“It's nothing.” It wasnotnothing—he’d taken a bayonet deep to the thigh and nearly lost his leg from the ensuing infection—but it had healed, and she didn’t need the gruesome details. “Tell me about yourself. Mother said in one of her letters that you've been working with the wounded?”
She nodded, her posture lifting some with pride. “I've been volunteering at the temporary hospital they set up at my brothers’ school. It's challenging, but rewarding.”
Jackson’s chest tightened at the thought of her tending broken men with much worse injuries than his, being exposed to the horrors he'd witnessed. Though, this far removed from the battles, she would have been spared the worst of it. “That must have been difficult,” he said, trying to ignore the gory mental images their conversation had stirred.
“It was,” she admitted, her eyes meeting his. “But it felt right to do what I could. What about you? What was it like for you out there?”
Memories threatened to overwhelm him and had him fighting for control of his thoughts. How could he describe the chaos, the fear, the numbing cold of winter camps? “It’s not something I care to revisit,” he finally said. “But knowing you were here, waiting... It gave me strength.”
Jackson stopped and reached into his pocket. “I brought you something,” he said, trying for a smile despite the memories assailing him. “It's not much, mind you. You deserve far better, but...” He held out the small parcel.
Caroline's eyes widened in surprise. She took it gently and painstakingly unwrapped the paper with such hopeful anticipation he held his breath.
“Oh, Jackson,” she said in a quiet tone of awe as her slender fingers traced the intricate floral design etched into the silver. “It'sbeautiful.”
“The rose pattern reminded me of you,” he admitted, warmth spreading through his chest. “I saw it in a shop window on my way home, and I couldn't help myself.”
Caroline looked up at him, her eyes shining. “Thank you,” she said softly, already gathering loose locks of her hair and reaching up to secure them with it. “I’ll treasure it always.”
As she adjusted the comb, Jackson’s lungs stilled again. The years apart seemed to melt away, and yet he felt the weight of them acutely.
Caroline's hands fell to her sides, and she met his gaze. Neither spoke, the air around them charged with affection.
Memories flooded his mind of all the times they’d shared—how they’d grown from childhood friends into something more... the day her regard changed from that of a platonic companion to a young woman falling in love. Not long afterward, he’d reached the age to enlist, and they’d both endured the ache of parting.
Judging by the moisture gathering in Caroline’s eyes, she was remembering, too.
Her sweet voice joined the gentle rustling of leaves, though it was barely above a whisper. “I prayed for your safe return every day.”
Jackson swallowed hard. “And I dreamed of coming home to you.”
It was the truth. The only reason he hadn’t betrothed them before he enlisted was that he didn’t want to tie her to a man who might return less than whole. Or not at all.
Now his heart was a battle drum, rapping out a steady tempo of resolve as he gazed at the woman he’d adored for as long as he could remember. He couldn't bear the thought of more time apart. Four years of war had taught him the fragility of life, and he knew with certainty that he wanted to spend the rest of his with her.
“Shall we keep going?” he asked, offering his arm.
Caroline nodded, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.
As they strolled, Jackson’s mind whirled with plans for the future.
There’s no need for a lengthy courtship. I'll speak to her father this week.
“How fares your family?” Caroline asked, pulling him from his thoughts.
“Well enough, I hope. I've yet to see them.”
“Mother and I called on them a few times after Robert’s funeral, and again after Dale’s. They seemed to be faring as well as could be expected.”
They’d put on a brave front, then, after losing their eldest two sons in battle. Two of their seven children had died in infancy, and now the war had reduced the remaining number from five to three—him, his older sister, Peggy, and his younger brother, Ross.
“I know I sent condolences in my letters,” Caroline said, looking up at him, “but I wanted to tell you in person how sorry I was to learn of their deaths.”
“Thank you,” Jackson said sincerely. “And thank you for looking in on my parents.” Losing two brothers had hurt, but missing their funerals because he couldn’t get leave had worsened the blow.
He guided Caroline around a bed of peonies that were fading in the face of autumn. “What about your family? Are your parents well?”
“They are.”
