Hocking, Amanda Letters To Elise (My Blood Approves 4.5) (7 page)

longer than the certainty of your death.

Ezra got the business set up to run without us, and as soon as we could, we boarded a ship. The weeks

at sea were horrible. I remembered the last time, only a few short months before, I had written you

countless letters to ease my sickness. This time, I had no such reprieve.

I was born in America, and I’ve lived most of my life there. But landing in Ireland felt like coming home.

This is my home, Elise, and it always will be. The fresh green smell of the earth suffocated me with how much I missed it here, how much I missed you.

When I arrived at our house, just after sunset, I still expected you to come walking out of the door to greet me, with Hamlet bounding at your heels. Instead, it was only Catherine, and Hamlet trailed slowly behind her, wagging his tail.

Catherine showed me where she buried you, all the while apologizing for what had happened to you. I

hardly heard anything she said, though. Her voice became background noise, like a babbling stream.

I fell to the ground, to the patch of earth in your garden where Catherine buried you underneath blue

wildflowers. She may even have tried to stop me, but once my fingers dug into the dirt, I couldn’t stop. I tore up the ground.

As soon as I got to you, I pulled you from the earth, and holding you in my arms was so much worse. I’d seen human bodies before, seen what death does to them, and I was unprepared for what it had done

to you – nothing.

Your skin was still smooth porcelain, smudged with dirt from the ground. Your body was still soft, feeling as much like flesh as it ever did, except that it was ice cold now. The wound in your chest left the dress covered in dried blood, but otherwise, it looked as if you were sleeping. The insects and creatures of the ground hadn’t even touched you.

I brushed the dirt from you hair, watching you as the moon hit your face. You looked as beautiful as you ever did. I sat that way for a long time, cradling you to me, and I would sit that way still if Ezra hadn’t pulled me away.

Even then, he had to drag me from you. I fought him, wanting to crawl down in the earth and lay with

you until death took me too. By then, I’d begun to sob, but I scarcely noticed. All I saw was Catherine lowering you back into the hole, and I couldn’t bare it.

“No, Ezra!” I shouted, trying to rip his hands off me. “I need to be with her! Let me stay with Elise!”

“Peter.” Ezra’s voice was calm but firm, and his arms around me were marble. I couldn’t break free from his grip. “Peter, she is gone. Now let her rest in peace.”

“You don’t understand,” I said, still fighting him. “I can’t live without her. I am nothing. Just let me lie with her. Let me die!”

Ezra put his hands on the sides of my head, forcing me to look at him. He gripped so tightly, it felt as if my skull might fracture. His eyes were dark, penetrating through my despair. I put my hands over his,

not pulling them away, but merely hanging into him, hanging onto the small bit of sanity he gave me.

“I am sorry, Peter, but I cannot,” Ezra said. “I can’t let you die. Elise would not want you to simply give up and die. That does nothing to honor her or the time you spent together. For her, you must go on.

“And if that’s not enough, then please, I beg you, go on for me,” he said. “It’s selfish, and I know it, but you are the only thing I have tethering me to this world. I don’t know that I could survive without you.”

It wasn’t sense he was able to knock into me but devotion. Ezra and I shared a bond – still share a bond

– that is made in blood. Without you, we are left for each other.

So, for him, I lived. I let Catherine bury you, and I crawled into the bed we once shared. The blankets still smelled of you, of us. I clutched onto them, holding them to my mouth to keep from screaming.

When I slept, I dreamt of making love to you as the sun rose through the windows. It warmed our bare

skin, but we didn’t mind. We didn’t even notice. We were too wrapped up in each other, your arms

around me, my lips on you.

I still remember everything about you with such perfect clarity. The way you tasted and smelled and felt.

The way you laughed, and the crooked way you smiled. The way you still blushed when I told you how

beautiful you are. The way your hair tickled my face when I wrapped my arms around you and held you

to me as we slept.

Catherine took me to the town where you died, and we found a few vampyres, but not the ones that

killed you. We stayed around for a few days, hoping to find them, and Ezra prevented me from starting

pointless fights. When we left, I felt impotent and lost. I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t even avenge you.

I couldn’t stay in the house we’d shared any longer, so we left almost as soon as we returned. I took

Hamlet with me, although he isn’t the same dog he once was. Living in town without much land won’t

bother him. He doesn’t need the room to run anymore.

Catherine is staying on at our house.

“What about the townsfolk?” I asked before we left.

“Let them talk.” Catherine waved me off. “Let them all think I’m an ageless witch or a demon temptress.

It doesn’t matter. I won’t leave. It’s not right for me to give up this land, not with Elise still here.”

“You will take care of her, won’t you?” I asked.

“I always have.”

I left Catherine in charge of you, once again. Maybe I should’ve stayed on with her, kept the land for you. But I don’t think I stood a chance of surviving in that house, surrounded by all those memories. I had to leave it all behind, if I wanted to stay with Ezra.

I still don’t know what I’ll do without you. But I will go on.

All my love, always and forever,

Peter

June 20, 1864

Elise,

It was Ezra’s idea to join this war, but I don’t disagree with the decision. He thought it would do me well to fight for something instead of sitting sullenly in the apartment. He was an avid supporter of the cause before convincing me to fight with him, and he would’ve taken to arms even if you were still with us.

Most of the soldiers here are fighting over land, even the ones on the Union side, but Ezra’s always been an abolitionist at heart. He spent almost a century as a slave, and though he speaks very little of it, I know it haunts him still.

He does an amazing job of rallying the troops. In the mornings, when we rise for battle, he gives elegant speeches about the evils of other men and what we must do to defend good. They fight valiantly for

him, and we’ve done well because of it.

So much of our work takes place during the day, and that has been a struggle for Ezra and me. Eating is also difficult, at least when we’re not among the enemy. The time spent in the sunlight requires us to eat more to stay in control of ourselves. Ezra has been alternating between several of the nurses that are caring for the injured soldiers, but he doesn’t want to weaken them too much.

I prefer waiting until we find Confederate soldiers. Sometimes, that means I will travel at night alone, away from our base, until I come upon someone that I don’t mind gravely weakening. I don’t kill them –

not unless we are doing battle, and then I only use my gun. Drinking blood until death has never sat well with me, and it reminds me too much of the time spent in Ireland.

The one good thing about the war is that we are all alone here. Every man here – boy, really, since most are hardly more than children – has left his family, his wife at home. For most, this is the first time they’ve spent away from their home.

When I am with them, I can pretend that you too are left at home, waiting by the window for my return.

We can commiserate about our homesickness, and I feel something close to human. Something closer

than I have since you were alive.

Last night, as I tried to settle in my blankets to sleep, Ezra came in. He was fresh from eating, full of life, and he lay down in his bed near me. The camp had gone silent, but sleep never comes easy for me at

night.

“I heard you talking to the soldiers,” Ezra said, his voice low so anyone nearby wouldn’t be able to hear. I had my back to him, and I didn’t respond. “You were speaking of Elise.”

“Am I not allowed to?” I asked, tensing already.

“You talk of her as if she is alive,” Ezra said, avoiding answering my question.

“I speak of her however I would like.” I pulled the blanket up more around me, even though it was warm inside the tent. “She is my wife. It is my right.”

“I’m not arguing that.” He paused, exhaling deeply. “I am only worried for you.”

“How is that anything to worry about?” I asked. “We are in the middle of the war, but words I choose to use to describe my wife are your concern?”

“This war is temporary,” Ezra said. “We are not.”

“Just because we are still here doesn’t mean we always will be,” I reminded him.

“Peter.” The blankets rustled next to me, so I knew that Ezra had sat up. “I don’t want you to get caught up in the stories you tell the other soldiers.”

“I know the difference between fact and fiction,” I snapped.

“Do you?” Ezra asked, his words gentle. “You still write to her at least once a week.”

I’d been trying to keep these letters secret from him, but Ezra sees everything. He has a way of knowing things I haven’t even uttered. Sometimes, when I’m thinking of you, he looks at me, and there’s

something in his eyes, and he knows I’m thinking of you.

“What would you have me do?” I asked as I sat up. I tried to keep my voice low so others wouldn’t hear, but my irritation made it hard for me to keep quiet. “Would have me pretend she never existed?”

“Of course not.” Ezra looked appalled in the darkness of our tent. “I’m not asking you to forget her. But she’s been gone for over a year, Peter, and you still talk to her. I here you whispering her name all the time.”

“So what?” I asked, but my cheeks reddened with shame. “What if I talk to Elise? What if I pretend that she’s still here? What does it matter?”

“You have to heal. You have to get past this,” Ezra said. “I lost my wife and children a long time ago, and I know how terrible this pain is. You should mourn the ones you love, remember them, but move on

with your life.”

“What life?” I hissed. “I’m the undead.” I sighed and shook my head. “I am only here for you, Ezra. I am alive because you want me to be. If I must live in my delusions to stay here, then so be it. Do not ask anymore of me. I cannot give it.”

“I was hoping this war would give you a purpose,” Ezra said at length. He lay down, watching the

shadows on the tent from the fire in the center of camp. “Something to fight against, if not something to fight for.”

“I fear I’ll never have purpose again,” I said, laying back down.

“As do I,” he admitted.

Part of me knows that he is right. That this isn’t the best thing for me to do, but I don’t know what the best thing to do is. I don’t know how to survive without you.

Since I began writing you last fall, it’s gotten easier for me. The attacks, where I fall to my knees and sob or throw up, have almost completely stopped. I sleep better, although I still dream often of lying in our bed.

I am sitting in the shade of a tree, trying to escape the hot Georgia sun. We’ve stopped to rest for a spell, and many of the soldiers are sleeping, eating, or writing home. Ezra is smartly sleeping, but I am writing you. The way I do on every break. At every chance I get. As if I believe you will receive these letters.

The other soldiers tease me about you, about my devotion to you. When we have a chance to stop at

taverns, most of them will bed local women if they can. But I never do. The idea of being with someone that isn’t you repulses me. I can’t imagine the prospect.

Elise, I swear to you, I will never love anyone but you. I cannot even fathom the idea.

But this war has given me some kind of direction. When I am fighting, I hardly think of you. My head is in the battle, even if my heart remains with you. Being a soldier might be the only that makes sense to me.

It’s not that my life has meaning, but what I am doing matters. Because of what we are, Ezra and I have great advantages to help the other soldiers. We can hear and see things before they do and let them

know when enemies are approaching. We are stronger and much harder to hurt, so we can take bigger

risks.

A lot of our time is spent protecting our battalion, as opposed to simply fighting the Confederacy. But I prefer that. I prefer to know I am saving someone than killing them. In my lifetime, I will see far more death than I can possibly imagine, but I would like to put it off for as long as I can.

We are moving on again, so I must cut this short. But I will write to you again, and again, and again. No matter what Ezra says.

All my love –

Peter

December 12, 1901

Oh, Elise forgive me. The mistake I have made feels too horrible for me to even write. I am drunk, and I know I am drunk. We came to Russia to get away, to hide in the cold and drink too much blood, and oh,

how I have drunk too much blood. I simply couldn’t take it anymore. The life we’re leading felt so

artificial, and I didn’t want to take Ezra along with me. I wanted him to stay behind, to keep running the business, but he refuses to leave me. I feel so much like Cain must have felt with Abel. Not that I want to harm Ezra, but this feeling that I am his keeper. Or he is mine. That we are meant to watch over each

other, but Ezra is good and pure, and I am of evil and will drag him down with me.

Elise, Elise, Elise, what I have done?

We never should’ve left America. Ezra was doing so well in Chicago. He ran a factory and owned a share in the railroads, and we were doing well, it felt all too well. He’d even started to date a young woman named Abigail, and I’d never known him to actually court a woman. He’d only see them for a night and

then move on, but something about Abigail struck him. And something about it struck me too. Seeing