August 6, 1862
My Dearest Theodora,
I must write with care, as I sense the watchful eyes around me growing sharper by the day. Yet my heart, dear as it is to me, cannot be silenced, and I feel compelled to reach out to you with a glimmer of what hope I dare harbor. There are rumors, faint and fleeting as the morning mist, that the tides may shift, that paths which were once closed to us may yet open. I cannot say more than that, but know that the thought of such a possibility is like a spark in a dark room.
I have been stationed near a small town whose name I shall not pen here, though I pray that you may understand my meaning. It lies not far from the river where we once found solace, and where many secrets have been shared. If fate permits, I shall linger in the area a few days hence, and should you find yourself nearby, I would think it a gift from Providence itself.
You will understand if I keep my words guarded, for I must take every precaution to protect what we hold so dear. Yet, should you see a red scarf tied to the old oak by the bend of the river, know that it is I who placed it there, and that I await you with the same eagerness that has endured these many months of separation. The hour I might safely linger shall be near dusk, when the shadows grow long and the world softens in the golden light. I can hardly contain the thought, that there may be a way, a chance, for us to meet.
Do not feel obliged to come, should you feel any danger—my heart could not bear the thought of placing you at risk. Only come if you find it safe, if your path is as clear as mine shall be. There is nothing I wish for more than to lay eyes upon you once more, to hear your voice, to touch your hand as in days past. And if this hope shall pass unrealized, then at least I have dared to dream, if only for a brief, bright moment.
Until that day, I shall carry the thought of you as a shield against all that seeks to turn me from my path. I trust in your strength and in the wisdom we share, knowing that our bond has only grown stronger, our love untouched by distance or danger.
Write me, if you can, and tell me if you have read between my words, if my message has reached you as I intend. I live for the hope that it has, and that perhaps, under the cover of dusk, we may yet be granted the smallest taste of the happiness that once was ours.
Yours, in hope and devotion,
Ophelia
