, news came of a treaty. The Lakota people are scattering from their lands, lured by government promises.
Knowing their plight and the trials of starting anew on strange soil, I felt compelled to offer aid. They may face unscrupulous men or struggle to adapt. My knowledge of their ways, limited though it may be, could prove of use in these trying times.
Thus, with a heavy heart but clear conscience, I must set my course westward. I shall spend time with the Lakota, ensuring their welfare and offering what guidance I can.
Fear not, my darling daughter, my journey to you and your mother is but delayed, not abandoned. I will write again when matters are clearer. Until then, hold fast to the joy of peace and know that I carry you both in my heart.
With all my love,
Your Father
Siobhan lowered the letter, a wave of grief washing over her. The familiar sting of disappointment mirrored the emptiness that had haunted her for years. Her father spoke of duty and helping others – noble sentiments that rang hollow in the face of his constant absence.
Her mother's voice, tinged with years of bitterness, echoed in her mind. "He's a dreamer, Siobhan, always chasing some cause or another. Never a thought for the wife and child left behind." A harsh truth Siobhan had come to understand all too well.
The letter, penned just over a year ago, spoke of visiting after the war's end. Anger flared within her. Where had he been while she tended to the wounded, her heart heavy with the horrors she'd witnessed? He hadn't come when her mother fell ill, nor when she passed. He hadn't been there when his own brother drew his last breath.
A tear traced a warm path down her cheek. She understood his dedication to helping others, a quality she grudgingly admired. But what of his own flesh and blood? The promise to see her "when matters are clearer" felt like a cruel echo of all his unfulfilled promises.
Siobhan carefully folded the letter, tucking it away with a leaden heart. Her father, it seemed, was a man of good intentions and a trail of broken vows. She would have to forge ahead, carving out a future for herself in this world – alone.