As he approached the tree-lined turnoff for Caroline’s house, Jackson’s pace slowed, because of cramps in his injured leg and because of the view. The spotless sprawling lawn and trimmed hedges were a stark reminder of the life he'd left behind—a life of peace and order that now felt as foreign as the countless Union camps he’d called home.
Jackson slipped the worn pack from his shoulder and set it aside. His hand trembled slightly as he unlatched the gate, the creak of its hinges sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet afternoon.
You can do this,he told himself. It's Caroline—the same Caroline you've known all your life. But as he neared the garden, doubt crept in.
What if she’d changed?
What if the horrorshe'dwitnessed had changed him into a man no longer worthy of her love?
Jackson’s fingers brushed over the delicate comb in his pocket again. Her reaction to the gift would answer those questions. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the moment he'd anticipated for so very long.
He walked closer, his eyes fixed upon a figure among vibrant blooms.
Caroline's back was to him, her chestnut hair piled in a loose bun, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Her slender frame moved with grace, her hands carefully tending the delicate roses.
His heart swelled inside his chest as he watched her, drinking in every detail. The curve of her neck, the gentle slope of her shoulders—all achingly familiar yet somehow new.
She's even more beautiful than I remember.
He stood frozen, afraid to break the spell.
Caroline’s spine stiffened, and her movements stilled, except for a slight tilt of her head. Slowly, she began to turn, her body moving with a deliberate grace that spoke of anticipation and perhaps a touch of trepidation.
Jackson’s chest seized as her profile came into view, those familiar brown eyes widening as they landed on him. For the space of a heartbeat, disbelief clouded her entire face, and her lips parted with a gasp.
“Jackson,” she uttered in a barely audible voice. “Is it truly you?”
He wanted to answer, but his mouth wouldn’t work.
Joy bloomed across her face, and the years of separation melted away. All the longing, hope, and love he'd carried with him through the war was reflected with an intensity that left him breathless.
The force of an entire battalion couldn’t have stopped his lips from curving into a smile. “Yes,” he croaked out. “I'm home.”
Caroline dropped her gardening shears, the metal clattering onto the stone path as she rushed towards him in a flurry of motion. Strands of her hair, loosened from its pins by her work, streamed behind her like a banner.
“Jackson!” she cried, her voice breaking with emotion. “Oh, Jackson!”
He held out his hands in welcome as she flew into his embrace. The force of her impact sent pain shooting through hisinjured leg—a reminder of a close call at Gettysburg—and nearly knocked him off balance. But he held firm, wrapping her in his arms. The familiar scent of jasmine, roses, and untainted earth enveloped him.
“You're here,” she whispered against his chest, her fingers clutching at his shirt. “You're really here.”
Jackson swallowed hard, fighting to maintain his composure. His arms tightened around her, one hand cradling the back of her head, soft hair filling his calloused palm. “I promised I'd come back to you,” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “And I always keep my promises.”
Caroline pulled away slightly and looked up, her tear-filled eyes searching his face. “I never doubted you would,” she said, a tremulous smile gracing her lips.
Jackson’s thumb brushed away a tear from her cheek, the gentleness of the gesture belying the turmoil of emotions within him. He wanted to tell her everything—how thoughts of her had sustained him through the darkest nights, how the memory of her smile had been a beacon of hope in a sea of despair, giving him strength when all seemed lost. But the words caught in his throat, too raw and vulnerable to voice aloud.
Instead, he drew her close once more, allowing their shared embrace to speak volumes. In the warmth of her arms, Jackson felt pieces of himself long fractured by war begin to heal.
The sounds of activity within the house floated past them on the mild August breeze, reminding him he was back among society, not in the middle of nowhere on some godforsaken field. Reluctantly, he released Caroline and took a step back. One impulsive post-war embrace could be forgiven, but nothing more.
He cleared his throat of emotion. “Forgive the indulgence. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Caroline smoothed her skirts, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “You, too. I'm so relieved to see you well. When we heard about the battles...” As she trailed off, her eyes roved over him.
Her scrutiny straightened his spine more effectively than the presence of a superior officer. Knowing she was cataloging the changes in him made him want to hide, but he stood fast and endured it. “I'm afraid the war has left its mark,” he said wryly, offering her his arm and leading her along the path in the garden.
She frowned. “You're limping.”
