As I Sit Here Idly (A Mental Letter from a Civil War Bride)

Dearest Arville,
As I sit in the window box watching the men go by my thoughts are drawn to thee. They march off, these new recruits, eager for the fight. I would write but to where would I send it? You are at war, and if war has an address I would feign not know it. We are spared, for the time being, the horrors with which you are daily acquainted I’m sure. I sew, cook, and make idle chat with the womenfolk. In these things I find no joy, nor do I think I shall until your return. Part of me wonders if we shall ever find joy, if one can really return to the simple joys of a provident life after the tumult and din of war. Oh, dearest Arville, how will you live with the things you have witnessed? How will I live with the things I know you have done at our country’s bidding.
I dare not put such thoughts to paper. I dare not speak them aloud. I pray for your safe return to my arms and redemption for us all, though I must confess to little hope for either.
With due love and affection,

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