Chapter 14
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania - 1866
Dear Siobhan,
Your letter brought such joy! I'd nearly given up hope of ever hearing from you again. I trust this finds you rested after your hospital duties. Though the war has ended, I imagine its scars linger. Your strength in tending to our wounded soldiers speaks volumes of your character.
Oh, how your memory of Running Buck's fall from his horse made me laugh! I'd almost forgotten that day. His pride suffered far more than his arm, I'd wager. I must confess, I was always a touch envious of the bond you two shared. The way his eyes sought you out, even as the older boys reset his arm - it was clear even then how deeply he cared for you. When you left, Siobhan... well, let's just say his heart took far longer to mend than his arm.
I should clarify something, though. The man who holds my heart is my husband, William Barlow. We met at Fort Laramie, and his love has been my guiding light ever since. I never dreamed I'd find such happiness.
Billy, as I call him, is cut from a different cloth entirely. He's got a keen mind for business and the gentlest heart. Every day with him feels like a gift.
But enough about me! Your letter has stirred up so many childhood memories. I long to catch up properly. Won't you consider a trip to St. Joseph? Billy and I would be overjoyed to host you. Our spare room is always ready, and our home is never short on laughter.
Think on it, dear sister. Your visit would be the brightest part of our year.
With love,
Camille
Siobhan lowered Camille's letter, her brow furrowed in contemplation. The room around her faded as her mind grappled with the unexpected turns life had taken. Running Buck, not married to Camille? A flicker of something - relief? curiosity? - stirred in her chest before she could quash it.
She closed her eyes, allowing herself to imagine the life she once thought lay ahead for Running Buck. In her mind's eye, she saw him, older now, but still with that mischievous glint in his dark eyes. He'd be a patient father, she mused, teaching his children to ride and shoot with the same determination he'd shown in their youth.
A wistful smile played on her lips as she pictured little ones, cousins perhaps, splashing in the same cool stream where she and Running Buck had whiled away countless summer afternoons. Their laughter would echo across the plains, much as hers and Running Buck's once had.
But where was he now? Did he have a family of his own? The questions tugged at her heart, a bittersweet ache of nostalgia and curiosity intertwined.
Siobhan's thoughts drifted to the village. Her father's infrequent letters had mentioned their relocation years ago, a necessary move in the face of encroaching settlers. Yet in her mind, the village remained unchanged - a patchwork of tipis set against the vast Nebraska sky, the air filled with the scent of wood smoke and the rhythmic beat of drums.
She knew, logically, that time had marched on. The world had shifted, reshaped by war and westward expansion. But in the quiet corners of her heart, that slice of her childhood remained preserved, like a pressed flower between the pages of a cherished book.
Siobhan opened her eyes, returning to the present. The letter from Camille lay before her, an unexpected bridge between past and present. She picked it up again, rereading the invitation to St. Joseph. Perhaps, she thought, it was time to step forward, to reconcile the memories of her past with the realities of the present.