Thread: Home From War (Dr. Curiosity&Sweet Angel Jocelyn)

Was there any warmth like the soft caress of a woman's embrace? If so, Anthony knew it not. The only warmth he now knew was the bitter, cruel heat of the flame that sat in the pit before him as he poked the kindling solemnly with a branch. The warmth of something he hadn't felt in years, and unless fate smiled upon him, would never feel again. Susanna's soft body pressed against his own, all but a fading memory he tried so hard to cling to. The last embrace known to him was that of a fallen comrade holding on to life with a vice grip, only to have their hands go limp against his stained gray coat. The whinnying of his horse brought Anthony to attention, making him remember where he was. He was no longer in the war, no, he was going home. The forest terrain of Mississippi closed around on him from the west, while a gentle stream flowed from the east, heading south. That's where Corporal Anthony Richardson was headed. South, to Louisiana. South to his family, where he belonged. Tomorrow. He would be there tomorrow. He had made that promise to himself. Attempting to lay down against his small rucksack, Anthony found himself unable to get comfortable. It was a usual feeling, but this was different. An item was pressing into the side of his head, and as Anthony searched the bag for it's source, he found it, a glimmer of hope passing over his eyes. A thick white envelope was held between the fingers of Anthony's callused hands. Inside was a letter meant for the love of his life. One of the many he had never gotten the chance to send. One of the many she was never able to read. Susanna Littlefield. He opened the note, and read contents that of which he had already memorized. My Dearest Love, We lost another today. He wasn't yet seventeen, with not even one winter on his belt. There was no valor, no honor, not a single sense of purpose. He was taken by his body, too weak to carry on. His name was Jeremy. Jeremy Liston. He was lost in the night, nobody would have foreseen it, he acted as though fit as the rest of us. There was no attempt to give him a proper burial. No attempt at a prayer that he might pass on. He was dragged against a tree, and we were ordered to press on without breakfast, moving far from the place before we finally rested. All has been silent today. Not a man has spoken to his comrade in hope of enlightenment. It has become increasingly hard Susanna, to the point where the only hope I harbor is to one day hold you in my arms. Divine providence wakes me up in the morning, and the thought of you pushes me through the day. I write this letter in hope that it may one day reach you, but it is in vain. It is our sixth seek without sight of the horseman courier. But I do intend to one day see you again, and wed you properly as a gentleman should. And if the battle shall take me, or the bitter cold rest my body forever, I intend to take your hand in heaven, with the Lord himself to marry us. Desperately Hoping, Anthony It had been years since Anthony had written that letter. He had read it dozens of times since the day he wrote that, and remembered the seconds that past as he did. The general had let them finally rest, and while the others shared what minuscule rations they had left, Anthony poured his heart through pen and parchment, praying that the carrier would come to take their letters. He never came though, and the men were informed that he had been killed riding cross country, and the delivery had been canceled for preservation of men. Only days after, his battalion had been captured, enslaved by the Union. Anthony spent the next several years wasting away in a small cell, waiting for death to take him in his sleep. He received no such luxury, as the fort was raided by a tribe of Natives, who still harbored hatred towards the Americans. The prisoners cells were opened, but they received no help. Though the Natives pitied the prisoners, they did not have enough to help them. Most of them died within the next few days, the chill of Virginia's winter taking them in their sleep. Not Anthony, he left the moment he got. His resolve was strong in his heart, being the only thing that kept his feet moving. Resolve however, did not nourish the body, and Anthony soon almost succumbed to hunger. He was found by a humble farmer just outside the plantation, half dead. The kind man and his wife nursed the Corporal back to health, and after hearing his cause for heading south, couldn't help but aid him in his mission. They relinquished a fine horse, and rations of food to him. That did not stop the following harsh weeks of travel though. Being beaten by the elements, lacking food in need to keep a strong horse, without protection, Anthony Richardson was weak. Divine Providence was now his best friend, as it had led him this far, and on his final stretch he dared not falter. The next morning Anthony awoke to a dying fire, and an unsettled horse. So, to his body's agonizing protest, he pressed on, urging his horse to make the final length of their journey. It was hours long, and Anthony didn't make it until the evening, the pink and orange hues of the sun illuminating the fields in those colors. It was a beautiful sight, but Anthony cared not for the beauty of the world, only of one woman. He would see her soon. Night had fallen by the time the corporal crept upon his estate. The moment he did, memories crept upon him like a bandit in the night. So many memories in these fields, on this beautiful property. Richardson property. Something that would one day be his. The lavish sign stood proud as ever, and Anthony couldn't help but run his hands across it's wooden frame as he passed. Approaching the house, he dismounted the horse, and led it to the stable, where he was met by the stunned eyes of servants who were closing the stables for the night. He looked at them indifferently, nodding to one to come get his horse. Anthony wouldn't have much to say to any of the black folk on his farm for a while. He had just fought a war for them, and almost forfeit his life in the process. Instead, he returned to the beautiful mansion's front, ascending it's steps wearily. The door would not be locked, as there was no reason. Inside his family was having dinner, which he could hear clearly. Discussion of who was indeed the strongest of Anthony's young siblings. Taking a deep breath, former Corporal Anthony Richardson entered the house, taking several steps until he was in the dining room. His presence was greeted by a high pitched scream of shock, and then utter silence. The dead son of the Richardson family had returned from the grave.