The horrendous lists continued and were added to for days. Weeks. And every time they were read, Sophie sat silently praying and holding her breath.
Captain Stephen Overtree’s name was not on those early lists and the family began to hope, even believe he had survived. A tender sprout of hope began to grow in Sophie’s heart as well.
The colonel patted her hand and tried to reassure her, saying they would no doubt receive a letter from him soon.
They did receive a letter. But it was not from Stephen. It was from someone named Ensign Hornsby. Sophie was sitting in the parlour with Mr. Overtree when it arrived. He asked Thurman to summon the family. Sophie stole surreptitious glances at her father-in-law’s tense, pale face as they waited. His expression did not bode well.
Soon family members and Mr. Keith gathered in the parlour, clustered on sofas and chairs. Mr. Overtree stood beside his wife’s chair, holding the letter in one hand, his other gripping her shoulder.
He read the words aloud in a quavering voice that grew painfully thin several times. He had to stop and start more than once to get through it.
“Dear Mr. and Mrs. Overtree and family,
I am sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Deeply sorry. But Sergeant Wallace urged me to write, saying the not knowing is probably worse yet.
As of this writing, your son, Captain Stephen Overtree, is missing and presumed dead. The bandsmen who swept the farmhouses and fields after the awful battle at Quatre Bras did not find him among the dead. I wish I could offer hope that he might yet be found among the living, but I saw him fall myself, struck by a French cavalryman. You know their reputation too well to doubt their merciless skill with saber. If not, Colonel Horton could tell you. I write this not to give you needless pain, but to assure you that he would not have suffered long.
I continue the grim task of searching among the bodies being interred, and among the wounded here in Brussels, where the entire city suddenly seems a vast military hospital, and will send word if I learn more.
I will close by telling you one thing I know for certain in these uncertain days. Your son saved my life, and the lives of many of my fellow soldiers. While other officers fell back safely behind the lines, Captain Overtree remained among his men, valiant and brave. He sacrificed his life for ours. And that sacrifice will never be forgotten.
May God grant you comfort as you grieve.
Ensign Brian Hornsby”
Sophie pressed a handkerchief to her mouth, stifling the cry that longed to escape. Tears filled her eyes and coursed down her cheeks.
She felt someone’s gaze on her profile and glanced over to find Mrs. Overtree looking at her, tears in her eyes as well. She laid her hand over her husband’s in a rare display of affection.
Sophie felt more than saw Wesley’s presence in the room behind her but did not look over. She did not want to see him at that moment. Afraid of what she might see—or not see—reflected in his eyes.
Then her fleeting thoughts of Wesley vanished, and all she saw was Stephen’s face, Stephen’s eyes. Unbidden, the scene as described in the letter flickered through her mind, and she winced, trying in vain not to see the strike, not to see the shock and pain that must have shown on his face, followed, she guessed, by resignation. Oh, she hoped the pain had not been unendurable. That this young officer was right and he had not suffered long. Poor, dear Stephen!
Pain and grief for him and for herself filled and wracked her chest, and she bent over in pain. Wesley’s hand squeezed her shoulder, and she stiffened.
In a moment Kate was there. Dear Kate. She knelt and wrapped her arms around Sophie. Sophie leaned into her and cried as silently as she could, shoulders shaking.
“Now, now, my dears. We know nothing for certain,” the colonel said.
“True,” Mr. Keith spoke up. “Why, I once knew of a sergeant so badly injured that he was left for dead and buried in a shallow grave, only to revive later and crawl back to camp to rejoin his regiment.”
“Cheery thought, CK,” Wesley said dryly.
“All I am saying is, don’t give up on the captain yet.”
The colonel rose. “I will send a messenger to my old friend Forsythe and see what he can find out for us. In the meantime, Lieutenant Keith is right. Let’s not lose heart.”
Wesley found Sophie in the old schoolroom, slumped on the stool before the ruined portrait, tears flowing down her face. She glanced over when he entered, then dully turned away, as if he were no more than a midge coming in through the window.
He approached slowly, but she didn’t seem to notice, her wet eyes fastened on the image of his brother’s face.
His heart filled with compassion, for once drowning out his jealousy. He stepped around and knelt before her, looking up at her seated on her artist’s stool like a mourning dove on its lonely perch.
“You really cared for him, didn’t you,” he asked quietly, no censure in his voice or his heart.
She nodded. Another wave of tears filled her lovely grief-filled eyes and coursed down her cheeks. Tears filled his own eyes in reply.
He whispered, “You might not believe it, Sophie, but I did too.”
