Dart has typed today’s letter also. Let’s just say that’s a good thing, because it looks like he needs lots of practice!
He joined the Congregational Church today and his parents joined him for communion. He feels good about his decision. This afternoon he had another one of those blinding headaches, making it harder to catch up on all of his homework assignments. There has been a fairly light load this week because so many students are having difficulty finding the text books, but he still has to read 60 pages of Colonial Lit and complete a measuring assignment for Journalism. (He must measure the column inches that the Plain Dealer devotes to different categories of stories.) So far in Lit class he’s had to read some writings by John Smith, which the author embellished a great deal to make himself appear to be the Superman of Jamestown.
Perhaps Dot saw an article in This Week about Dr. J. J. Nassau of Case University. He runs the observatory there and holds public lectures on astronomy. Dart’s hoping he and Dot can attend a few of these entertaining and free lectures after they’re married.
This little typewriter has won Dart’s heart. It’s an amazing piece of machinery, which is the quickest way to Dart’s heart, unless you’re a cute Connecticut Yankee named Dot. He likes it more every minute he uses it, but he’d hate to have to design and build something this complex that ends up selling for a mere $61.00.
“My watch tells me it’s almost supper time, so I guess I better stop now. I only wish you were the one fixing the supper. Thank you for not hating me after the way I treated you a few of the nights of our vacation. My actions then will always be a blot on the otherwise perfect three weeks.”
That last paragraph bothered me when I read it, and it must have bothered Dart as well, because He returned to the letter to write a long P. S. The first part of the post script was about a visit from Guy and Ann and the antics of their delightful little girls, Martha and Carolyn. But then he returned to the previous subject. “I still love you, Dot. Please remember that. I feel almost sick when I think of the way I acted. Until I feel worthy of your forgiveness, I won’t ask for it. All I hope is that someday we will understand. Thank you my Dear for all you are. I love you very much. So much that I feel ashamed to tell you after our misunderstanding.”
# # #
At church this morning, Dot tried to visualize Dart standing among the new members at the front of the sanctuary. Later, she daydreamed about the next time she sees him and how he’ll be standing by the altar for a different reason. “Yes, it’s now only a few months until the BIG DAY!!!. Eight months isn’t such a long time, really. (It says here.)”
Ever since she’s been home she’s been living with the constant hope that they would be together at Christmastime. “I sometimes get so lonesome for you that I wonder how I’ll ever get through the winter without looking like ‘the last rose of summer blooming alone’.” She hopes it’ll get easier when she starts her job, but that won’t take all the hurt away.
“Last night I had the most horrible dream about the misunderstanding we had when we got back from Sunapee. Dart, it was the most terrifying and most realistic dream I’ve ever experienced. I will never forgive myself for acting so childish. You know it is my last wish to do anything that makes you doubt your love for me. I want our love to be as deep and sincere and wholesome as any love can be. I wish I could do something which would make me as vital to you as you are to me. I may never achieve my goal, but I hope that with a knowledge of shorthand and typing I will be able to help you a great deal in your school work next year. Mountain climbing is ever so much more fun when two people do it together. Then, when they reach the summit, the can enjoy the view together and look upon their climb as having been well worth the hard work.”
Saying that this was one of those letters she should probably burn, and knowing she should quit now before she makes herself even more upset, she tells Dart, “Forgive me for loving you so much. It was always something I couldn’t help.”
I wonder if Mom will be able to share any information about the incident they both feel so sad and guilty about. Has it been lost in the intervening decades of predominantly good memories, or will she remember it, and choose to keep it private?