Letters from Dickinson to Frances and Louise Norcross (1861-62):

TO: Louise Norcross
FROM: ED

31 December 1861

. . . Your letter didn't surprise me, Loo; I brushed away the sleet from eyes familiar with it - looked again to be sure I read it right - and then took up my work hemming strings for mother's gown. I think I hemmed them faster for knowing you weren't coming, my fingers had nothing else to do. . . . Odd, that I, who say "no" so much, cannot bear it from others. Odd, that I, who run from so many, cannot brook that one turn from me. Come when you will, Loo, the hearts are never shut here. I don't remember "May." Is that the one that stands next April? And is that the month for the river- pink?

Mrs. Adams had news of the death of her boy to-day, from a wound at Annapolis. Telegram signed by Frazer Stearns. You remember him. Another one died in October - from fever caught in the camp. Mrs. Adams herself has not risen from bed since then. "Happy new year" step softly over such doors as these! "Dead! Both her boys! One of them shot by the sea in the East, and one of them shot in the West by the sea." . . . Christ be merciful! Frazer Stearns is just leaving Annapolis. His father has gone to see him to-day. I hope that ruddy face won't be brought home frozen. Poor little widow's boy, riding to-night in the mad wing, back to the village burying ground where he never dreamed of sleeping! Ah! the dreamless sleep!

Did you get the letter I sent a week from Monday? You did not say, and it makes me anxious, and I sent a scrapt for Saturday last, that too? Loo, I wanted you very much, and I put you by with sharper tears than I give to many. Won't you tell me about the chills - what the doctor says? I must not lose you, sweet. Tell me if I could send a tuft to keep the cousin warm, a blanket of a thistle, say, or something!

Much love and Christmas, and sweet year, for you and Fanny and papa.

          Emilie.

Dear little Fanny's note received, and shall write her soon.

Meanwhile, we wrap her in our heart to keep her tight and warm.

FROM: ED

late March 1862

Dear Children,

You have done more for me - 'tis least that I can do, to tell you of brave Frazer - "killed at Newbern," darlings. His big heart shot away by a "minie ball."

I had read of those - I didn't think that Frazer would carry one to Eden with him. Just as he fell, in his soldier's cap, with his sword at his side, Frazer rode through Amherst. Classmates to the right of him, and classmates to the left of him, to guard his narrow face! He fell by the side of Professor Clark, his superior officer - lived ten minutes in a solider's arms, asked twice for water - murmured just, "My God!" and passed! Sanderson, his classmate, made a box of boards in the night, but the brave boy in, covered with a blanket, rowed six miles to reach the boat, - so poor Frazer came. They tell that Colonel Clark cried like a little child when he missed his pet, and could hardly assume his post.

The bed on which he came was enclosed in a large casket shut entirely, and covered him from head to foot with the sweetest flowers. He went to sleep from the village church. Crowds came to tell him goodnight, choirs sang to him, pastors told how brave he was - early-soldier heart. And the family bowed their heads, as the reeds of the wind shakes.

So our part in Frazer is done, but you must come next summer, and we will mind ourselves of this young crusader- too brave that he could fear to die. We will play his tunes - maybe he can hear them; we will try to comfort his broken-hearted Ella, who, as the clergyman said, "gave him peculiar confidence." . . . Austin is stunned completely. Let us love better, child, it's most that's left to do.

Text provided by the Dickinson Electronic Archive