The number of "others before it" is inconsequential, as we all know that they were simple, fleeting infatuations. There was nothing lasting or permanent, and my Henrietta is the only love I have ever had.

It pains me to write about such terrible things as the hunger that haunted the inhabitants of the "log-house city" of Jockey Hollow, but the story must prevail.

I huddled under a blanket with a few of my dragoons. It had been days since we had last eaten. Since just after the new year, we had been without meat or bread. If I am to be honest, I only took my horse out on that trail to distract from the gnawing ache in my stomach.

Two days into the storm, several feet of snow lay in drifts upon the ground, making any kind of travel impossible. It's just as well that it was so, or the men would have taken up their packs and marched home, where they could be guaranteed a warm hearth and and adequate meal. Neither could be found for them here. Hundreds were without shirts and other necessary articles. The lack of boots was deplorable, and I could not condemn any man treated this way, should he have chosen to desert.

Though written for a different campaign, this winter perfectly encapsulated the sentiment of Thomas Paine's renowned quote, "These are the times that try men's souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country, but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman." Love and thanks they deserved indeed for defending our grassroots country from the tyrants who would rule it.

"How long's it been coming down?" asked Lemuel Cook, one of the dragoons.

"Couple days, at least," another commented.

"Lucky our toes haven't fallen off," said another with a dry chuckle.

After days with barely a moment of silence, doing anything to be entertained, the quiet before had been a welcome relief. Awake was warmer than asleep, so, from lewd stories to frozen-fingered card games, any form of amusement was acceptable. I had remained quieter than most over those last two days, though no less conversational than I usually was.

"Hey, Ben! What's goin' on in that other world of yours?" queried Cook.

I chuckled. "Not much. A snowstorm, I'd wager."

"Really? Just a snowstorm?" He looked at me skeptically, with narrowed eyes and raised eyebrows. "You've been too quiet for it to be just a snowstorm."

"Yeah, no snowstorm's that interesting," another piped in.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe that, for the past two days, you've been staring into the fire, beaming, with the biggest puppy dog eyes I ever did see."

"Yeah, you have, Ben," a captain under my command confirmed.

I glared and mouthed 'traitor' to him. He shrugged and turned away.

"If it's really nothing, where'd those mittens come from?"

I glanced down at my hands. "Oh, Henrietta Wick up at the farmhouse made them for me." Mercifully, I managed to keep what I thought was a straight face as I spoke.

"Sounds like she's the one." He leaned forward again, smirking. "Tell all."

"Well, um, ah-" I stuttered, further proving his theory.

"Come on Ben, show that silver tongue of yours, boy."

"I- well, a shipmen of beef's supposed to arrive today. It's just a few cattle, but we should get something to eat-"

Cook sighed audibly. "You've been saying that whenever we make you even slightly uncomfortable. It's been three days!"

"It should come today, just watch-"

"Tell us about something we want to hear. Henrietta."

"Well, she- ah, she speaks French. And when I came upon her in the woods the other day, she was reciting Amiens' monologue from 'As You Like It'. 'Blow, blow thou winter wind-'"

"We understand, you two love Shakespeare. Continue."

"She's wise. She knows more about grief and love than I can ever hope to. She said you cannot have lived if you have not lost. And I think that's true. Love is the source of life, and all love requires some loss, though it ultimately ahs more gain. And when love is finally lost, it is never truly lost, because we grieve, and we mourn, and that action, in itself, is merely a continuance of our love." My eyes shined with tears, but I cleared my throat and continued. "Love, that beautiful, terrible thing, is near impossible to kill. It can never truly die, only change and mature into other forms of itself."

The cabin was silent. It was a stunned, yet contemplative silence, one full of thoughts none had expected to encounter.

Cook eventually cleared his throat and broke the silence. "Well," he stated. "When I bid you regale us with your silver tongue, that is not what I imagined it would speak!"

The dragoons chuckled softly, though it was more somber than before. I imagined they recalled losses of dear comrades: their friends, their brothers, just as I remembered Nathan and William whenever I pondered that same sentiment.

Just then, someone opened the door to our cabin, a few flakes of snow blowing in past them. "They've brought cattle!" the person shouted, dashing away as quickly as he had appeared.

"We'll eat well tonight, boys!" Cook laughed as we all stood and hurried towards the door. He elbowed me as he passed by on his way out the doorway. "Guess you were right, Benny Boy."

"No, don't- hey, get back here!" I shouted futilely as he ran away, laughing uproariously. "I am still your commanding officer! That is not an appropriate way to address me!"

I shook my head, abandoning the thought as he was soon out of earshot.

Glancing around me, I noticed the incredible amount of snow that had fallen. In addition to the previous storms' leavings, it was easily four feet high. It would continue to snow until the next day as well, adding at least six more inches. The sky was as stinking steel gray, and the wind, although gentler than it had been on previous days, was piercing, I wrapped my cloak more tightly around myself and followed the men into the storm.

Though this was only the beginning of a long, hard, snow-filled winter, deliverance from that storm brought solace, and I praised and thanked the Lord heartily for that.