2.23.26
My Dearest Bethany,

Do you remeber what you said to me all those years ago? Under that old oak tree?

I know you do.

It was summertime and we were nothin more than kids, your Daddy'd gone into town with mine to trade and our Ma's were cooking stew on the campfire. My brother'd caught some rabbits and they sent us off into the brush to look for any roughage we could add to the pot. You never liked me none on account of how quiet I was but your Ma was worried 'bout you getting whisked off an'becomin some trading stock amoungst unfavorable men, so they made me go along with my fishing knife. Soon as we were out of sight you made me swear on my life to walk five steps behind you on account of my "horrible strench worse than any pig you ever had smelled". You were always so bold and firely, braids flying wild in the air as you turned away.

We walked down by the river and found nothin but good skippin stones. My mouth can't help but crack into the biggest smile when I think of your face after I tossed that rock across the stream. I was a low down good for nothin' in your heart, but your eyes lit up and sparkled like the finest crystal when we watched it skip past ten times, and I swear in that moment I was cursed to only live because of the warmth of your smile.

I breathe deep and close my eyes now to think of you. Your scent, the smell of fresh sun dried laundry and wildflowers, the way your voice hitches when you're cross and is sweet when I am kindly. Your clear blue eyes sparkling in the bright mornings, rays of yellow sunshine dancing across your pillow. I think of the way the wind blows your hair around your thin face, softened waves of warmest chestnut dancing around your delicate features. I see your lips smile and still it pins me in place, held down by the weight of your love, my home found only in your embrace.

That's why I had to leave.

Before the sun came up, before you woke and I could be petrified by your turquoise gaze.

You know I didn't come back from the war right, I came back haunted. It's a terrible thing to kill a man on his own land, the land of his fathers and their fathers long before them. The screams of pain in a language I don't understand wakes me in the night like a knife across my neck.

You hold tight to me, whispering assurances and sweet loving prayers, laying your blessed hand atop my head like Christ himself, tellin me I'm not the monster I think myself to be. But some blood just don't wash out, and some wounds just won't seem to scar no matter how long its been.

Do you remeber what you said to me all those years ago? Under that old oak tree? When we ran up to hide from the bear in its branches, a black bear no bigger than my brother but stronger than both our Pa's combined.

I'd seen the bear first and hollared for you to run, I'd spotted the lumbering oak an' screamed for you to climb. Like a bird had given me his wings I flew into that tree and climbed so high so fast you'd swear I was born in it. And like the snake that I am, I didn't even look behind me to make sure you were there. I only turned round cause I heard you scream, and I only opened my eyes because your voice commanded it. The bear was close on your tail, rippin at the bottom of your skirt, screams from the two of you were the only thing I could hear. That and my own yellow heart beatin out of my chest into my ears.

"KILL IT!" you screamed at me, "JESSE THOMAS, YOUR KNIFE! STAB IT!" your leather boots kicking at the open jaws of the beast, roaring and grabbing your leg, ripping into the flesh of your lily-white calf. Your scream filled the air so thick I couldn't breathe, and I closed my eyes and clung tight to the tree branch, praying to God that my Pa would come running with his gun or He would turn the bear into a gentle dove of peace. "HELP ME JESSE! HELP ME!!"

I clenched my eyes shut so tight I thought they would explode and bleed out of my face. You screamed louder, shrill as the bear ripped into you again. I squeezed my arms so tight around that tree branch, shoving my face into the bark so hard I bled. I never heard the shot from my brother's gun, and I never heard your Mama yell your name loud enough for it to ring across the valley. All I heard was your voice screaming in bloodshot pain -

"YOURE A COWARD, JESSE THOMAS, NOTHIN BUT A LOW COWARD!"

I know your leg healed up well enough for it to barely be a limp, and surely I laid down lower than the worms under the earth to beg your forgiveness. Over morose summers and repentant winters you forgave me, and only made a more foolish decision when you accepted my request for your hand. I've basked in the sunshine of your folly all these years, waiting for you to tire of the man I have become, but still each morning you rise and greet me with that same sweet smile, and again my dying fire burns for just one more day.

But you are right, and I am a coward. Scared and no good. Scared to stop drinkin and fightin, scared of the nights when the wind blows angry and I can feel those dead men reaching out for me, straining to pull me down into hell with them. Scared to sleep, knowing all I'll ever hear is the lullaby of those foreign screams, your voice ringing like a bell of judgement in my mind. I'm scared of being the man you need me to be, scared because I don't think I can be him. Scared because I dont know how to change or how to be a better man past prayer. I sometimes wonder if I would even recognize myself without my fears, or if there's anything left to me without them.

I'm broken Beth. A no good man, a coward, and a liar. I never did give up the bottle like I swore to you I did, and I traded in your mother's pearl necklace for the money to keep drunk. I didn't dare look you in the eye when you asked me if I'd seen where they gone, missing from your pine chest. By the sound of your voice, quivering with sadness, you knew I was the reason they were missing. You chose to love me still, and I can no longer relax under the shade of your giving tree, it seems I finally grew a conscience after all these years. So I'm going down in the valley to find redemption. I heard tell theres a preacher down by the river who knows God. Met Him as a man at the crossroads, told'm he was God's favorite and now I hear they two of 'em have family supper together every Sunday. So I'm going to find him and see if he can't put in a good word for me with the man upstairs, and hopefully drive these devils out from me for good. See if he can't make me right so i can finally do right by you, and if not, then I pray he sends you a soul who will. Dress you in the finest linens and keep worries from your tender brow.

You deserve everything good in this beautiful world Bethany, the finest porceline and silks, silver haircombs and ice cold water. I'm sorry I wasn't a stronger man, a better man. I'm sorry I'm still a coward. I hope you find it in your heart to someday forgive me, though I don't deserve an ounce more of your kindness. I love you Bethany Raye, don't waste another tear over my yellow soul.