Home From War (Dr. Curiosity&Sweet Angel Jocelyn)

Susanna Littlefield was an oddity for most of the people of culture in Louisianna. While she was beautiful, a wild flower in a batch of cultivated roses, she had a stigma about her. It was all from her mother who was a pure Caddo Indian. She had instantly won over the most eligible bachelor in the county, a prominent attorney, and they'd married quickly, Susanna being born a mere six months later. Everyone knew the truth there.

Much like her mother, Susanna had dark olive skin and jet black hair, the color of midnight. Her eyes were the color of her father's mother's eyes, a unique color of blue that was really purple if they looked close enough. She stood a slight five feet two inches, with a soft, tight, curvy body.

Now, Susanna was nothing if not loyal to her friends and family. She had the type of personality that would bring comfort to just about anyone. She made friends quickly and kept them forever. Her best friend was also the love of her life. She hoped to marry him. While the rest of the county chose to speak ill of her Indian heritage, he wouldn't even dream about it.

But that was all before the war. Before she'd been broken by the news of her best friend and loving fiance's death. Before she was forced to marry a man that had been terribly wounded in the war and developed all kinds of problems with his anger. She longed for the time that she was Susanna Littlefield instead of Susanna Landry.

Was there any warmth like the soft caress of a woman's embrace? If so, Anthony knew it not. The only warmth he now knew was the bitter, cruel heat of the flame that sat in the pit before him as he poked the kindling solemnly with a branch. The warmth of something he hadn't felt in years, and unless fate smiled upon him, would never feel again. Susanna's soft body pressed against his own, all but a fading memory he tried so hard to cling to. The last embrace known to him was that of a fallen comrade holding on to life with a vice grip, only to have their hands go limp against his stained gray coat.

The whinnying of his horse brought Anthony to attention, making him remember where he was. He was no longer in the war, no, he was going home. The forest terrain of Mississippi closed around on him from the west, while a gentle stream flowed from the east, heading south. That's where Corporal Anthony Richardson was headed. South, to Louisiana. South to his family, where he belonged. Tomorrow. He would be there tomorrow. He had made that promise to himself.

Attempting to lay down against his small rucksack, Anthony found himself unable to get comfortable. It was a usual feeling, but this was different. An item was pressing into the side of his head, and as Anthony searched the bag for it's source, he found it, a glimmer of hope passing over his eyes. A thick white envelope was held between the fingers of Anthony's callused hands. Inside was a letter meant for the love of his life. One of the many he had never gotten the chance to send. One of the many she was never able to read. Susanna Littlefield.

He opened the note, and read contents that of which he had already memorized.

My Dearest Love,

We lost another today. He wasn't yet seventeen, with not even one winter on his belt. There was no valor, no honor, not a single sense of purpose. He was taken by his body, too weak to carry on. His name was Jeremy. Jeremy Liston. He was lost in the night, nobody would have foreseen it, he acted as though fit as the rest of us.

There was no attempt to give him a proper burial. No attempt at a prayer that he might pass on. He was dragged against a tree, and we were ordered to press on without breakfast, moving far from the place before we finally rested. All has been silent today. Not a man has spoken to his comrade in hope of enlightenment.

It has become increasingly hard Susanna, to the point where the only hope I harbor is to one day hold you in my arms. Divine providence wakes me up in the morning, and the thought of you pushes me through the day. I write this letter in hope that it may one day reach you, but it is in vain. It is our sixth seek without sight of the horseman courier. But I do intend to one day see you again, and wed you properly as a gentleman should. And if the battle shall take me, or the bitter cold rest my body forever, I intend to take your hand in heaven, with the Lord himself to marry us.

Desperately Hoping,
Anthony

It had been years since Anthony had written that letter. He had read it dozens of times since the day he wrote that, and remembered the seconds that past as he did. The general had let them finally rest, and while the others shared what minuscule rations they had left, Anthony poured his heart through pen and parchment, praying that the carrier would come to take their letters. He never came though, and the men were informed that he had been killed riding cross country, and the delivery had been canceled for preservation of men.

Only days after, his battalion had been captured, enslaved by the Union. Anthony spent the next several years wasting away in a small cell, waiting for death to take him in his sleep. He received no such luxury, as the fort was raided by a tribe of Natives, who still harbored hatred towards the Americans. The prisoners cells were opened, but they received no help. Though the Natives pitied the prisoners, they did not have enough to help them. Most of them died within the next few days, the chill of Virginia's winter taking them in their sleep.

Not Anthony, he left the moment he got. His resolve was strong in his heart, being the only thing that kept his feet moving.

Resolve however, did not nourish the body, and Anthony soon almost succumbed to hunger. He was found by a humble farmer just outside the plantation, half dead. The kind man and his wife nursed the Corporal back to health, and after hearing his cause for heading south, couldn't help but aid him in his mission. They relinquished a fine horse, and rations of food to him. That did not stop the following harsh weeks of travel though. Being beaten by the elements, lacking food in need to keep a strong horse, without protection, Anthony Richardson was weak. Divine Providence was now his best friend, as it had led him this far, and on his final stretch he dared not falter.

The next morning Anthony awoke to a dying fire, and an unsettled horse. So, to his body's agonizing protest, he pressed on, urging his horse to make the final length of their journey. It was hours long, and Anthony didn't make it until the evening, the pink and orange hues of the sun illuminating the fields in those colors. It was a beautiful sight, but Anthony cared not for the beauty of the world, only of one woman. He would see her soon.

Night had fallen by the time the corporal crept upon his estate. The moment he did, memories crept upon him like a bandit in the night. So many memories in these fields, on this beautiful property. Richardson property. Something that would one day be his. The lavish sign stood proud as ever, and Anthony couldn't help but run his hands across it's wooden frame as he passed. Approaching the house, he dismounted the horse, and led it to the stable, where he was met by the stunned eyes of servants who were closing the stables for the night. He looked at them indifferently, nodding to one to come get his horse.

Anthony wouldn't have much to say to any of the black folk on his farm for a while. He had just fought a war for them, and almost forfeit his life in the process. Instead, he returned to the beautiful mansion's front, ascending it's steps wearily. The door would not be locked, as there was no reason. Inside his family was having dinner, which he could hear clearly. Discussion of who was indeed the strongest of Anthony's young siblings.

Taking a deep breath, former Corporal Anthony Richardson entered the house, taking several steps until he was in the dining room. His presence was greeted by a high pitched scream of shock, and then utter silence. The dead son of the Richardson family had returned from the grave.

Susanna had kept many of the letters she'd received from Anthony but the most important to her was the one she'd written on her wedding day. She should have been marrying him, not Paul Landry. And it weighed heavily on her mind. The day that should have been the happiest day of her life had turned into something like a second funeral to her. She had been forced to grieve anew, without the benefit of the black gowns that had become her costume for nearly a year. But in the end, what was a seventeen year old to do? Deny her father's wishes and remain a spinster forever? It had not been acceptable that the only child of such a man not marry.

The belle was sitting in front of her mirror as her servant tied the stays of her corset, re-reading the letter that had spilled all of her emotions to Anthony. It broke her already deflated heart even thinking of all she'd lost through the war. Her final good-bye to her now long-lost lover would be kept close to her heart so that she never forget what it was like being with him and suddenly losing him, twice.

'My Dearest Anthony,

I still cannot grasp that this will be the last letter I ever write to you. It is a letter a year in coming, but still I do not know what to write. I want so desperately to tell you of my love. To tell you that soon I will see you and will be welcoming you home with wide arms so that we may be married finally. Instead I am writing on my wedding day to another man that I do not love.

There is a whole missing in my world. A place that you belong with no exceptions. My long dead heart screams to be re-awoken by your kiss, but that I know will never happen. I wish every night that we could have been married before the war, and that I would have your child at least, if I could not have you. What is supposed to happen to me without you? Well, let me tell you.

I am marrying Paul Landry, a man of my father's choosing who can further his faded image. The man was one of the first sent out to war, and he is twenty years my senior. He was shot and listed as unable to continue with the fighting. So, he has come back to the county looking for a bride. I suppose that he was simply waiting for bad luck to befall. I was barely able to fight my father on this marriage, as you are no longer around to take me as your bride. I would rather be in mourning of you for the rest of my days.

I cannot say good-bye to you, my love, my Anthony. Mother recommended this letter to do just that, but I cannot find the right words, or the right feeling to truly tell you farewell. My heart died when word came of your death. If I could deliver this letter to your body, I may feel less empty of the loss, but I've been told we may never have your body to bury. It is nearly as upsetting as the thought of marrying some body else.

So, the day I trade my black gowns for the white of a bride, I must also find someway to clear a part of my heart for the man who will be my husband. For my father, I will try. But for you, I fear I will never succeed. Take care of my heart, my love.

Forever in mourning,
Susanna.'

Nothing her husband could have done would have made Susanna as happy as having Anthony would have. They both knew that she wasn't wholly into the marriage, but it was no worry of either of them. Paul had his mistress, and Susanna had her memories. Their's had become a marriage of image. And it was the way it would always be. Susanna, the once wild young Native girl was the perfect lady and wife, giving Paul the person at his side that he needed. However, next on the couple's plate was the hardest for Susanna to accept. They would have to start a family have an heir for the Landry name and fortune.

"Mrs Landry." A voice came from the doorway. Susanna turned to see Paul's head servant looking at her. The man was a black and so Susanna wasn't concerned about modesty. She had known the man since she'd been married and he'd shown no inclination of violence or carrying about her being nearly nude around him. "Master Landry wanted me to remind you that you will be leaving in close to an hour for the festivities." Susanna nodded and waved him away, stuffing the letter into the box she'd always kept it in.

That night the entire Richardson estate was wide awake, slave and family alike. The return of the eldest of Mr. Richardson's offspring had returned alive, on his own two feet. All the slaves were immediately awoken, and sent to fetch everything in need for Anthony. Mrs. Richardson had to be restrained by her husband, as to not touch their very weak and tired son. Anthony was slightly relieved, as contact might have sent him tumbling backward. The attendance of slaves helped him greatly, carrying him to the restroom to be treated properly. The whole Richardson family followed in shock.

Once his uniform was removed, The lady of the house demanded that they be thrown away, to her son's protest. He demanded that they be cleaned and put in his room. His father was in agreement. As hard as the years had been for Anthony, he did not want to try and dismiss them. Quite the contrary. Those hard times made him the man he was now, and he did not simply want cruel memories. The slaves obeyed, and two departed, attending to his command immediately. So Anthony could only sit back and be pampered to.

It was another hour before he was done. He had been thoroughly washed, much to his discomfort, and then dressed in the softest linen night clothing his mother could find. Afterward, his body was rubbed in a scented oil, and his hair was brushed and tied in a small leather band. He hadn't noticed just how long it had grown, as for so long at had been just a matted mess against his skull. But now, shampooed and brushed, he saw that it reached just passed his shoulders free flowing. Amazing. He had chopped it down to size several times while away, and thought it to be considerably shorter.

Once all the proceedings were done, Anthony immediately retired to his room, where he asked not to be bothered until he left it. He accepted no questions from anybody in the house about what had happened. Instead, he retired to his bed, eyelids heavy with years of unsettled sleep. It was not long before he fell into a deep sleep.

It was not until mid-day the following that Anthony awoke, still groggy from his near hibernation. He felt like he might have hibernated had the noises of the outside world not pulled him from slumber. So, with still wear limbs, he climbed out of bed, into the hallway. Outside his room sat his mother, who seemed to be knitting a blanket of some sort. The second she saw her son, she sprang to her feet and embraced him in a tight hug, muffled sobs emanating from Anthony's chest as she buried herself in it. Had it been the night previous, the young man might have crumpled under the force of the hug, and fell to the floor. This day he felt slightly rejuvenated however, and though he was tired, he could stand the hug.

Several minutes later his mother released him, and the proceeded downstairs, where the family was having lunch apparently. Anthony took his seat next to the head of the table. A seat that seemed like it had vacant for some time. When he looked around, the man was greeted by the warm, excited smiled of his family. Then, they all had something to blurt out at him. They had to pause and take turns, Anthony listening to each one intently. It was his father who spoke last. Now, Mr. Richardson was a loving man, despite his occasional cold attitude. He simply knew he had to raise men, woman, leaders regardless of the gender. He and Anthony spoke of the future of the family, how Anthony would soon run their trading business when his father retired. Anthony was very interested in this. But, what he was really interested was, was the whereabouts of Susanna.

"Have you seen Susanna lately father?" He asked, cutting him off in the middle of speaking about the price of cotton by the pound. His father grew silent, and exchanged a series of glances, and some of the more privileged slaves in the house.

"What? Does she not come by anymore?" Anthony looked around, seeing nothing but averted eyes as the family traited dark green eyes came their way. "Is she ill? Dead? Somebody speak!" He stood up, worried and outraged. They spoke nothing of the love of his life, and he couldn't stand it.

"Anthony, I think it would be best you forget about Mrs...Miss Littlefield." Mr. Richardson almost slipped by calling Susanna Mrs. Landry. Anthony wasn't having it though. Bounding up the stairs he returned to his room for a change of clothes. He found a loos fitting white tunic, and black trousers. Throwing on his worn brown war boots, Anthony went straight out the window and to the stables.

Awaiting him in the stables was his horse that had been given to him. It greeted him with a satisfied whinny. It felt nice to be pampered off the long journey it had just endured. So, it wasn't loathe to leave with Anthony, knowing it would be coming back to such a nice place, considerably nicer than it's previous home. The stallion bounded down the long worn path, leaving Richardson estate in a hurry towards Littlefield manor.

Some half an hour later Anthony was approaching the house, horse trotting at a steady pace. Everything here was the same, so young Mr. R prayed Susanna would still be the same. Anthony was greeted at the door by Mrs. Littlefield, the fair Native American beauty, who even in aging looked beautiful. The woman immediately recognized this mans features. Dark green eyes, High cheek bones with a few diamond freckles, built, firm body. This was a Richardson, and not just any. Shock filled her eyes, and she almost fell back, had Anthony not leapt forth and caught her.

For the next hour, Anthony had been told the truth. In belief that he was dead, Susanna married another(He hadn't been told she had been forced). It struck him like a lightning bolt, and after that was a daze. Next thing, he was home, and dressing for some festivity of the harvest that would be taking place that night. All the while, his heavy heart burdened him with sorrow and regret.

The festivities were planned long in advance, by Susanna's grandmother, but that didn't make the young woman eager to go. So close to her eighteenth birthday, she was prepared to do what women in her situation always did. She was going to join her husband to make an appearance, and she was going to talk, and dance. Always, she would put on a happy front. A happy front that if someone looked close enough would be able to see wasn't a true happiness.

Susanna hadn't been truly happy since she'd read the paper that announced the dead and wounded. Why couldn't Anthony have just been on the wounded list? Then she would have still had him. But no. It had been like a bucket of near frozen rain water had been dumped on her when she'd read the name. Anthony Richardson. She'd gone completely cold and stiff, shocked into a statuesque state. She hadn't wanted to feel that sharp knife pain of knowing that she'd lost him.

She didn't want to remember the knife pain that had stabbed into her heart. But she remembered every day. Something would always remind her of what it felt like to lose the one she loved. Even something as simple as not feeling the pain that day. She must have been torturing herself, but she couldn't stop herself from feeling the sadness of losing him. It didn't feel right to have a semi-peaceful life when her love didn't have any kind of life.

The once free and bubbly young woman had turned into a shell. She felt hollow inside, with no argument where there might have been one in the past. Her smiles were simple shadows of what they had been, never glowing out in their former brilliance. Most people would admit they had forgotten what kind of magic Susanna seemed to radiate when she was younger. She was never seen out among nature taking care of the favorite part of herself that her mother had given her. She was like a handmade doll, beautiful to look at, but solely for display.

When Susanna and Paul arrived at the festival, they were immediately flanked by friends and companions of Paul. The women took Susanna into their grip as they usually did, off to the left of the men who started instantly speaking of business.

It had taken a whole passing hour before Anthony was actually allowing himself to register passing events of that day. In his absence, Susanna had married another man, a man returned home wounded. She had taken him as her husband in thought that her beloved was gone forever. Anthony had to accept that. He was after all supposed to be dead. He wasn't however, and his first thought was to finally take Susanna Littlefield's hand in marriage. Not anymore. She wasn't even Susanna Littlefield, but Susanna Landry. Anthony forced back tears at the thought of never being to take his only love as his wife.

Sitting in his room, Anthony listened to his father through closed door. "It's the way life deals it's cards my boy. I know it's unfair, but you should try to be happy for little Susanna. Had you been dead, she would be waiting for a corpse we might have never received." There was a long pause, as Mr. Richardson lit his pipe. He took a single puff of it, before clearing his throat. "Mr. Landry is a good man. A former soldier such as yourself.." He almost choked on the words, coughing on the smoke of his pipe. "Of course, he won't be as decorated as you will be when the soldiers catch word of Corporal Anthony Richardson Jr.'s return from the dead. Your mother has told half the town already, and there is supposed to be a big announcement to night during the festival." The man almost proud that he would be receiving such attention towards his family. It was good for business.

Meanwhile, Anthony picked himself up off the bed and was inspecting the attire set out for him. In the midst of his cleaning the previous night, his mother made sure to remeasure him for the purchase of new clothes. Anthony hadn't grown much, so it hadn't been much of a task letting out very little stitching on an extravagant suit. It was a deep black, with a white shirt underneath. It might have been standard, had there not been such beautiful trimming all over the suit.

It was distasteful, at least in Anthony's eyes. He felt like he might have returned as a war hero, not an escaped prisoner of war, who fought the elements and made his way home. What's worse, Anthony's father had set out the family saber, as soldiers often wore to signify their having enlisted in the army. So, loathing it, he tied the ornate black and gold saber to his belt, and looked at himself in the old tall mirror that was propped up in his room.

This was not the boy that had left all those years ago. This was a man who had experienced life. A man who knew the cold bitter sting of other men's wrath. A man who watched fate cut the strings of living souls right before him. A hardened man, without love, without reason for life. It was in this moment that Anthony wished he hadn't come back from the war. He wished a stray bullet had taken him on the battlefield, or the bitter cold freeze him under the winter snow. But here he stood, the soon to be appraisal of the town, an icon that he did not want to be.

Stepping outside the room, Anthony Richardson Sr. saw a completely different man. He saw a handsome reflection of his younger self. Dark lush brown hair pulled back neatly and tied by a leather strap. Dark green eyes proud to belong to whom they did, minimal diamond shaped freckles on high cheek bones, pursed lips, small nose. All traits of the male half of the Richardson family. A firm built body fitting well in the uniform a soldier deserved. Gold inlay and trimming over a deep black suit, matching well over Anthony Jr.'s tanned skin. Then, the family heirloom, passed down early to a deserving man. The black and gold saber passed down for years by Anthony's forefathers. This, was then next leader of the Richardson line, and he would do them proud.

The rest of the family wore slightly simpler attire, but only slightly. Anthony's younger brothers Johnathon and Ezekiel both wore deep blue suits with white and gold inlay, but considerably less. His sister Jenna, age 12 wore a beautiful yellow dress, fitting well against her lighter skin. Mrs. Richardson wore one of her more elegant light blue dresses, while her husband wore a simple black suit, no gold trimming. If only Anthony could switch attire with his father, he would feel less gaudy. He might have switched with the servants if opportunity were presentable. Two of them would be accompanying the Richardson family in very simple brown and white suits that Mrs. Richardson had crafted personally. Slaves as they might be, Anthony's mother Angeline would not allow them to look like they had no proper attire.

So the family set off in their large carriage, the whole family buzzing in excitement as they were soon going to announce the return of their son. Anthony could only sit in disdain, watching the setting sun cast beautiful colors across the fields and town.

The family arrived 'fashionably' late, as Angeline liked to call it. Later was late in Anthony's eyes, but he understood the purpose. If you came when everybody was there, an entrance would immediately draw attention, not that Anthony's presence wouldn't attract it regardless. To say the Richardson family attracted a crowd would be an understatement. During the war, Anthony's battalion spent one afternoon near a beehive. What Anthony observed was that bees were constantly bombarding the beehive, to the point where it might have seemed like they were fighting to get to it. Right now, Young Anthony felt like that beehive. Hands were thrusts at him, hugs were forced upon him, and greetings were exchanged endlessly. Of course, he had to respond in kind. He responded like a shoulder, back erect, chest out, and chin held high in nobility.

It was long before Anthony was actually allowed to move from his starting point, when the majority of the crowd had dwindled down, and the family allowed to move throughout the festival. The entire time, Anthony's eyes were searching. Searching for her. Praying it wasn't true. No man who's hand she had taken in marriage. He saw the Littlefield family, and gave them a kind greeting. They however, knew not of Susanna's location.

So, after several minutes, Mrs. Richardson went back to reintroducing her son to the entirety of the town. He shook hands with the mayor and his wife, the barber, store owners, lords, ladies, dukes that had come just to see him. He did not however, shake hands with a retired military man and a wife Anthony was so eager to lay eyes upon.

It did strike Anthony though that what would come if they did cross paths? She was married after all. Susanna couldn't be with Anthony regardless of whether they saw each other or not. She couldn't divorce Mr. Landry, as that was a much frowned upon act. Adultery was a sin against the Lord himself. Susanna was gone, forever. Anthony would never have his one true love back.

The talk about the Littlefield women was never really pleasant. At least when it was other women talking about them. In the eighteen years since Loba Littlefield showed up, it had always been along the same line. They were witches, attracting the attention of the men through the only way a squaw could, some kind of spell or magic. It was the only explanation to the women in the county. They didn't understand what it was about the dark skin and hair that made the most prominent men look their way.

So, as Susanna Landry stood in the crowd of women, she was generally ignored. They had stayed close enough to their husbands that every so often Paul would reach over and give her arm a squeeze. A sweet gesture to outsiders, but really, he was trying to get her to interact. For some reason, that day it was even harder for her to do that. She didn't care that she was being ignored, but clearly Paul was worried about the talk that would be going on about the young woman and ultimately about him.

Susanna was dressed that day in a dark blue dress that was very modestly cut, and appropriate for a married woman of her age. It was simple, without any extra frills or lace, and yet she still managed to look exceptionally beautiful with her hair loose around her shoulders.

There was talk around the festival about some soldier long thought dead being alive. Of course Susanna heard it. That didn't mean it got her hopes up, in fact she simply retreated into her own mind, hiding behind her dark blue fan. She imagined what it would have been like if only a year ago she'd heard that Anthony was really alive.

She could see herself sitting at home, her parents home, the plantation, in her mourning garb, when the horse rode up. There would be here Anthony, his eyes bright with love but weary from the ride. She would know instantly that it was him, just like every other time before. They had always known when the other one was near, even when there were others all around. When she saw him, she'd run to him, throw her arms around him in the worlds tightest hug and he would kiss her. They would get married quickly so that their time apart could be made up quicker.

"I hear that he came today with his family. One day back and already he is at a party. I can't believe that they would come out so early. It's nearly unseemly." One of the older ladies was speaking of the return soldier and instead of Susanna hearing the criticism, she imagined that it would be something like that when she and Anthony married. Only, it would be unseemly that they married so quickly after they were so sure he was dead. "Do you agree, Mrs. Landry?" When Susanna looked up she saw it Loretta Bristow, the local gossip, the biggest gossip.

"I don't imagine he wanted to be back to the way things were before he left." She said simply, after feeling a sharp pinch on her arm from her husband.

"Of course, that's not possible, now is it, Mrs. Landry?" One of the others said suggesting something that Susanna didn't realize implied that the person was Anthony and going back to the way things were would mean he'd have to be with her.

Anthony was now vaguely engaged in conversation with a store keeper interested in buying grain directly supplied from Richardson farm. Anthony Richardson Sr. had intentionally made himself scarce, leaving his eldest to handle family business as he conversed with friends on less pressing matters. Half listening to the proposition, the Corporal was scanning the crowd futilely, becoming upset with himself the longer he looked. Would he really even be able to find Susanna in this crowd? It didn't help that whenever he caught somebody's eyes they had to wave in delight, distracting him from his purpose.

"So how does that sound Master Richardson?" Said the elderly shopkeeper, cutting into Anthony's thoughts. Mr. Buchwald was a kind enough man, who kept a fair business to everybody. He was a stout man with gray, thinning hair, and traces of built muscle after years of loading his own boxes and shifting his own cargo. His eyes were a bright blue, showing the kindness in his heart, and it emanated from his persona. "Does it seem a fair enough offer?"

"It sounds grand Mr. Buchwald?" Anthony replied, acting as though he had been listening intently. He did know the point of the general conversation. The store owner wanted to purchase grain off of one of Richardson estates many fields, and was willing to pay a high rate, and supply his own workers to cut the stocks. The deal would be a no win situation for Anthony's family. "Why don't you come by the manor in the morning, and we can discuss it more with my father present. How does that sound?"

"Splendid sir, I will be by in the morning certainly. Wait until Mary Lou hears about this." With that, the old man walked away with a bit more purpose in his step. Anthony could only smile, especially since he knew Mary Lou. A newcomer would assume it was Buchwald's wife, but locals knew it to be an old mule that the shopkeeper favored even to people. It wasn't his fault, as he had lost his wife in a tragic fire years ago, and decided he would never give his heart to another person, so he went with a pack mule.

When their conversation had ended, Anthony was reunited by his father, who acted as though he had been in deep conversation with another man over the consistency of white to red wine. Was there even a difference? If so, Anthony wouldn't have known. Even so, Anthony didn't complain, or even comment. Military men did not whine, and as such Corporal Richardson wouldn't be one to start. A person never did truly lose their rank. After all, one didn't forget the training, so why would anything else be different? He walked with his father, greeting some of the more 'important' people in town, as Richardson Sr. called them. They were only dubbed this because they held business with the family. That did make them important though, even to Anthony. He would be taking over the family empire soon, and he did not want to create the impression that he was against running the family. Meeting them all, Anthony went into business mode, remembering names and faces with ease.

Stuart Riley, a tall ginger man, was a major buyer of corn, and picked up shipments weekly while the crop was in harvest. He had also suggested a bean section be cut into their fields, as demand was rapidly growing. It was still being taken into account. Another was a Mr. Gerald Phillips, who supplied fertilizer for a more than reasonable price. This was a key man in Mr. Richardson's eyes, as quality crop could not be supplied without the minerals in this man's trade. He also but mass supplies of corn, in attempt to use it as mass production food for his cattle, something that did not seem to be as successful as he might have thought. He was persistent though, and bought the crop whenever there was some to spare after major shipments were put out.

There were also many more. More than Anthony cared to count in fact, and he had taken the time to meet and discuss business with all of them. With a first impression like the one Anthony had given, he was sure he would not be losing business when it was his time to run the trade. It also hadn't escaped his notice the wide-eyed dazed handshakes received from several, mostly the people he had met in his younger days. It wasn't everyday a person returned from the grave as handsome as Anthony had.

How many years had it been, Anthony wondered. Well over four he thought. He had been seventeen when he left. Maybe four years since, maybe five. He would have to check a calender. The only thing he knew was that he was well over twenty. Twenty one perhaps, even twenty two.

Seconds later, Anthony realized he was being pulled by his hand by a little old woman, much to the protest of Mr. Richardson. "No, Mrs. Bralow, we don't need to go speak to him." His father had a very worried tone of voice, making Anthony wonder where this woman was dragging him. Mrs. Barlow had been the county school teacher at one point, but her old age and fading memory had forced her to quit. Now, she rambled on any pour soul she crossed, forcing her epiphanies upon them the moment they hit her. So what could she remember that made this tiny, skeleton of a woman drag Anthony around the festival?

"Nonsense Berton, their the only two veterans of this war, they should get to know each other. Mr. Landry as a good man." Obviously she couldn't remember Mr. Richardson name, but her goal had yet to slip her mind. She cut through the crowds very rudely, jabbing people aside with bony elbows and pitiful attempts at "excuse me's", which came out more like "Move!" and "Your in the way!". Anthony could only whisper apologies as he was dragged, and finally brought to a stop.

"Mr. Landry, it's good to see you again. I'd like you to meet Mr. Anthony Richardson." Anthony was puzzled. He knew he had heard that last name before, he just wasn't unable to place it. Hoping a face might help, he stepped forward like a man, greeting the man. It didn't help.

"First Private Paul Landry. A pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand, and Anthony took it kindly, shaking it firmly. The name didn't register at all. The only thing that Anthony took in was that he would be this man, who was perhaps a decade or so years his senior, senior officer.

"Corporal Anthony Richardson." Anthony liked speaking with more authority, and took his time looking the man over. His battalion must have had release already, which could only make Anthony wonder how long he had been imprisoned.

"I'd also like you to meet my wife, Susanna Landry. Come here, dear." The name cut Anthony like a knife, and it took all his effort to stop himself from swaying. As he watched the man grab his wife by the arm, and pulling her in what might have been an innocent pull, but Anthony noticed the vice grip of Paul's hand as he pulled Susanna, the love of his life. "Susanna, this is Anthony Richardson, say hello." Hearing the name again was a stab through the heart. So it was true, Susanna had married another, so she must have been happy. There was no purpose for Anthony anymore. No reason that he should have clung to life. He wished that the farmer had let him die out in the field, or the stray bullet hadn't whizzed passed his head, but hit it's mark.

The entire crowd was now watching, most of them knowing the history of Anthony Richardson and Susanna Littlefield. No, not Littlefield. Landry now. They had been in love. More in love than any man and woman could ever be, but she had moved on without him, and fell in love with another. Holding back tears, Anthony nodded at the woman through constantly blinking eyes. "A pleasure," he said, holding out his hand once again, now for Susanna to take.

Susanna was still pretty much lost in her own imaginings. She wondered if Anthony would have been the type to take on a mistress. Probably not. He had actually loved her, cared for her more than anyone else could ever possibly love her. Paul had to get his pleasures where he could find them, it wasn't like he felt any form of love for her. She was just something pretty to show off. Property. But Anthony never would have done any of that to her. She'd been fourteen when he left, but she'd already known that she would never love anyone else.

"So, Lena Andrews was seen riding with Walter Palmer." A gossip that she was standing with was going on. Susanna didn't care who was riding somewhere with whom. It didn't really interest her. Lena Andrews was sixteen, and a sweet girl. Susanna really didn't get why there had to be so much talking about her. She could remember riding around with Anthony time after time, on his horse or hers. It had been a carefree relationship.

She had planned to be married at the age that Lena was, as most girls she knew were. She had wanted to start her family with Anthony as soon as possible. Everyone had been waiting for it to happen, their engagement would be announced as soon as the war was over, it wasn't supposed to last long, and then they would be married quickly. But.. It hadn't happened. He'd died. And she'd been forced to marry someone else.

The vice grip on Susanna's arm drew the young woman's attention and she felt her head shoot up in confusion as she was pulled beside her husband. The thing she saw made her gasp. Her husband introduced her to the man. Anthony Richardson. "He... Hello." she said, almost positive that she was hallucinating. Were her stays tied to tight? Was she getting enough air. She reached her hand out to take Anthony's at the same time her husband's squeeze on her waist brought it home that she was awake.

When her hand touched flesh, Anthony's flesh, the young woman swayed, unable to keep her feet. Anthony was alive. She was married to someone else and Anthony was alive. That was her final thought before she promptly fainted, crumbling to the ground.

She had always been sickly, so not many people would be surprised that she'd fainted, not even her husband. He might not even realize that she was so affected by Anthony.

Perhaps a dozen hands outstretched towards the fainting beauty, even those of her husband. None were quick enough in comparison to Anthony's. His body nearly lunged forward to stop her fall, arms wrapping tightly around her body, and feet planting hard against the ground as he steadied himself. Mr. Landry should be ashamed of himself really. He had practically had his arm around Susanna, and she somehow still escaped his fingers when she fainted. Anthony would not allow her to fall though. He had promised her that, all those years ago.

"Come on Susanna, I'm right here!" Anthony stood, arms outstretched to a very large tree. "You trust me don't you?" Susanna was in a tree, almost refusing to come down. It hadn't been as scary going up the tree at first, but looking down, it was a bit of a drop. Little Richardson himself had been a little scared, but was more concerned about the very uneven ground than the height of the tree. He of course had to be the growing man he was though, as he was sixteen now after all. So he stood there, awaiting the woman he considered to be none other than his own. His 'love' as he sometimes called her.

"You jump down and I promise I'll catch you. It's going to rain soon, and your father is going to wonder where you are Susanna." Clouds were looming over head, and several times Anthony had felt a drop touch his face. He waited though, as he would not rush her. A horse was stamping impatiently in the slightly damp grass some several feet away, growing impatient. "Susanna, I'll catch you. You know I will. I will never let you fall....

That had been a big day in Anthony's life. He had caught Susanna when she jumped into his arms, frightened. They shared their first kiss that day, her in his arms as the rain began to pour. That day would never be forgotten in his mind.

Snapping to, Anthony looked around at spectators watching events unfold. He held Susanna cradled in his arms the same way he had so many years ago, keeping her close to his body. Mr. Landry was the first to break the silence. "Good catch, sir. You beat me to it by a hare's breath." Outreaching, he opted to take his wife back, much to Anthony's disgust. Any man who couldn't be there for his wife the way Anthony could didn't deserve Susanna. He had to give her up very reluctantly.

The whole crowd was in a state of unrest. Seeing two lovers meet in such unfortunate circumstances was not an easy thing to watch, and this scenario was tragic.

"Three months, at most, Susanna." Anthony had promised as the girl sat beside him under the tree that had become their's. She was crying, her face in her white gloved hands. She had just been told that Anthony, her one and only, was going to war. Everyone was sure that the war was only going to last for a few months and that then things would go back to normal and they would be able to live in peace.

"I know." The young woman sobbed into her hands . "But what if something happens to you?" She asked, lifting her head when she felt his arm wrapping around her middle and he pulled her close to him. "What if you don't come back?"

"Of course I will come back, darling." He tried to assure her. "I will always come back to you. Never, never will I leave you."

A slightly rough pull woke Susanna Landry from what had been a good dream. She couldn't help but think of how he always kept his promises. But all the years...

"What...?" She said, starting to open her eyes. The first thing she saw was her husband looming over her. Had he actually caught her? Was that possible? She really didn't think he'd care enough. "I must have been seeing things." She concluded, before looking around. Her eyes connected with Anthony's. She wasn't seeing things. And she had to keep herself from fainting again.

"Anthony?" She asked to clarify, lifting her head to get a better look at him. Handsome and dark. Freckles that she would never forget. "It's really you." Her whole soul seemed to soar. She tried to push away from her husband, only to be held back by a few of the women. They all knew about Susanna and Anthony and they wouldn't allow such a spectacle. "You're alive." She could almost feel herself brightening considerably.

Of course, Paul's presence beside her made the girl deflate almost instantly. There was no point in her becoming too excited over the news.

The crowd was watching with eyes of sorrow. It was not a joyous time to see parts of a whole realize they could never again be together. That was they way it was with Anthony and Susanna. She had married another man, happily as far as Anthony was concerned. There was nothing left for their love, nothing left for Anthony to really live for. He was walking through the motions of life, but would not allow himself the enjoyments of it's company. It was a fate far graver than death.

It reminded Anthony of one of the many times he almost did die.

"Susanna! Susanna! Where are you? I'm lost without you to guide me!" Those were the words Anthony muttered in a wavering state, hanging over the cliff of death as he was nursed to health by a simple farmer and his wife. It wasn't until days later that he had awoken, thinking himself perhaps dead. He did not recognize the area around him. A warm white room, small dressers and candles lit all around. It was obviously not the Richardson mansion.

"Where am I?" He had asked, attempting to sit up, but his body to weak to perform the action.

"You are safe." Said a man's voice, then a soft wet cloth touched his forehead, making him lean back with a sigh.

"Am I dead?" The voice was worried. Anthony was scared he would never make it back to Susanna, and she would be forced to wait upon a man who would never come.

"Dead? You are about as dead as one who is not yet born." What did that mean? This man did not speak clearly, and it took Anthony a moment before he decided he might ask, but the man answered before hand. "Only once you find that which you are looking for will you truly be alive again. And it seems you aim hard to be alive again."

"So I am alive?"

"Alive? Yes, I suppose you are. Your heart still beats in your chest if that is what you call alive." Good, that was all Anthony needed to know. If his heart was beating, he had a chance to make it back, back to her.

Mr. Landry was the first to break the silence, as Anthony could not bring himself to answer Susanna so suddenly. "You know my wife Corporal Richardson? How, she's never told me about you." He looked at his wife begrudgingly, eyes fierce and menacing. The man might have lashed out had they not been in such a public place. Instead, he pulled her back to his side, holding her tight by her waist.

"Yes, I know Susanna." Anthony's answer was cold, as he composed himself into that of a military man, stopping himself from bursting into tears, and embracing the love of his life. "We were...childhood friends. Long before the war." He didn't elaborate more than that, but the crowds exchange of glances and hushed whispers for him. Mr. Landry's eyes narrowed, as he was reluctant to swallow Anthony's story.

"I see." He said, unable to read the face of the man before him. "This is good then, I suppose." He forced a smile as he held his wife tight, looking around as though nothing was wrong. "A man once thought dead has returned, and what's more, he has been reunited with all his friends! And in turn, made another." He nodded in Anthony's direction. "I would consider any person my wife has befriended a friend." It was a cold lie, as Paul now realized the gravity of the situation and would have liked nothing more than to unleash his anger upon Anthony, then perhaps upon Susanna. Paul was a man of image however, and such an act would ruin his reputation, as well as land him some odd time in jail for striking on officer of the confederate army, and a senior officer no less.

The crowd did not take so kindly to Paul Landry's words, and the Richardson family took it the worst. What he had said had been a knowing insult to Anthony Richardson Jr. Mr. Richardson even took a step closer to his son, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was brushed off by a smiling Anthony. Why was he smiling though, as he wanted to cry. "Of course Paul. Friends we shall be. Maybe one day we can have relaxed conversation and share stories." Sadly, Paul would have none to share, as he had been sent home before the real battles had really begun, a simple shot wounding him. Anthony had taken a shot himself, in fact, he had taken three as his mother had noticed. They were all stitched though, healing well.

"Certainly. Now if you'll excuse me corporal, my wife does not feel well. I should really get her home." He tugged on her, leading Susanna away. Apart from Anthony, again.

"I understand. It was nice meeting you Mr. Landry. It was nice to see you as well Susanna." That was all Anthony could manage to stand, before he turned on his heel, meeting a mass of wide eyes, each one averting their gaze once he looked. He made his way through them quietly, forgetting formalities as he went. No physical pain hurt like this, and Anthony had felt a great deal of that.

His family followed, and Mrs. Richardson had even tried to stop him twice, but he shrugged her off like a cold shiver. He passed the carriage, stepping into darkness as the candle light no longer lit his way. It was several miles back to Richardson estate, and Anthony was going to walk every foot of it.

The ability to look at Anthony again was both a treasure and a pain. Susanna had feared that one day she would forget his face, so seeing him again was a wonderful joy and treat. But it hurt so bad, nearly taking her breath away to see him but not be able to touch him, hug him.. Kiss him. Suddenly, she felt every bit of light vanishing from her life, just when there had been a flash of brilliance.

Paul's grip on her waist made Susanna gasp for air as the stays of her corset dug into her hip while the top pushed against her ribs even harder. He had a strong hold of her, most likely trying to keep her from rushing to her true love. She wouldn't be surprised if everyone thought the gasp was simply because she still wasn't feeling well.

What was her life supposed to be like? She didn't have a long list of likes in her current world, but at least it had been livable. Anthony was alive and she would have to see him eventually marry someone else, fall in love with someone else, while she was stuck in the lonely and loveless marriage. It didn't seem right. She wouldn't want to be alive to see him with another woman. But there it was, going to have to happen.

A man of means and land as he was, he would be snatched quickly. He would be snatched quickly by some beautiful young girl. And Susanna would be forever lost.

The pull of her husband's arm around her waist made Susanna bite back a groan as another dull pain moved through her hip. She followed the way her husband lead, almost trance-like, while looking behind her at the formerly dead soldier. She was still so in awe of the fact that he was alive, and in so much pain at just seeing him.

"Would you please release me?" Susanna asked Paul once they were far enough away from the crowd. "You are hurting me." She added, sucking in a breath as she worked to keep herself from losing all of her dignity before she was in private.

Paul didn't let go until after he looked back to the festival, judging whether they were far enough. Once satisfied, he released his grip on Susanna, almost shoving her away from him in the process. "Hurting you? You don't know what it means to hurt, yet." His hand balled into a tight fist, and it seemed as though the Mr. Landry might strike his wife. He wouldn't do it though, at least not this close to the town. When they were a much farther distance though, he might just take the opportunity. "So why have I never heard of him?" He looked back at the event, eyes squinted as though he expected to see the man he spoke of. "Corporal Anthony Richardson." Paul said the name as though it were poison on his lips, and it disgusted him to say it. "The whole town seems to know just who he is, to know that you two are friends. Don't think I didn't notice the gathering crowds, they were expecting something." Paul was no fool, and it would take a fool not to notice the tension between Susanna and Anthony. "Anthony Richardson." He said it again lower, hoping maybe the more loathing manner he said it in it might hurt the owner of the name.

Some distance away, another name was said in the same manner. "Paul Landry." That assured him of everything. Susanna had perhaps once mourned for the loss of Anthony, but another man had come along quick to take his place. He was obviously good enough, as she had taken him willingly. No stopping things now, at least not in a respectable manner. So that was the end thought Anthony as he finally approached Richardson estate from the beaten dirt path. Moonlight lit the way as he walked without candlelight. This was how he preferred it though when he walked, and it reminded him of better times. Holding Susanna close as they watched the stars, pressing her tight against him when she was scared of the sounds of night. An easier time for everybody.

It was ten more minutes before Anthony approached the front door, greeted by several slaves sitting around in peace after a long days work. Corporal Richardson didn't take the conventional way into the house though, avoiding the front door entirely. He skirted around to the side of the house, following the extended porch the stretch to both sides of the mansion. In a practice motion he leapt up, one foot planting on the railing before he launched up to grasp the layered shingles of the roof. Pulling himself up, he sat there for a minute. The house extended higher up, but this was as far as he need go, his bedroom being directly behind him now.

Anthony could only sit there, and look at the moon, the stars. An event that was very lonely now and he could only bare for several minutes before entering the window. It was always open just for occasions like this, and the area inside was devoid of any objects he might trip over. His boots made a light hollow thud on the hardwood floor, and his saber clanked against the window sill until he took several more steps into the room.

The first thing he found was his rucksack. It was a beaten leather bag with a flap to keep the items inside protected. It was dust covered and bloodstained as Anthony had not allowed anybody to touch it just yet. Pulling a pile of cream colored envelopes, the man quickly shuffled through them, not looking for any one in particular. One stood out to him at the moment though, and he couldn't help but pull it aside. It was the cream colored envelope, but was tarnished by several dull deep colored specks across the paper. Anthony recognized it to be blood, and as he ran his fingers over the stains he remembered how it came to be. How his blood ruined that letter. He didn't even need to open it, knowing the writing by heart, but opened it regardless, taking in the scrawl on the paper.

'Dear Susanna,

I cannot tell you how much your letters have helped me. The months have become increasingly harsh, and it's only you that reminds me that I'm alive for a reason. Your writing sparks hope in me whenever I read it.

Our platoon leader says that we will be moving back south soon, and if the war continues in this manner we'll be home by early next...'

The rest of the letter was unfinished, for as Anthony wrote that, he remembered the feeling of hot pain in his right shoulder, a bullet passed right through cloth and flesh. He doubled over, slightly slower on reaction than he intended. His instant reaction had been to fire back, as he platoon was now preparing to do. His rifle nestled into the space between his chest and shoulder, and he fired off once. Once was all he could manage, as he had unthinkingly placed the butt of his rifle right against the open bullet wound, and the kickback of the gun sent pain surging through his body.

He remembered crumpling into the trench they had built, and awakening some many minutes later by a screaming sergeant who feared the worst for Anthony.

That was the first letter to never be delivered, followed by many more, all of which Anthony held in his hand. They were now heavy as lead in his hand, feeling the weight of his broken heart in the pieces of paper.

Susanna had never seen her husband so angry. Of course, until then, she had thought he just didn't care about any part of her life, he held no emotions for what happened toward her. Apparently, he had one. Anger, maybe jealousy, but she didn't understand any of it. She was so shocked by everything that had happened that she couldn't even find fear for the implied threat.

Anthony was alive! It was wonderful. The most incredible man in the world was alive, he could grace the Earth with more of his presence. She could almost sing, if the reality of the situation wasn't so close to the surface. She could never have him.

"He was dead." Susanna answered the older man. "Or I thought. What was the point to tell you about someone that wasn't alive?" She questioned, brushing herself off from the near fall from his push. She cleared her throat, not very happy with being forced to seem clumsy, even if no one was around. "You can not hold against me, that my childhood... Friend came back from the dead." She was working to keep some dignity, and wished that they could just get into the carriage and get home already. She wanted to cry alone.

That wagon wasn't very far from where they were, and it seemed like they got there so slowly. She hated that it seemed like such. She wasn't very comfortable with her husband at that moment. Once inside their ride, she rearranged her skirts and cleared her throat, before looking forward.

"Would you like for me to speak with Sissy when we arrive at home?" She asked her husband as they rode in what felt like the thickest silence ever. "Since you did not have time to sample any of the food brought, I can have her make up something for you." There was no mention of her eating with him, because she wasn't hungry. And she wanted to keep as much time from him right then as possible.