Dart’s eight–page letter carries none of the heaviness that his longer letters so often do. It’s full of responses to her recent notes, practical comments on their budget, and happy chat.
He wonders if she marvels at the fact that they probably have just 35-40 letters left to write in their singleness. It seems hard to imagine that their “courtship” is about to come to an end.
The chambray dress she described sounds interesting. He can’t wait to see that and the other new items in her wardrobe. He’s glad she shortened the dress. “I think that few women look well in these new longer dresses. The dresses make skinny legs look bow-legged, cute calves look heavy, and round calves look fatter.” Is he suddenly a fashion critic, or just a keen observer of women’s legs?
He says he sure hopes they go to a formal occasionally, and then he mocks himself for using the word “occasionally,” as if such affairs happen every day in the lives of young Clevelanders. If they ever have the opportunity, though, she’ll have to teach him how to dance first.
He wishes he could meet her half-way down the aisle. Then he asks if he’ll be able to watch her walking down on Uncle Ralph’s arm, or will he be required to “look nonchalantly the other way, as if I didn’t know you were sneaking up behind me?” That makes me wonder what kind of weddings Dart has been to.
Has she realized yet what he just remembered he forgot to add to t he honeymoon budget? A honeymoon could not get off to a very good start if one didn’t first pay for the license and the minister.
Yes, he believes they will start to use the third floor immediately when they return to Cleveland. After all, the house will be full with Burke home for the summer. No one has told Kathleen yet that she’ll have to move out. His parents need her rent for as long as possible, but Dart feels they should tell her now because of the housing shortage.
As for their meals and cooking, his folks expect them to do most of their own meals up in their little apartment, which is the most sound and reasonable thing to do. However, they could be in big trouble if the cops find out. Storing and preparing food in an illegal third-floor apartment could get them into lots of trouble.
Dot’s estimate of $10 per week for rent is probably a little high. His parents plan for the third floor tenants to pay the rent for the whole apartment. Mr. Kuntz pays $14 a month and the total rent for the whole apartment is $45. That means Dot and Dart will be asked to pay $31 per month, or about $7.75 per week.
The typewriter will be paid for in October and he’d like to increase his pledge to the church. He doubts he’ll work at the newspaper if he can find another job, but whatever he earns should go toward lunches, recreation, and savings. If both of them get streetcar passes, that’s $2.50 per week. That’s about it for his comments on her draft budget.
“I was running for a streetcar today and some joker came running around a corner. We met. My palms filled with cinders and I got well shaken-up. I landed in some screwy way on my shoulder my chest and shoulder muscles hurt tonight. A minor matter, but I better feel like carrying you a couple of steps! Say, when do I carry you? Into 115 Mason Street, into Hotel Green (or a room therein), or into Bonnie Neuk? Or all three!?!”
The he asks, “Haven’t we had a nice courtship, Dot? In spite of war, and separation, and everything else, we’ve been a mighty happy pair. Lonely at times, to be sure. But even our loneliness has been tempered by the knowledge that we have the promises of each other, and the fulfillment of those promises to look forward to.”
He bids her good night and wonders how he can say or imply all the tenderness and longing that he has for you, except through those three little words they rely on. “I love you.”
# # #
Tonight, Dot and her mother went to a dinner hosted by Doug’s scout troop. They were raising money to improve the country cabin they use for camping. The tickets were $1.50 each and the place was mobbed, so she guesses they made a lot of money. All the mothers donated an apple pie to the dinner, and Dot made sure she got a slice of her mother’s.
Having finished her assignment at Town Hall, she’s back on her feet tomorrow, so she needs to hit the sack now.
“Good night, my dearest Dart. I’m yours, forever.”