To my dearest and beautiful, beloved Beatrice. You begged me often for letters the summer we were apart and now that a more enduring separation is upon us I find myself wanting to leave you with a few lines that will see you through what will inevitably be, my vanity aside, a painful time of loss and grief for you. Reread these lines over and over again until you've come to memorize them and they've comforted you sufficiently. And I hope that you cry big, sloppy tears for me, but then, after the initial sting wears off and you start to forget things, like the smile I reserved for my aunt's apple pie or the laugh you teased me for that only Ebenezer could elicit or the way I smelled after I'd just had a pipe or the look in my eye that let you know that the only thing I'd thought of for days was you. When these things fade and I become something you know that you've lost but can't remember exactly what it was that you lost when that day comes I hope that this letter will remind you that there was a man named Alan Warren who loved you desperately when you were a child. And don't feel guilty if you can't remember my voice the lines of my face or even what it was that we talked about or why you loved me. Know that we had a past, and it was difficult, but it was beautiful and with no regrets, live out your days full of love and happiness in the arms of someone else. I should hate it if both of us would die today. Turmoil entered my life the moment that you did. Suddenly I was torn between the greatest delight I had ever known and the gnawing reality that one day, you would realize you would want more than I could give you. And yet... that day never came. And the more time went on, the more your attachment to me deepened until my simple life seemed not only endearing to you but actually preferential to the cold comforts you knew at home. By the time I realized that possibly, maybe, you might actually be mine dark days were upon us. History in the making kept us apart. Alas, I see the hand of providence in this. A flickering flame is more easily extinguished than the raging fire a passionate marriage would have been. Make me in your memory into whatever form of fallen hero brings you the most comfort for that idol, too, will fade after it has served its purpose. Beatrice Whaley, I love the way your eyebrows raise and your nose curls up when you think you know something no one else does. I love the color your skin turns when I've exasperated you with relentless teasing that you took to be true. I love the way your hair is always messy even when pulled up and it falls in curls on the back of your neck. I love the way you blunder through the missteps that your usually candid nature puts you in. I love the way you shout at me when you're jealous which only makes me love you more and in turn makes you angrier. I love that your relentless questions and opposing opinions tempered my patriotism and zeal. And I love the way that when you sleep your lips part you smile sweetly and your eyelids flutter as you dream. Beatrice Whaley when you asked me on your seventeenth birthday if I loved you I said nothing because I assumed surely you must know that I am Forever & Always, Eternally Yours, Major A. Warren.
The beautifully heartbreaking letter from Alan Warren to Beatrice Whaley in @lorainnes webcomic The Dreamer. I was rereading my print copies of the comic today getting myself psyched up for going to the Nathan Hale Schoolhouse in New London tomorrow and I felt the need to share this part. I remember reading this the first time through and thinking this is the kind of writer I aspire to be one day. I want to write something this beautiful and heartbreaking one day. And as a romance writer to tell a story so true and well written that people would cry and feel as much for my characters as I did for Bea and Alan when I read this. I really highly advise any fellow history nerds to read this comic because Lora really does such an amazing job with it. There are nearly 1500 of you loves who follow me here and I know at least some of you will enjoy this story.
