“Nothing was ever the same after. Father sent me to London to be with Mother and well, you know the rest.”
“How did you come by his battlefield letter then?”
“His aunt Mary gave it to me. I’d stopped at Quill Farm to bid Hamilton good-bye. I had bothered him about writing me a love letter. When at last he did, I was on my way to England. I was in such misery, I stored it in my valise without reading it. I was home three months before it came to my attention again. He wrote me a love letter when our love had no hope. Besides, I was tired of fighting for a love it seemed only I wanted. Tired of being in contention with Father, with Hamilton, trying to persuade them both of my love’s worthiness. Isn’t love supposed to be generous and giving, overcoming?”
“What of the man? The one who bid you, ‘Follow Me’?”
“He spoke to me twice. The first time when Father came for me at the surgeon’s. And again when Father forced me from Slathersby.”
“What was Hamilton’s wound?”
“A saber cut, which cost him his left leg.”
Wallace sobered. He’d been at Oxford during the war. By the time he was ready to enlist, the revolution had ended. “If he is the man you say, I’m sure he did not want to burden you with his affliction. I would not.”
“So love must only be given when there is no conflict or hardship?”
“To a proud man, one without attachment, yes.” He held up the flyer. “Shall we go? Hear what he has to say? We could lodge with the Dinsmores. Charles has been inviting us for some time. He fought in the war, did he not? He’s been dying to reminisce about South Carolina with you.”
Charles Dinsmore had served in the South Carolina militia under Andrew Pickens. He often drew Esther away to swap stories about their childhood home.
“You would take me to see him?”
“Do you not want to go?”
“I do, but not if it causes any stress between us.”
“I feel you have something to say to him. I pray it is merely to wish him well, but—”
“Yes, Wallace, only to wish him well.” Esther brightened as a weight she’d not known existed lifted. “But may I be clear, Wallace? While I loved Hamilton, yes to distraction, I did not choose you as second. I chose you because the One who beckoned me to follow Him also chose you. For me.”
Without a word, Wallace gathered her in his arms and kissed her with fervor and passion.
28
CHLOE
She’d wrestled with the letter for weeks. Why bother? Jesse clearly didn’t want to speak to her. He couldn’t be bothered to return a text.
He was hiding. Even his Instagram and Twitter accounts were silent.
What did she hope to gain by writing him an old-fashioned letter? On top of that, she didn’t know exactly where he lived in Boston. Addressing the envelope to Jesse Gates, Boston, would do her no good.
This was typical Chloe Daschle. Put her heart out there, after swearing she would not, then crashing and burning.
Please like me. I’m not the chubby freckle-face girl. Please like me. I’m not the crazy one in the video. Please like me.
But unlike she had in the past, she didn’t crumble. She didn’t sink into despair. She determined to reach out one last time.
Chloe gathered the stationery she’d purchased specifically for this letter and read her opening line.
Dear Jesse, How’s it going?
Stupid. She wadded up the top page, tossed it toward the lanai wastebasket, and missed.
She rested her head on the sofa cushion and closed her eyes. This angst was not worth it. She’d only known him for a few months, right?
But oh, something in her heart told her Jesse Gates was a mine of gold.
