Ashes of Thornwood

Chapter 16

The days had grown long and sweet, filled with the warmth of Lottie's presence and the anticipation of the baby. The house, despite Mrs. Thorne's ongoing disapproval, was a place of light and laughter again. We had decorated the nursery with soft colors and little touches of home—quilts our mother had made, toys that had been ours. The war and its horrors felt distant, as if we were sheltered from its reach.

But that fragile sense of safety was shattered one sunny afternoon by a knock at the door.

Lottie and I were in the drawing room, sorting through baby clothes that had just arrived from town. The tiny garments, soft and delicate, filled me with a tender joy. I was holding up a little bonnet, imagining how it would look on my baby girl, when the sound of knuckles rapping against wood startled us both.

I glanced at Lottie, and she at me. Something about the knock—its urgency, its weight—made my heart skip a beat. Lottie squeezed my hand before standing.

"I'll get it," she said, her voice steady despite the unease in her eyes.

She crossed the room, her steps quick but measured. As she reached the door, she paused, her hand resting on the handle as if bracing herself. Then, with a deep breath, she pulled it open.

A man stood on the threshold, dressed in a tattered Union uniform, his face drawn and weathered. His eyes met Lottie's with a sadness that seemed to weigh him down. He clutched a folded piece of paper in one hand, his knuckles white.

"Is this the Thorne residence?" he asked, his voice rough and low.

Lottie nodded, her face pale as she stepped aside to let him in. His eyes settled on me, and in that moment, I knew. I knew before he spoke, before he handed Lottie the letter, before the words left his lips.

"Mrs. Evangeline Thorne?" he asked, though it was unnecessary.

"Yes," I whispered, my voice barely audible. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat more painful than the last.

The soldier took a step closer, holding out the letter with a shaking hand. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm so very sorry."

Lottie took the letter from him, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from the man's face. His eyes were hollow, the eyes of someone who had seen too much, lost too much. And in that moment, I knew he was bringing me the same pain he carried.

My hands trembled as I reached for the letter, but Lottie pulled me into her arms. "Evie, don't," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Let me... let me read it first."

I shook my head, the world spinning around me. "No... no, I have to... I have to know."

Lottie held me tighter, her tears falling onto my shoulder as she finally let me take the letter. My fingers fumbled with the paper, but I managed to unfold it, the words blurring before my eyes.

It was brief, written in the cold, formal language of the military. Sebastian was gone. His unit had been ambushed; there were no survivors. My heart shattered as I read the words, each one a knife to my soul.

"Evie... oh, Evie," Lottie sobbed, holding me up as my knees buckled. I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe. I clung to her, the letter crumpling in my hand as a cry of anguish tore from my throat.

The pain was unbearable, an all-consuming fire that burned through me, leaving nothing but ash. I had lost him—the man I loved, the father of my child, the one who had promised to return. The one who had written me letters filled with hope and dreams of a future that would never come.

The room spun, and suddenly, I was on the floor, my vision darkening as Lottie's voice grew distant. I tried to hold onto her, but something was pulling me away, dragging me down into a pit of despair so deep I feared I'd never escape.