Page 24 of Pages of My Heart

To my dearest Red,

Christmas and New Year’s passed by here with barely a thought.

The fighting these past weeks has been constant and we’ve taken terrible losses.

Nobody feels like celebrating in this godforsaken place.

Of course I still thought of you on those days, like every day, praying you weren’t home alone but had gone to spend time with family.

Sweetheart, I hope you had a Merry Christmas.

Did you put up a tree? I would have done just about anything to be making love to you in front of the fire like we did last year.

To just be held in your arms and feel safe and warm.

The cold here seeps so deep into your bones you forget what warmth feels like.

On New Year’s Eve, I wished again for this war to be over so I could return to you, for all the good that’ll do.

I know I won’t be able to bear another Christmas and New Year’s without you, if I even make it that long.

I received a letter from Evie the same time I got yours.

I’m not surprised about Richard enlisting, and if I see him again, he’ll come face to face with my fucking fists.

To leave his son like that, to leave Evie to fend for herself with little Jonathan when he had a fucking choice.

I know you’ll look after her and help care for the baby.

You’ll be in your element, just like having a proper family.

I’m sorry to hear Eddie got drafted, but if anyone can manage, it’s Bridget. She’s tough as nails, and she’ll stay on top of things around the house and with the little ones. And I’m sure Eddie’s folks will ensure they’re all well looked after if the worst comes to pass.

I have news, and I know you’ll be happy for me, but it doesn’t sit right in my gut.

I’m not sure how to explain it to you. I feel upside down and all mixed up.

They’ve promoted me to corporal. I think in part cause there’s been so many losses and they need soldiers to move quickly through the ranks.

But my promotion came after a bloody engagement with the enemy.

My commanding officer has put my name forward to receive a Bronze Star.

Red, I don’t fucking want it. I don’t deserve it.

Johnson is dead. He was my friend. Maybe my only true one. And I couldn’t save him.

We were surrounded on all sides and told to retreat while under fire.

I was able to lead 5 men out while carrying a 6th over my shoulder.

But not Johnson. I failed, Tommy, and now they’ve promoted me and are giving me a goddamned medal for it—patting me on the back and calling me a hero.

Some men who survived were the ones who treated Johnson like he wasn’t even human.

But Johnson was the best of us, and he deserved to live.

I don’t want to be here, Tommy. It’s hell on earth.

I’ve seen the insides of men’s stomachs, arms blown clear off, legs hanging by threads of ligament and bone.

Men’s brains splattered everywhere. The blood—so much fucking blood.

It runs rivers through my mind. Muscle and hair and skin on your uniform and under your nails.

You vomit and you can’t stop. You wake up screaming from your nightmares.

It plays over and over in your mind—images burned to the back of your eyes. There’s no fucking escape.

Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be telling you all this and burdening you with it too. If the censors read any of this they won’t let it through anyway. I’ll stop. Don’t worry about me. Please don’t.

Have you been to see the bank manager yet like we talked about?

I’ve been waiting for news about any progress.

Have you started looking for a house for us to buy?

Tell me about it, sweetheart. Tell me what it looks like.

Does it have a big yard? Is the garden nice?

Is there a front porch where we can sit when we’re old and gray?

A place where I can take your hand in mine and enjoy the sunshine.

That’s all I want. A simple life with you by my side. Is that too much to ask?

Are you well? How’s work?

I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. I fear this letter may take a long time to reach you based on where we are. I’m sorry. I love you with all my heart. Miss you with all my body.

Eternally yours, C xxx