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- The Love Letter (1998)
- aka Hallmark Hall of Fame: The Love Letter
- IMDB # 0140340
- Created by DonToribio (Subscence.Com moniker)
- Honolulu, Hawaii
- March 2012

Perfect.

- Take a look?
- Yeah.

Ah, hello there, folks, I'm Jacob Campbell.

She's a beauty, isn't she?

- Can I try it on?
- No, I'm afraid it's not for sale.

Belonged to my grandmother.

Good way to get folks into the shop, though.

Especially pretty young ladies
draggin' in their fellas, hum?

Very clever.

- There're more gowns over here.
- Oh, great.

- Are you a Civil War buff?
- A bit, yes.

- Do you mind if I take a look back here?
- Oh, no, help yourself.

I'm a bit of a restorer myself.

Ah...

I got these in just the other day.

- Nice. - Very old.
- They're all right.

- Beautiful.
- That desk belonged to a Union general.

Really?

Deb, come take a look at this.

- Great, huh?
- It's kinda fallin' apart.

I need a desk.

- How much will you take for it?
- Well, I was plannin' on restoring it myself...

but, if you really want it...800?

- Too much, let's go.
- Will you take 600?

This is 19th century;
800's the best I can do.

I can't pay 800.

This is the first time I've ever
seen you do an impulse buy.

I thought you wanted me
to be more spontaneous.

Next time be spontaneous over
something a little less... heavy.

You know? You're pretty
strong...for a girl.

It must be from throwing
all those manuscripts on the reject pile.

It must be. Look at that! Huh?

Wait till ya see when I get a little
waxy-polish on this little polish...

I should go.
Get out.

All right.

Sweet dreams.
You, too.

Dearest, 'tis after midnight...

and I am at last free to speak to you.

Mother, father and Flossy
have grown accustomed

to my late night scribbling,
and have bid me goodnight.

In my 29 years I have been
called upon by several gentlemen.

But you are the one who occupies my thoughts.

Even though you are not real,
you are more dear to me...

than the man who has asked
just this night for my hand in marriage.

I do not love him.

To please father I have tried.

And...sadly, I know I have a duty to obey

and must soon accept.

But I ache for a love that burns like fire,

and moonlight.

I speak with you in my mind and heart.

If you only existed outside of them...

Goodnight, Sweetheart.
Dream of me.

Dear, Lady:

I have just read your letter

in the secret compartment of your desk,

and wish there were some way...

I know you feel an obligation to your father

but you have to obey your heart.

It's a mistake to marry someone you don't love.

Don't despair; the man of your dreams

may be out there in the mist right now,

just a heartbeat away.

Who knows? Perhaps I'm the one you seek.

But, unfortunately, My Dear,

I've already given my heart...
to Scarlett O'Hara.

Yours always, Rhett Butler.

I can see; when are you going to finish?

Stop worrying, Lester.
It's almost done.

I can see this game is gonna
kill us at Christmastime.

- What kind of attitude is that?
- It'll be ready.

It better be. Meanwhile
we'll kill 'em in the bike race.

- Or not.
- You're hovering. Stop hovering.

Information.

Boston.

Let's see now.
Yeah, oh yeah, here it is.

- Picked it up in Willoughby.
- Where's that?

Oh, a half an hour north
of here, up near Salem.

Address: Number 3, Mill Plain Road.

Big old place outside of town.

6:52! Signafact has a 6:50 flat.

I'm happy for them.
We're happy for them, aren't we?

- No way!
- I've had it!

Come on, we have less than six weeks

'til everlasting glory.

The coach says, "One more time!"

This is private property!
You trespassing!

I'm sorry, I don't mean
to intrude, I just...

Off of my property, now!

Actually, I'm just interested in
somebody who used to live here.

I know exactly what you interested in.

And we not interested.
Miss Clarice not goin' to no nursin' home.

And you can tell that to
the whole blasted cousin group.

But Ma'am...Ma’am.

Lesson number 2.

Please: Per favore.

Per favore.

Thank you.

- Grazie.
- Grazie

You've outdone yourself this time,
"mamma mia".

Before a trip one should
immerse oneself in the culture.

You have certainly done that.

And it's no more Beatriz,
I've got everyone calling me "Beatrice".

Beatri...May I stick with "Mom", please?

You know, with all the money
going into your wedding,

you and Deborah could take
a trip around the world.

- I don't want to take a trip around the world.
- See, that's your problem,

you get too stuck, Scotty.
Trapped in your own little universe.

Oh, really! Actually you are talking to a man who

just answered a 134 year old love letter.

Mi scusi?
Yeah, I found it in this antique desk I bought.

"I dream of you...

I speak only in my mind and heart...
if only you existed."

- You memorized it.
- There was something so...sad about it.

So, I just answered it.

And did you mail it?

Yes, I did, but you know
I don't trust the Post Office

so I sent it Pony Express.

Don't get smart!

H. G. Wells believed in time travel.

And Einstein thought that time
was just another dimension.

You know, some people believe

that souls can travel through time.

Can we travel through silence?

- Do you have an address?
- No! See! Naw, I knew it.

I shouldn't have told you.
You're gonna get carried away.

Opening my mail now.

Your mail?

Well, this is dated 1863...
it took a little time to get here

- Where did you get this?
- From the desk.

From a secret compartment.

You're kidding me! Where?

Deb, I just walked in, I don't
feel like taking the desk apart.

Just asked.

Here.

In the drawer, there's a
little switch back here, and

That is so cool.

Poor thing.

Pouring her heart after nobody,
some fantasy guy.

Then she stuck it and married some
loser her father picked out for her.

Maybe she didn't marry him.

We're talking about the 1860's;
she married him.

I'm going to go check on dinner.

First class postage from Boston
to Willoughby in 1863 was one cent.

Careful with that, it wasn't cheap.

A bottle of ink. I got the Waterman people
to duplicate the formula they used back then.

Hold it! Hold it!

It's gotta be perfect or we don't have
a prayer of crossing the barrier.

Mother, stop!

Let's just say I bought into this madness
for a few milliseconds, which, of course, I don't

where would you suggest that I mail
this painstakingly authentic letter?

Manhasset Postal Substation on the north side...

built:1857, it's the only
pre-Civil War Post Office in existence.

It's open 24 hours for deposit.

Go at night. I'm not sure why
but it seems more appropriate.

Halt!

I really need to know something:
Do you think this is going to work?

Wouldn't it be awesome if it did?

Even though you are not real,
you are more dear to me

than the man who just this night
has asked for my hand in marriage.

I do not love him.

To please Father I have tried.

Sadly, I know I have the duty to obey

and must soon accept.

But I ache for a love that burns like fire

and moonlight.

I speak with you in
my mind and heart

If you only existed outside of them...

Goodnight, Sweetheart.

Dream of me.

Dear, Lady, I've just read the letter

from the secret compartment of your desk.

...which means, may be out there in
the mist right now, just a heartbeat away.

Who knows? Perhaps I'm the one you seek.

A friend.

Funny Farm, here I come!

- Good day to you, Mr. Potts.
- And to you, Maggie.

Elizabeth.

Elizabeth!

Flossy, have you seen your sister?

She's in the garden, Pap�.

- Miss Whitcomb?
- Mr. Reagle.

I found myself in the vicinity...
thought I'd take the liberty of stopping by.

How nice.

It's quite lovely, isn't it?
It's very lovely.

At midnight it should be in full bloom,

and then, come morning, it should be gone.

I'm trying to write a poem about her.

I do hope you read it to
me once it's completed.

I find your verses most...charming.

Thank you.

It looks like it'll be a lovely evening.

I have had some training.

I was wondering Miss Whitcomb...Lizzie.

Yes, Mr. Reagle?

I was wondering if you've had
an opportunity to consider the

the suggestion I made to you
during our previous visit.

Oh, yes, well, I'm still considering it.

Well...glad to hear that.

I...I fell one of my headaches coming on,
so I'm going to say goodnight.

Father, Mother, Floss

Oh...Lizzie...I forgot.

There's a letter for you.

Thank you, Mother.

Do feel better, Dear.

- Lizzie?
- Yes, Father?

Your mother and I wonder if
there's anything you wish to tell us.

No, Father.

I spoke at some length
earlier with Everett Reagle.

He's given me to believe that the
two of you have come to an understanding.

I have only agreed to what you might call

a prelude to an understanding.

I see.
And might this "prelude"...

lead eventually to an actual understanding?

An engagement?

And to a marriage?

Father, I don't love him.

You're 29 years old, Lizzie.

Father, I know you want
what you think is best for me.

And I know what is expected of me.

It's not merely our expectations,
it's common sense.

A woman of your years, however
comfortable her situation,

may scarcely afford to be reluctant

when a suitable match presents itself.

- Another headache?
- Yes, Father.

- Is there anything I can do?
- No, I just, I think I just need some sleep.

Who are you?

Who are you?

Sir! I received your astonishing letter today,

and am amazed by your audacity.

Who are you?

And how could you know there was
something in my secret place to be stolen?

I wonder if I place the second letter

in the same place as the first,

am I in the tour for some feverish dream.

Or will you violate my privacy again?

In mystification,
Elizabeth Whitcomb.

Dear Elizabeth:

I'm sure you'll find this as
impossible to believe, as I do.

My name is Scott Corrigan.
I live in Boston,

but not the Boston you know.

While I write these words at my desk,

or rather, your desk, because I now
own the desk that sits in your bedroom,

I try to imagine how all
of this could have happened.

The only explanation I can come up with is,

that, for some reason,
the connection between us is so strong

that we're able to talk to each other
across the chasm of time.

If I haven't utterly terrified you,

please sit at OUR desk and write again soon.

Yours, Scott Corrigan.

Lizzie.

- Good heavens! What's the matter?
- Nothing!

You startled me.
I was somewhere else.

- Because of something in the letter?
- What letter?

The letter you're trying to hide from me.

Oh.

That letter.

No, no, no, it's just another
rejection from the publisher.

Oh, Lizzie, I'm sorry.

Your verses are...
transcendental.

If only Mr. Ralph W. Emerson,

of the New England Literary Journal,
felt the same way.

I still don't understand why...

you won't submit them to
Mr. Reagle for his magazine.

I have submitted them to Mr. Reagle.
I'm still awaiting a response.

I'm sure someone will print your verses.

You just have to be patient.

Dear, Mr. Corrigan:

I have decided to accept
that the laws of nature

as they apply to you and me

have been, for whatever reason,
temporarily suspended.

Okay! That was easy.

- How about flatware?
- Yes, yes, flatware.

You have the advantage over me
in that you know my most deepest secrets.,

while I know none of yours.

Tell me who you are and
how you live in your time

so many years in the future.

- How's this?
- It's too...Sci-Fi.

The most important of all,

tell me whether this conjunction between us

which I confess, I feel as strongly as you,

means that you, too, yearn
for a deep and passionate love.

How about this?

...or is there already someone you love.

Write soon, before the laws
of nature re-assert themselves.

Maybe we should just eat with our hands.

No, no, no. I’m sorry.

Dear, Lizzie, you have asked
some crucial questions.

- Have I?
- M’um?

Have I added the nutmeg?

Nutmeg, in pound cake?

What a peculiar recipe.

Cinnamon. I meant have I added cinnamon.

Do I yearn for love?
Yes, of course.

Am I in love now.
I am engaged to be married, and...

yes, I believe I'm in love.

"I believe".

What, M'um?

I believe this is going to be a delicious cake.
Don't you, Maggie?

If you'll excuse me, M’um,
I'll see to the dusting room.

A friend once said that when you're in love,

you light up like a Christmas tree
when your lover enters the room.

I don't think I ever felt that way,

at least not until last night,
when I found your second letter.

- And how many does this make?
- Three, counting the first one.

And you're sure nobody is...?

playing some kind of bizarre joke? Impossible.

No! This is impossible.

Mother, you're the one that talked
me into this insanity in the first place.

But I never dreamed...

- What in the world does Debra think about all this?
- I didn't tell her.

You didn't tell her?!?

- It's incredible, isn't it?
- I'll tell you what's incredible:

My son, who is engaged to
be married, is having an affair

with a woman who's been dead
for over a hundred years.

Mom, we write letters.

Letters that you keep secret from you fiancé.

And what about Elizabeth Whitcomb?

Scotty, you don't have the right to get
mixed up in a life that's already been lived.

If she doesn't love the guy,
she shouldn't marry him.

We should go.
Rome awaits you.

I can't believe we're
having this conversation.

- This woman doesn't exist!
- Then who wrote this?

In this world, in the world you
and I live in, she does not exist.

Then why do I feel...
the way I feel?

And what way is that?

My Dear Lizzie:
I can't begin to tell you

how wonderful I feel
as I read your letters.

I only wish I could hold you in my arms.

- Mr. Potts, could you look once more please?
- Yes, Miss Lizzie.

I'm sorry, there's...there's nothing.

Dearest: Another week gone
by and still no letter.

Are you worried that since you
told me of your engagement

I would think you a scoundrel

for professing tender feelings for me?

I'm worried about those
"tender feelings" in the first place.

I'm not so innocent as you
might think, Mr. Corrigan.

I have danced the waltz with many men.

And, I'm an avid reader
of the modern novel.

So, I am au courant on
the subject of forbidden passion.

I'm afraid this waltz is going to have
to be mine and Debra's, Miss Whitcomb.

The hard truth is, we are
doomed to be chaste...

to never touch each other,
hear each other, see each other.

So, what harm can there be
to write to each other?

If you are still there,
write to me quickly and tell me

what it means to
"Light up like a Christmas Tree".

- Good Morning.
- You again.

I'm really sorry to bother you, I'm just
trying to find out about the Whitcombs.

Why?

Well, I bought a desk that
used to belong to one of them,

and I just became interested
in the family.

Thought I'd write a book about 'em.

A book!
They just regular folk.

You know who they were?

Clarice's grandma was a Whitcomb.

- Clarice?
- The lady I take care of.

You mean there's a Whitcomb
living in here right now?

That's right. I've had 50 years

of her temper, and believe me,
it's worse than mine.

I'd really love to talk to her,
would that be possible?

She's sleeping.

I know this is an intrusion, but...

Would you mind if I
just took a peek inside?

Why would I let you do that?

I'll paint the house.

This side, anyway.

If you turn out to be one of them no-good
lawyers for Clarice's no-good cousins...

I'll take a rolling pin to you.

Yes, Ma'am.

- Okay, Mister, you've had your peek.
- Just a minute, please.

Mae, who is that you're
talkin' to down there?

Now you've done it!

Clarice.

Who are you?

This fellow's writin' a book...
about the Whitcombs.

He wanted to meet you.

How do you do, Ma'am,
my name is Scott.

- You're a fool, Mae, he's a lawyer.
- No Ma'am, I'm not a lawyer.

I told the whole lot of you,
I'm not leavin' this house,

until the good Lord takes me.

I'm just trying to find some
information about Elizabeth Whitcomb.

Liars, all of you!
Get out!

I warned ya.

How do you know about Lizzie?

I found a letter that she wrote,
in an old desk, probably from here.

Grandma Flossy told me
stories about my Aunt Elizabeth.

She was very beautiful.

I never knew her.

Can you tell me if she was ever married?

I need to sleep now.

I need to know if she was ever married.
Ma'am?

You coming?

Dear Lizzie: Ben Franklin named
it electricity

and we now use it
to power machines,

to light our homes,
and our Christmas trees.

Good morning, Miss Lizzie.

Thank you.

To light up like a Christmas tree

means to glow with pleasure,
and I am glowing...right now.

I went to your house on
Mill Plain Road...yes, it's still there.

A very old woman, your sister
Flossy's granddaughter lives in it.

And I actually stood in your bedroom.

But what I will never forget is
how I suddenly felt your presence

on the stairs. Almost as if
you touched my cheek.

It's crazy, but I felt as
if I could touch you, too.

Lizzie, to ignore what's happened
would be to deny a miracle.

Forgive my silence,
it won't happen again.

I promise, all my love, Scotty.

Darling Scotty, I beg you
please keep your promise.

Never stop writing again,
or I fear I shall stop breathing,

because my breath stop now

at the thought of you in
my house, in this very room.

Amazing as it seems,
I felt it, too,

in the very same place
on the stairs.

A touch like a sweet promise.

I know that we are tempting fate,
and in reality

there is your time,
and my time.

We shall live and love across time.

It's a deal.

I dream of you,
but I can't see your face.

Please, send me a picture.

Remember, you have to be still,
don't move.

I want you to look as if you
are about to walk into my arms.

- Hey! - How are you?
- I'm good. - Good

- How are you?
- Good, good, good.

You look so happy,
what happened?

...you're here!

Good answer.

Who's that?

That is Elizabeth Whitcomb.

- The one who wrote the letter?
- Yeah.

Well, where d'you get it?

Actually, I got it from someone
who lives in her old house.

- You went to her house?
- Yeah.

- Why?
- Just curious.

Well, how did d'you even find it?

I got some info from that antique guy. Stopped by
on the way back from practice. It's in Willoughby.

- Oh.
- Yeah.

Well...

I guess I should be grateful that

the other woman's a dead one.

This parcel of land is for sale.

I know you love nature, Lizzie,

and that is uppermost in my mind
as I survey the region for a

for a possible future home...together.

I appreciate that.

- I was wondering, Mr. Reagle...
- Um-huh.

...if you'd had a chance to peruse
the verses I gave you a month ago.

Oh! Yes, yes.
I've read them, yes.

Well?

They're very interesting.

Very passionate.

Perhaps not quite as attentive as
they might be to the mechanics of the art.

The odd meters...broken rhymes.

You have aptitude;
you need guidance.

I hope in the future you will
allow me to provide it...

...in all things.

I have decided to cease writing poetry.

I know "His Reagle Highness"
is too conventional

to take me seriously.

until my work has been validated by others.

But the truth is, My Darling,
there are no others.

I sing, but nobody listens...except you.

So I offer you the last poem
I shall ever write.

- So, you and Deb doin' the marriage thing, huh?
- Yeah.

Yes, we're doin' the marriage thing.

- It's a great book.
- Thanks.

- Listen, Danny, can I ask you a favor?
Do you mind?

- Sure.
- Would you mind...sorry,

would you mind taking a look at a poem
and tell me what you think of it?

You want me to evaluate
your poem right here, right now?

It's not mine, it's a friends.
It's short. Do you mind?

- All right.
- Thank you.

"Stanger, not on this earth shall we meet

though surely I have lived a
life with you, I would wed etern..."

Tell him not to give up his day job.

What's a matter with it?

Besides being old fashioned,
sentimental and derivative?

You mean as opposed to the pretentious drivel
that gets published these days?

- What is your problem?
- I didn't have one until about 10 seconds ago.

- Oh, really, and what would that be?
- Ah...you!

- Really? - Yeah.
- Well, I seem to be...

What's going on?

I insulted his friend's poetry.

What's he talking about?
What friend?

Nothing. Nobody.

Well, it had to be somebody if you
almost came to blows over it.

It's Elizabeth Whitcomb's.
I found it in another drawer in the desk.

I just felt it might have
some historical significance.

Well, it has significance all right.

Debra.

- What's goin' on, Scotty?
- Nothing. Nothing's going on.

First you don't tell me about finding her letter.

And then you go tracking down
Elizabeth Whitcomb's house,

and you don't tell me about
that either, and then you

don't tell me about getting
her picture or about finding her poem.

- Honey, you're blowing this out of proportion.
- No! Don't! You're putting

more energy into Elizabeth Whitcomb
than you are into our wedding plans.

- It's not true!
- I want to know why, I mean

- are you that freaked-out about getting married?
Is that what this is?
- I don't know what you're talking about.

Because if you don't want to do this,
Scotty, you just say the word.

Be honest and tell me, because we'll call it off.

I do...I don't want to call it off, okay?

I'm sorry, okay?

It's my fault, it means nothing, okay?

Dear Lizzie, please don't
stop writing your poetry.

First of all, this Reagle guy sounds like he wouldn't
know a good poem if it smacked him in the face.

You say you sing but nobody listens?

Maybe that's true for now, but what about
in 10 years? In 100 years?

You once said we were doomed
never to touch each other,

but you did touch me...with your words.

Keep singing, My Love.

I'll always be here to listen.

Oh, Floss, there's nothing to worry about.

Then why do you have to go all the way to Boston?

The doctor thinks my headaches may have
something to do with my eyes.

And there's a specialist there.

I'm coming with you. Cousin Delia
has plenty of room.

No, Floss.

I need you here.

I'm going to tell you something
that may sound rather strange.

Even a little mad,
but I assure you it's true.

Now, I need you to promise me not to
interrupt until I'm finished.

Riders, ready!
5... 4... 3... 2... 1... GO!!

So, I take the letters that you send
to me here from Mr. Corrigan...

put them in that compartment, close it, and they...

And you must promise to send his letter
to me care of Cousin Delia in Boston.

Is he going to be okay?

The EEG does indicate some brain swelling

but fortunately his vital signs are stable.

When will he come out of it?

Right now it's just impossible to know.

Elizabeth Whitcomb to see Dr. Reed.

- Please take a seat, Miss Whitcomb.
- Thank you.

We'll have an accommodation room
for you shortly, Miss Whitcomb.

Colonel Denby.

- 'til Friday, Colonel.
- Yes, thank you..

Miss Whitcomb, follow me.

I'm so sorry.

- Miss Whitcomb, I...
- Colonel Denby.

- What a coincidence.
- Pardon my clumsiness.

Oh, it's all right, you seemed in a hurry.

Yes.

Well, don't let me keep you.

Might I accompany you, Miss Whitcomb?

Well, I...I wouldn't want to
interfere with your plans.

No, you're not, I have none.
I mean, ah....

Where is your destination?

Actually, I'm not quite sure.

Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a cup of tea
and we can decide where we're going.

All right.

Have you long been a patient of Dr. Reed's?

No, this was my first visit.

Are you present...forgive me, feeling poorly?

No, at present I fell quite well.

Forgive my boldness, may I
ask you a strange question?

Yes.

How is it I have the total
conviction that I know you?

I don't know, but I feel the same.

My Dearest Scotty: This afternoon I met
a gentleman named Caleb Denby.

Presently a colonel commanding
the 19th Massachusetts.

Scotty, the moment I saw him,
I was powerfully drawn to him.

And he, it appears, seems to feel
an attraction as well.

Please do not fear, My Darling, that I am
in any way moving away from you.

For I feel, strange as it may seem,

that being with Caleb, brings me closer to you.

I have the uncanny feeling that
what is happening, it is meant to happen.

You promised to read to me.

- Oh, no, please!
- Please.

All right, let me see.

No laughing!

"Stranger, not on this earth shall we meet.

But surely, I have lived a life
and have dreamed of you.

I would wait eternity to touch you.

It's okay, it's okay.

Dearest Scotty, I despair at ever
hearing from you again.

Flossy assures me that my letters to you continue
to miraculously vanish from the secret compartment.

So I pray that you are still connected to me,

reading this by one of your
"electrical lights", and understand it.

Gracious ladies and fine gentlemen,
thank you for coming.

Allow me to introduce the guest speaker

who will tell you what your attendance
and your generous contributions mean

to the wounded soldiers of our Great State.

This brave officer was grievously injured

at Chancellorsville, but he is returning
to his regiment this very week.

Let's all give a warm welcome
to Colonel Caleb Denby

of the 19th Massachusetts Infantry.

You didn't tell me you were coming here tonight.

- I thought I'd surprise you.
- Well, you have.

- You're not seriously going back, are you?
- I have to.

- How long do we have?
- I leave day after tomorrow.

Lizzie, I need to see you alone.
Will you meet me tonight on The Common?

- I can't...my Cousin Delia.
- What?

...practically asleep now.

Lizzie.

- I kind of organized it for you. - Great. Thanks.
- Um-huh. - Sure.

So, um, maybe you should go up and lie down.

No, I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine.

Look! See! I'm fine.
I'm nimble.

...well...

- Are you all right?
- I'm all right. I'm okay.

- I'm cancelling my meeting.
- I'm fine, Debra, I'm fine.

Just a little dizzy, the Doctor said
that was normal...normal dizziness, okay?

All right? My mother's coming over,
she'll cook Italian...

I have to get back to living
sooner or later, right?

Right.

- Promise you'll call me.
- I promise.

Great.

Scott...

When you...when you woke up in the Hospital...

Yeah?

Nothing. Just glad you're back.

Me, too.

...I am powerfully drawn to him
and he, it appears

seems to feel an attraction as well.

Very soon, he will be returning to his regiment.

He says there are rumors of a decisive battle

somewhere in southern Pennsylvania.

Darling, I am so frightened.

Southern Pennsylvania.

Southern Pennsylvania in 1863.

Southern Pennsylvania. Gettysburg!

Gettysburg, Gettysburg.

19th, 19th Massachu...

19th Mass.

19th Mass.

50 per cent.

...Delaney, Denby!

Colonel Caleb Denby, killed in action July 3rd.

June 28th.

Dearest Lizzie:

Do not let Colonel Denby return to his regiment.

- Where are you going.
- Post Office.

- You just got out of the Hospital!
- I have to get this to Lizzie.

- Scotty, you cannot drive there!
- Yes, I can!
- All right, I'll drive!

- What's that?
- That's the Post Office.

- ...back behind the barricade there, Sir.
- Sir, I'm sorry. I need to get in there.

- I know. Please, please behind the barricade!

You can't go in there.

- Stay here. I'm just gonna go in for a second.
- No! - Stay! Wait here!

No! No! Scotty! No! Come back!

When I come back, will you marry me?

Yes.

- Are you sure, Flossy?
- I check each day.

And my letter to him?

They vanished, just as you said.

He promised.

Lizzie, Dear.

Mr. Reagle has just arrived to welcome you home.

Oh, no, Mother. I...I...I can't just now.

Your father's told him you'd be right down.

Just freshen up a bit, Dear.

I'm sure seeing him will lift your spirits.

Well, I do believe with General Grant
permanently in charge now

the Western Campaign will be going much...

I anticipate a speedy and comprehensive victory.

Oh, I...I hope you're all right, Sir.

Welcome back, Miss Whitcomb.
You were missed by all.

Thank you, Mr. Reagle.

I hope you will forgive me, but I'm
rather fatigued, it was a long journey.

And I'd like to postpone this visit.

Lizzie...I've asked Mr. Reagle to join us at dinner.

Maggie.

- Is there something for me?
- Yes, M'um. only this.

Lizzie, can you not be
more considerate of our guest?

In a moment, Father.

Lizzie, what is it?

Get my bag, Flossy! Hurry!

Father, I have to go to the Station right away.

But you've just this minute come
from the Station. What was in that letter?

Mr. Reagle, will you give me a
ride in your shay, please?

Dear Lady, I..I would do
anything to please you, but...

against the wishes of your father...

Then I shall walk.

- I forbid it!
- I am not a child, Father.

You can't stop me.

This is what comes of letting
her go to Boston unattended.

Warren!

Flossy, what did she tell you?

Lizzie!

Lizzie!

Excuse me.

Does this train go anywhere near Gettysburg?

Naw. Closest you can get, Ma'am, is Harrisburg,

if the Rebs ain't cut the line yet.

- You'll have to take a carriage from there.
- Thank you.

All aboard!

- Oh, hi. -Hi.
- You're here.

Yeah.

Look what I got.

Lots of yeses.

People wrote back already, huh?

The wedding's four weeks away.

- Don't forget, you lost a month.
- I know, I know, sorry.

Honey...

If you think that we should postpone this,
maybe it would be difficult but we could do it.

- No, I don't want to do that, Honey.
- Fine.

- Hello.

Any word?

Uh...no, not yet.

I wonder if she even got the letter.

Yeah, I was wondering that, too.

Listen, Debra's here.

Sorry. Well, send her my love and call
me if you hear anything, okay?

Okay, bye-bye.

That was mom, she send her love.

- What ..what was that all about?
- Uh...she's just worried about me.

That makes two of us.

I'm fine. Why is that so difficult to believe?

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

Okay. Whatta we got here?

- I'm just trying to do this second stack.
- All right.

C'mon, Lizzie, it starts at dawn.

Conductor.
Ma’am?

Will you take me to Gettysburg?

Gettysburg! The heaviest fightin'
in the war is goin' on up there!

Please, please take me.
I have to get there tonight.

I'll...I'll pay you anything that you like.

It ain't the money, Ma’am

Fine! I'll find someone else.

Driver. Will you please take me to Gettysburg?

All right, Ma’am.

- I'll take you to Gettysburg.
- Thank you, Sir.

Forward, Boys!

Driver, can't you go any faster?

The horses are goin' as fast as they can, Ma’am.

- Driver, will you wait for me, please?
- Yes, Ma’am.

Soldier!

Do you know where the 19th Massachusetts is?

There ain't no more 19th Massachusetts, Ma’am.

The Rebs got 'em, got 'em good.

What's left is over there.

Caleb.

Darling.

Lizzie.

Caleb.

I promised to marry you.
I promised to marry you.

It's okay, it's all right. It's all right.

- Say something.
- What?

Like on the river, say something.

"Stranger, not on this Earth... "

"Stranger, not on this Earth shall we meet...

though I have surely lived with you,
dreamed of you,

I would wait eternity to touch you.

Not in this world Outsized...

Falling forward,

Never to lose you".

Lizzie, Dear, are you all right?

No, Mother, I am not.

- Elizabeth...
- Not now, Father.

Dearest, Scotty: I received your warning,

but it was too late.

Oh, my Darling.

My Colonel is gone, and with him
went that part of you

I never thought to hold.

So, write to me.

For you're all of him that remains.

I'm so sorry.

I know you don't want to hear this,
but it's for the best.

Mother, Caleb is dead, Lizzie's heart
is broken and I can't even reach her.

An incredible miracle happened, Scotty.

And you'll never forget it, but it's over.

It's time for you to be in the present
with the woman you're about to marry.

You do still want to marry her, don't you?

Hi.

Hi.

Are you all right?

We need to talk.

What is it?

Read these.

Miss Lizzie.

I found this letter after you left.

Dear Lizzie: Please do not stop
writing your poetry.

You once said we were doomed
to never touch each other,

but you did touch me...with your words.

Keep singing, My Love.

I'll always be here to listen.

No.

Of course.

What are these?

Elizabeth Whitcomb wrote them.

She's...

been writing to me.

Her letters just appear in the desk,

and then...

I write back to her.

What you're telling me...

What you're telling me is...crazy.

It's insane.

What, what, what, what is this?
What are you doing?

- I'm trying to show you, I'm trying to tell you.
- Tell me what?

I fell in love with her.

Elizabeth Whitcomb?

I know it sounds...

I don't know what that accident did to you,

- but this is really frightening, and...
- Deb, listen to me.

What?

Open it.

Dearest, Caleb is dead, and so,
My Future Love, are you.

It must be so, for you are one in the same.
I know that now.

But almost, as if from the grave

you have returned to me
something I thought I had lost:

My voice, although you may never hear it,

I am enclosing this song for you.

This is crazy.

How can this be?

I don't know, but it's true.

This isn't happening, this is not possible.

It is happening, it is happening.

I don't understand it.

I'm sorry I dragged you through it, but it's real.

But it is real.

The love I felt for this woman,

that I feel for her...is real.

Debra.

You deserve to be loved...

completely.

I'm not even going to try
to understand what's happening.

But I know this...

if you don't feel that way about me,

we shouldn't be together.

I will never forget how the winds
of time blew back and forth for me.

I will never forget how my heart lit up

like a glowing Christmas tree.

Though I wander in the hell or heaven,

my slate wiped clean by death,

of you, My Love, My Dream Love,
I'll never, ever forget.

When?

Tuesday.

I'm sorry. May I come in?

- So, what will you do now?
- Well, she left me the house, so,

I'll stay a while and see how it feels.

Would you mind if I took one last look at her room?

- Suit yourself.
- Thanks.

Lizzie.

Are you here?

Oh, Scott.

I miss you so much.

Are you all right, Mister?

Yes, Ma’am

Clarice wanted you to have this.

She found it in the attic
when she was a little girl.

It's a batch of letters, diaries, papers,
and poems, lots of poems.

It's funny,

Clarice could swear there were
no poems in it when she was a kid.

Of course she was getting
pretty forgetful there at the end.

"Dear Miss Whitcomb: You're my favorite
teacher at Willoughby School for Girls.

She became a teacher. That's great.

Miss Whitcomb, Miss Whitcomb.

Guess she didn't marry
His Reagle Highness, after all.

- Who?
- Nothing, it's not important.

Lizzie.

That's you!

How did you get in there?

I'll try to explain, but...

You're never gonna believe it.

"I never forgot".

Whoa, whoa, who are you? Hey! Stay!

Orbit, come! Come here, Boy!
Come here Boy, quick, quick!

And no jumping on strangers!

It's all right.

- I'm so sorry.
- It's okay.

Don't worry about it.

He must really like you.
He doesn't usually jump on people.

Is something wrong?

No, no, nothing. Sorry.
Sorry, he's all right.

Well, again, sorry.
I didn't mean to intrude.

Bye.

Good Boy!

Excuse me, sorry.

Do you know where I could get
a good cup of coffee, or...

Yeah! I know a know a really good place,
actually, it's like three blocks from here.

Could you show me?

- Can I buy you a cup...
- No, no. That's all right.

No, really, it's the least we can do.

- You talked me into it.
- Okay, then.

- I'm Scott.
- Hi. Beth.

Poems by Elizabeth Whitcomb, edited by Scott Corrigan.