Page 48 of Somewhere Without You

Forty Six

West Virginia

Dearest Miss Hart,

My name is Finnigan Walker, and I write to you on behalf of my brother, Captain James Walker. As I’m sure you already must know, he entrusted me with the unfortunate duty of contacting you under grim circumstances.

It is with great sorrow and a heavy heart that I must inform you of his presumed death.

Nearly a fortnight has passed since his company was dispatched to engage Confederate forces approximately seven miles west of our present position.

While the remains of several of his comrades have since been recovered, Captain Walker is, as of now, still unaccounted for.

With limited provisions, we plan to take brief refuge at a nearby farmstead, less than two days’ ride from where we are now.

Should the enemy retreat in due course, we may be able to dispatch scouts to recover him.

Until then, our numbers have grown thin, and our commanding officer cannot justify further endangering the men who remain.

I am truly sorry to write to you under such grievous matters. Though I do not know the precise nature of your connection to my brother, it is clear he held you in high regard.

Please accept my deepest condolences, though I know they can offer little comfort. Whatever bond you shared with James, I trust it will be enough to carry his memory with you as life continues its course.

May God bless and guide you,

Lieutenant Finnigan S. Walker

2nd Regiment, Union Army

I crushed the letter in my fist, as if destroying the paper might erase his words. James was dead. He’d always been dead. So why did it hurt so much?

I reached for a pen and paper, but my hand froze. What was the point? My connection had never been with Finn—it was with James. And as shocking as it was to find his letter tucked inside the satchel, I doubted anything I wrote would even reach him anyway.

It rained for days, a fitting soundtrack to close out the week. Dani dropped by at one point, and I filled her in on what happened with Jackson, explaining how Logan and Winston teamed up to send him packing, bloodied and bruised.

“Winston attacked him?”she asked, eyebrows raised. I could tell she was surprised, but also impressed.

“Yeah,”I said, still a little stunned myself.“Went straight for the leg. Clamped down hard, too.”

Dani let out a low whistle, shaking her head with a half-smile.“I didn’t think he had it in him.”

“Me neither,”I admitted.

“Why do I always miss the good shit?”she teased.

I let out a short laugh.“I’m glad my personal disasters are keeping you entertained.”

“I live at the shelter,”Dani said with a sigh.“The most exciting thing that ever happens there is when one of the dogs figures out how to open the latch and leads a jailbreak through the kennels.”

I grinned.“That’s actually kind of amazing.”

“It is, until you’re chasing half a dozen of them through the halls, trying to talk them back into their kennels like some kind of hostage negotiator,”she said, shaking her head with a tired laugh.

“How’s everything else going over there, by the way?”I asked.

She’d been overwhelmed lately, overrun with intakes. Each kennel was now holding two, sometimes three dogs, and she’d had to stop accepting cats altogether.

Danielle’s smile faded.“I tried. I really did. But it looks like I’m going to have to start euthanizing again.”

My eyes drifted to Winston, whose ears perked. He was one of the lucky ones. My chest tightened at the thought of Ruger and Brutus—their lives cut short through no fault of their own.

“I hate it,”Danielle sighed.“Every time I have to make that call, it feels like I’m betraying them.”

“You did everything you could,” I reassured her.

She rubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand.“I tell myself it’s mercy. That at least they’re not dying cold and alone on the streets. But it doesn’t make it easier.”

“No,”I said. “It doesn’t.”

Winston let out a soft huff and rested his head on my foot, as if he understood. Maybe he did.

“I wish there was more I could do,”I added, feeling helpless.

Danielle managed a small, sad smile.“Talking about it helps. Most people don’t want to hear it. They love the happy endings, the adoptions. But not the ones we lose.”

“They deserve to be remembered too,”I said.

“Yeah,”she whispered.“They do.”

We sat in silence for a moment, the soft patter of rain against the windows filling the space between us. Outside, the world looked washed clean, but everything inside me still felt muddied and tangled.

Dani glanced at me.“You okay?”

I nodded slowly.“I think so. It’s just. . . a lot.”

“Yeah,”she said, leaning back.“It usually is.”

I crossed the living room into the kitchen, pulled two mugs from the cabinet, and set the kettle on to boil. Dani didn’t drink coffee, and honestly, between the weather and the weight of our conversation, tea just felt right.

“How are things with your soldier?”she asked, taking the Earl Grey from my hands a few minutes later.

“James is dead,”I said, sinking into the armchair across from her.“His brother sent me a letter.”

“Wasn’t he always?”she asked, raising the mug to her lips. She took a careful sip, winced at the heat, and set it gently on the coffee table.“I mean, technically he lived almost two hundred years ago.”

“Yeah,”I said, running a hand through my hair.

“But if what you said about us being soulmates is true. . . then what was the point of all this? Why bring him back into my life just to take him away again?”I shook my head.

Between James, Logan, and Jackson, I was about ready to swear off men—past, present, and probably future.

Danielle gave a small shrug. She picked up her mug again, exhaled gently over the top, the steam bending over the rim at her breath.“That’s the thing about the universe. It’s not really meant to be understood.”

I followed with my own, hesitant sip.“You sound like my Gran.”

Both our eyes drifted toward the mantel where her urn sat quietly, watching over the room.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,”she grinned.

I smiled, the warmth of it tinged with grief. She truly did remind me of her, and that thought filled me with a bittersweet mix of sorrow and joy.

“Can I see it?”Dani asked abruptly.

I blinked.“My Gran?”

“No,” she laughed.“The satchel, or bag, or whatever it is. And the letters. Can I see them?”

I paused for a moment, then gave a quiet nod and disappeared upstairs. When I returned, I carried the leather satchel over my shoulder, placing it gently on the coffee table between us.

Carefully, I pulled out the stack of letters—some addressed to me, others to James’s wife, Charlotte.

Dani reached out, her fingertips gliding over the delicate paper like it might crumble beneath her touch.

“These are from James?”she asked, a hint of awe in her voice.

I nodded quietly.

I watched her as she read, her bright green eyes flicking over the words with quiet reverence.

“That’s wild,”she finally breathed, setting the letters down with care before leaning back against the couch.“I still think there’s a soulmate connection here. But I can’t wrap my head around why the universe would separate you two by centuries.”

“What about his wife?”I asked, motioning to the letter that had started it all.“It’s obvious he loved her deeply. He told me that himself.”

Danielle rubbed her jaw thoughtfully.“Maybe she died before she was supposed to. And instead of bringing her back to him, it brought you.”

“You think the universe got it wrong?”

She shook her head.“The universe doesn’t make mistakes. Its choices are rarely simple, but they’re always purposeful. Maybe this wasn’t about reuniting two people—it was about awakening something in you. Guiding you toward wherever you’re meant to go next.”

I stared down at the letters, my fingers absently tracing the edge of his words.

Dani’s hand reached over to cover mine.“Maybe James was meant to show you a love that transcends time. Not to keep, but to remind you of what’s possible. Of what you deserve.”

She squeezed my fingers gently, like she knew I needed grounding more than comfort.

I stared down at our joined hands for a moment before whispering, “But what if I don’t know how to want it anymore?”

She was quiet for a moment, then said softly, “Maybe it’s not about wanting it right now. Maybe it’s about believing you could . . . someday. Even if it doesn’t feel real yet.”

I didn’t say anything else, and neither did she. There was nothing left to untangle, no answers hidden in the corners of the room or between the folds of the yellowed paper.

Outside, the rain had softened to a drizzle, as if even the storm was learning to let go.

Funny how love could live in the spaces between time—yet still die from the weight of so many unsaid things.