***
It was the middle of the night, the same night of his death, now I know. In father’s house in Massachusetts, I sat up in bed with a start. Something had awakened me. A lingering crash of some sort. Could it be an intruder? Stepping down out of bed I listened to the quiet of the house; a ticking clock was the only distinguishing sound I heard but straining to know what had created the crash, I anxiously walked to the hallway and listened. Nothing.
Carrying our house cat over to the window and cradling her to my chest, I looked out at the November night. Large puffy clouds shimmered as they moved across the dark velvet sky, dancing across the brilliant heaven.
“I wonder what he’s thinking right now,” I whispered. As I stood there holding the cat; I closed my eyes remembering Warren’s touch. His scent was at the edge of my memory, fading slightly, and I tried urgently to recapture all my memories of him so as not to give those thoughts back to the tide of time. Would more months pass and my intimate memories fade or could I, by repeating them to myself, keep them sharp and strong and clear?
Even then, I thought I’d see him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
NEW YEAR’S EVE 1862
Watch Night
Each Other Page 43
