Already the sheet of paper was a tangle of scratched-out beginnings and blotted ink drops. Once he got the wording right, he would begin anew with a fresh sheet of stationery, but two hours of wrangling had produced only the date. In thirty minutes, even that would be incorrect.
Ordinarily he handled any difficulty with calm precision. An engineer in the United States Army Corps must rely on logical analysis to conquer frequent setbacks. This one, however, was both personal and painfully unexpected. It drove a spike into the heart of his carefully drawn future.
It made this letter far from ordinary.
He returned the pen to its holder and flexed his fingers. To his right, the window opened onto a star-filled sky barren of suggestions.
How to begin? Every letter required a salutation, but no combination of words worked. His usual address bespoke an affection that would gladden his beloved’s heart. What cruelty when a paragraph later he must crush that joy. On the other hand, formal address would send her into a panic before he’d cushioned the blow with careful reasoning.
No, this was a delicate affair.
He laughed bitterly.
Affair was too kind a word. Debacle fit much better, especially when he could not recall a single moment of the slip into temptation that led to this painful decision. To counter his disbelief, she had brought forth witnesses. The result could not be denied. He was responsible.
Oh, Prosperity, dear Prosperity, what have I done to you?
He ran a finger over the daguerreotype that he had commissioned immediately after she agreed to marry him. The frozen image could not capture the glow of compassion in her gold-flecked hazel eyes. The interminable wait without moving a muscle resulted in too severe an expression. Despite the hardships Prosperity had endured, she brought joy and light to the darkest day. Her plain gown and cap in this picture reflected her present lowly estate. He had planned to one day clothe her in the fine gowns she deserved.
That hope was gone, whisked away in a single night of shameful revelry.
He kneaded his throbbing temples. Why couldn’t he remember? He had no recollection of Aileen Carlyle beyond some playful jesting when she brought the rum to the table he and his soldier friends occupied. The first toasts led to more and more until he awoke the next morning in the soldiers’ barracks with a splitting headache and no idea how he’d gotten there. After a stern reprimand, the incident seemed over until Miss Carlyle approached him two weeks ago with news that chilled his bones.
Why hadn’t he turned away at the grogshop door? Why had he even gone there? He never drank spirits, but the men had insisted, and he had been flattered by their attention. He’d let camaraderie draw him into temptation.
Why such a terrible price?
How many times he had prayed for God to relieve him of this burden. How often he had dropped to his knees pleading for a miracle that would absolve him, but this sin could not be whisked out the door.
The fruit of his error grew, and honor dictated he must set matters to rights. That entailed breaking the unwelcome news to his fiancée. Such a thing ought to be handled in person, but she dwelt nearly fourteen hundred miles north of this tropical island outpost. A letter was his only means of communication. Delivery would take weeks, perhaps a month if weather delayed the ship. By the time she received this . . .
He heaved a sigh.
It would be done.
Irrevocable in the sight of God.
Thus he must write the painful letter, and a letter began with a salutation. He drew a clean sheet of paper from the desk drawer.
As an engineer working on the construction of the new fort, named in honor of the late President Zachary Taylor, he would move to larger quarters sufficient for a family after the wedding.
The event that had once filled him with anticipation now churned up dread. He had always envisioned a proper ceremony back home on Nantucket Island. His parents and brothers, cousins and uncles would witness the joyous uniting of kindred spirits in their family church. He had promised to wed as soon as he finished his tour of duty in Key West. Though this meant years apart, the income he earned here would build a solid financial foundation to start a family. The reasoning had made perfect sense at the time, and she had gazed up at him with complete trust.
Oh that he had tossed reason to the wind and married her at once.
He raked fingers through his tangled locks. Nothing could be done now to alter the plans. Fate—or rather, despicable conduct—dictated his future. He would wed sooner rather than later, and not to the woman he adored.
She gazed at him sweetly from the daguerreotype. Despite the loss and hardship she’d endured, hope shone in her eyes. That hope had been rooted in his promise.
He slammed the image facedown on his desk. How could he look her in the eye?