The Archive / Season 1, Episode 1
Letters Home
June 5, 1944 Somewhere in England
My Dearest Margaret,
By the time you read this, you'll know. The whole world will know. We're going tomorrow. Can't say where exactly, but I suspect you'll figure it out soon enough. You always were the smart one.
I'm sitting in a tent right now, surrounded by boys who should be home finishing college or working their fathers' farms. Some of them are writing letters like this one. Some of them are sleeping, or trying to. A few are praying. I think I'll do some of that too, before this night is over.
I want you to know something, in case tomorrow goes badly: These last six months of letters, they weren't enough. A lifetime of letters wouldn't be enough. I should have said more when I had the chance. I should have danced with you more. I should have told you every single day that you're the best thing that ever happened to a farm boy from Ohio who never deserved you in the first place.
Do you remember our first dance? The church social, spring of '38? You were wearing that blue dress, the one with the white flowers. I was terrified to ask you. My hands were sweating so bad I thought you'd laugh at me. But you didn't laugh. You smiled and said "I was wondering when you'd work up the nerve."
That's the moment I knew I was going to marry you. Took me two more years to actually do it, because I wanted to save up enough to buy you a proper ring. You told me you would've married me with a ring made of twine. I believed you. I still believe you.
The boys are singing now. Some song about a girl waiting back home. It's not a very good song, but they're singing it like it's the most beautiful thing in the world. Maybe it is. Maybe any song about home is beautiful when you're this far from it.
I've been thinking about our house. The little place on Miller Road with the leaky roof and the kitchen that's too small. I know you've been wanting me to fix that back porch step. I'm going to fix it when I get home. I'm going to fix everything. I'm going to be the husband you deserve.
Margaret, if something happens to me tomorrow, I need you to do something. I need you to live. Not just survive — live. Find happiness again. If there's a man worthy of you, don't wait for some notion of what's proper. Don't waste years in black, mourning a boy from Ohio who got himself killed in a war on the other side of the world.
You're 23 years old. You've got your whole life ahead of you. Promise me you'll live it.
But also — and I know this is selfish — wait for me if you can. Because I'm going to do everything in my power to come home to you. I'm going to be careful and I'm going to be brave and I'm going to do whatever it takes to see your face again.
The sergeant just came in. It's time.
I love you, Margaret. I love the way you laugh at my terrible jokes. I love the way you hum while you're cooking. I love the way you always smell like lavender, even when we haven't been able to afford lavender for months. I love that you're the last thing I think about before I sleep and the first thing I think about when I wake up.
You were the best thing that ever happened to me. In another life, I'd marry you all over again. In this one, I'm grateful for every moment we had.
All my love, forever and always, Thomas
Editor's Note: Private Thomas Richardson survived D-Day, though he was wounded at Omaha Beach. He returned home in March 1945 and lived with Margaret for 52 more years. They had four children and eleven grandchildren. Thomas fixed the porch step on his first day home. He and Margaret danced in their kitchen every anniversary until the year he died. Margaret followed him three months later. Their grandson found this letter, preserved in a Bible, while cleaning out their house. He has it framed above his fireplace. He reads it every Memorial Day.
Some stories don't need embellishment. They just need to be told.
THE END