When the mail deliveries start, they come in a flood. Dart got five letters from Dot today, plus three more from other folks. Finally, the one bearing the news that she was too young to enlist brought the sheer relief Dart was hoping for. He admits to feeling like a heel because she is so disappointed and he is so very happy.

He loves the Easter photos she sent. One of the old married men in his group was very impressed with the picture of Dot and El in their Easter finery. When he said he’d like a date with either one of those gorgeous sisters, Dart let him know that Dot was spoken for (by him) and El was engaged to a young soldier.  Dart was especially fond of the photograph where Dot is wearing her “Ipana” smile and the corsage he sent.

He promises to learn to dance when he gets home for good. He likes to dance, and he wants to dance with her always. He looks forward to all the practice they’ll need to do together. (Anything to get his arms around her, I’d say!)

As he continues to answer that long-ago letter, he wonders what the story is behind her swimming in an outdoor pool in March with all her clothes on. He knows it would have required far more than a $5.00 bet for him to do something like that.

Yes, he tells her there was someone wearing that sequinned dress he took to a school dance. They had two dates, neither of which was much fun. Dot has seen her photo in his high school annual, and that’s all that needs to be said on the subject.

He explains that in a few days the ship is having an all-out inspection of the decks and below-deck spaces. Everyone is working full bore with paint brushes, soapy water and elbow grease. Because I know that the Haggard has been crippled and towed to dry dock, I’m curious why they would be undergoing such a heavy-duty inspection. Perhaps it’s to give the guys work to do while they await the fate of their ship. Must maintain that Navy discipline!

That’s all he has time for tonight, except to dream of their future together and wonder how long they’ll have to wait until their dreams come true.

When Dot was walking home from work last night, her mailman passed her in his car and held two fingers out of his window. Since she’d already received a letter from Dart yesterday morning and since afternoon deliveries of his letters are rare, Dot thought the mailman was just teasing her. Surprise! There were two letters from Dart waiting for her when she got home! “And what swell letters they were! Filled with the kind of thing every girl loves to read. Gee, but I love you!”

She says that if he doesn’t get the letter she wrote on April 10 soon, they will all go nuts. She fully expects more letters to arrive any day telling her not to join the WAVEs.

Just between the two of them, Dot would rather see spring in Ohio than in Greenwich. Maybe it’ll work out by the time she’s an old woman, she jokes.

Mr. Miller must have been discouraged about Dart not getting back to the States soon enough because he sold his old bike which he’d offered to let Dart ride next time he was in town. Dot says he shouldn’t fret. By the time he gets out her way, maybe she’ll have bought the little Crosley car she’s always wanted. A girl can dream, can’t she?

She shares Dart’s wish that she could be in on the planning discussions for their little house. She knows absolutely nothing about planning and building houses, but Harriet and George built their own home by all by themselves, and Harriet is grateful for the skills and knowledge she acquired in the process. From what Dot can tell from the drawings, the bedrooms seem a a little small. Is he able to incorporate some of the hallway space into bedroom square footage? She’ll enclose some plans she found in McCall’s this month for a kitchen/laundry combo. Maybe he can garner some new ideas from there.

She’s also enclosing a small clipping of the actor Walter Abel. Both she and Dart think he bears a striking resemblance to Dart, Sr.

He will get no argument from Dot about what a nice name “Mrs. Dorothy Peterson” is.  She also likes “Mrs. D. G. Peterson, Jr.” She’s tickled that he, too, likes to spend his time writing that name over and over again.

She resumes the letter very late that same day, after enjoying an evening rain shower and a beautiful sunset. “it may be tomorrow where you are now, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to get some ‘shut-eye’ before tomorrow rolls around these parts.” She reminds him how much she loves him and then signs off.

It’s an exuberant sailor who writes today. He received 18 letters in today’s delivery! He has so much to write now, but top on his list is how grateful he is that she’s not bitter over the letter he wrote about the WAVEs. He feared he’d overstepped, and she has put his heart at ease. Another bit of proof at how well suited these two are for each other.

He’s curious about that long letter she promised – something about a chat she wants to have over something that kept her awake so late one night. Where’s the letter? he asks. What’s the topic? I think that’s the one she wrote earlier this month asking him to think long and hard about why he loves her, as she considers herself so unworthy. I’m sure it’ll catch up with him soon.

Among all those letters were eight from his parents and one from Readers’ Digest telling him they have received word of his change of address and will send back issues immediately. Finally, his Christmas gift from Ruth Chamberlain will reach him.

The letters from his folks are full of praise for Dot. They seem to be aware of the pair’s plans for after the war, and they approve whole-heartedly. Again, Helen mentioned how nice it would be if the “kids” lived nearby and would stop in to see them frequently.

He needs to cut this letter short and write a long one to his parents because he’s been neglecting them lately. He fills in most of the rest of the page with the repeated stanza “I love you!” The he adds, “Endless, isn’t it? But I’m sure it’s true. Never mind about those big ‘ifs’ I wrote. I don’t feel as though they apply anymore, at least for now. Goodnight, my Darling. I miss you ever so much. Can I ever tell you how much?”

Dot is planning on a movie tonight with Nancy, so she’s dashing off a letter today from work. It’s written in pencil on a cheap yellow tablet and has not weathered the intervening 70 years as well as good stationery and ink, Still, it’s a treasure.

Her big news today comes in the form of a story. Last August, Readers’ Digest announced a contest on how to run a small business. It was intended to help returning servicemen know exactly what was needed to begin a business of their own. Ruth encouraged Arthur to take a stab at the contest, so in 300 words, he told how much start-up capital was needed, how much physical space would be required and how many employees were needed to maintain the business, etc.

Not long after he sent his entry in, the magazine called him to ask that he write a more detailed piece, not needing to count his words. He put it off for a very long time because his business keeps him so busy. When he finally returned his story in January, the family was sure he was too late.

This morning he called home from his shop. “Don’t tell me there isn’t a Divine Providence who looks after fools and drunkards,” he said. “And I don’t drink. In this morning’s mail, there was a letter from Readers’ Digest telling me I had won first prize of $250.00 and a check for same was enclosed!” (Imagine what that was in 1945 dollars if a fur coat could be had at Franklin-Simon for $80!)

Dot says it made the whole family so happy that some of Arthur’s hard work was finally rewarded. The check came at an opportune time because there was some big bill due today that neither Arthur nor Ruth knew how they would pay. Dot’s father had been saying all along that the Lord would provide, and it certainly feels like he did.

Arthur P. Chamberlain was never much of a religious man in the traditional sense, but he has a stronger faith than any man Dot knows. She’s so proud of him, on so many levels.

Wondering what to write on the third page, she tells Dart that it’s quite warm in Greenwich today, but unless they want to pick up neckties all day, they dare not open the windows on her floor.

She resumes the letter later that day. Nancy told Dot about a dream she’d had last night. In the dream, she’d received a letter from Dart telling her he’d be home in a couple of weeks but she musn’t tell Dot. “Oh, if only it were not a dream! I might as well warn you now that when the time comes and you walk up to me and tap me on the shoulder, I’ll pass out on the spot. Oh my darling, may that day come sooner than any of us dare to hope.”

She continues, “Sometimes I have the feeling that the few days we had together were only a dream. And yet other times I know they were real and you seem so close to me I could reach out my hand and touch yours.”

Her final paragraph reveals that Readers’ Digest had 49,000 entries in their contest and only 10 were awarded first prize checks. She’s wondering if her parents are both so smart how she got left short on brains. That’s just the thing, Dot. You weren’t left short!

Dart has an hour and a half until the lights go out for the night, and he still needs to write to his parents. He’s doing all he can to convince them to take a trip to New England this summer.

As he writes, he keeps looking at the Easter picture Dot sent. It sends him over the moon. In fact, he thinks it’s about the best picture he’s ever seen of her. “After almost two years of knowing you I’m still amazed that such a wonderful, pretty girl should be in love with a rawboned sailor like me. I don’t think there’s a thing to worry about, as far as our bright-eyed dreams’ coming true is concerned. With you and me together, we can have a share in each other’s fun and hardships for the rest of our days. There could be nothing better than sharing everything I have with you forever.”

He sounds a little like Dot in the next paragraph, trying to convince her that he’s unworthy of a girl like her. He calls himself a “dimwit,” (Hardly!) and a “hypochondriac.” (Well, maybe, but that’s not so bad…)

In her letter of April 10, Dot mentioned that by the time he read that letter, it would be time for April’s full moon. As it turns out, the letter didn’t arrive until nearly time for May’s full moon. He’ll run topside soon to check it out, and urges Dot to do the same so they can watch it together. Then he tells her that regardless of how romantic and dreamy full moons can be, they are not always so good for for military security.

He asks her if she’d read in Readers’ Digest that the military had reduced regulations to the bare minimum:

1) If it moves, salute it. 2) If it doesn’t move, pick it up. 3) If it’s too big to pick up, paint it. Funny!

Referring to some remark Dot made about him not hanging her picture up among all the “pin-up girls” lest she suffer by comparison, he says he wouldn’t dare display her photos in public “for these wolves to howl at.” He says most guys who are serious about their sweethearts keep their pictures private. Then he adds that perhaps by the time he’s been at sea for 15 months, he will have devolved into a “chip off the old fur-pile” himself, but he hopes not.

Dot assumes it was Dart’s intention to scare her out of her wits with his suggestion that he was considering joining the regular Navy. She says she should just act nonchalant and agree that it’s a fine idea, but she’s afraid he might think she means that and do something drastic. She has no desire for him to make the Navy a career. She advises him to think back to the arguments he made against her joining the WAVEs and he’ll see that many of the same points would apply to him in this case. She strongly urges him to resist the idea. “I don’t want you coming home for good at an age when we should both be grandparents.”

Referring to a snapshot of himself that he enclosed in a resent letter, she disagrees that he looks “glum.” She rather likes that far-off look in his eyes, especially if his eyes are looking toward Greenwich. She can’t get enough of his pictures. When she shows them to everyone, their envy for her grows. She asks if he ever got the photos she sent from Easter. (Isn’t it interesting how their letters so often mention the same topics on the same day,?)

Her friend Nancy is coming to live at the Chamberlain house for about a week. He family has to move out of the house they’re in, but the new place won’t be ready for about a week, so everyone is scattering around Greenwich to stay with friends. Soon after that, Nancy will begin her training with the Cadet Nurse Corps at the University of Connecticut. Dot is sure she’ll make a great nurse because she’s such a sweet kid. She again asks Dart to write Nancy a letter to give her a thrill.

Dot was just recalling Dart’s July visit to Greenwich. They had each other convinced that his mother would be happy to allow him to stay an extra day in Connecticut so that he would  be well rested for his return trip to Cleveland. She remembers how happy she was when she heard that Helen had, indeed, given him her blessings to stay on a little longer. She was so happy that she ran up the stairs and gave him a huge hug. She still thinks of that moment every time she passes that section of the stairs. How she wishes she’d said more during his brief stay, but if he’ll come home soon, she’ll say everything she can think of to convince him just how much she loves him.

Dot enclosed a clipping of Arthur Chamberlain’s story about the Fix-It Shop published in the Readers’ Digest. Very interesting reading!

This is a long letter from Dart which he wrote over the course of three days. It is his response to Dot’s letter of May 12, in which she pleas for an explanation of what he sees in her. It is a response that requires deep thought and tender handling. I’ll let him speak for himself.

As I look at it now, the job at hand is three-fold. First; I must in some way convince you that I don’t believe you recognize your own capabilities, that you’re a bit unsure of yourself. Second; I feel it is my duty to warn you that you have a few misapprehensions as to my own virtues, to which you should not adhere too closely until we have known each other more personally than letters and a few dates permit. Third; to answer definitely your question.

In the first place, one thing which people in love are very apt to do is to make the slip of under-rating themselves and over-rating the other partner of the match. That, coupled with a lack of self-confidence, produces a most disheartening effect.

For example: You ask for a set of reasons why I love you. You give some reasons for loving me and ask for the same. Can’t you see, Dot, that my reasons for liking you so very, very much are, to me, almost the same as the ones you gave me. I won’t deny many of the flattering accusations you wrote. But I’ll try to modify them. You list a bunch of things in my favor in one paragraph. You set yourself up as the direct antithesis. I’ll try to blow up both theories together in a series of short (?) paragraphs.

You say I’m ambitious. No, not to any extreme more than you are. Don’t we both aspire to own that little house we’re planning, to get married, to have children, to give them a good chance in life, to make that house into a home? And don’t we aspire to do those things together? There’s one of the reasons you asked for.

You say I have a keen sense of humor. I say you have the same, that it seems that our senses of humor are almost alike, that neither is always keen, nor will they be congruent at all times, but they are near enough together most of the time as to make us happy. That’s another of your reasons. May I hasten to add that you haven’t seen much of the bewildered, sore-at-the-world feeling I have most of the time?

And now, an example of my not thinking straight was when I disapproved so all-fired violently to your plans to join the Cadet Nurse Corps or the WAVEs. I see now that either would have been good for you, and that in both cases, I was acting without thinking deep enough; acting selfishly. For that I am sorry and regretful. I’m prone to act impulsively. Maybe you are too, but I doubt it, as far as most things go. So another reason comes out.

You made some cracks about my appearance. You’re the first ever to do so, except maybe my Mom. I’ve told you often how attractive I think you are, so we are still even, and you have provided me with another of the reasons.

I don’t always know right from wrong. No one does. Nor do I have will-power to follow my own convictions. (For an example of that: I’m convinced that I must stop an incessant use of obscene language; I try to stop, but it’s always blurting out.) You say that you know right from wrong but do not do much about it. I ask you this: Do you steal, lie, deliberately and maliciously make a habit of cheating, or of disobeying your parents? Do you drink or smoke to excess? Are you unfaithful to me? (I think you know how I mean that.) There’s my theory of wrong, in a nutshell. …Do you feel able to answer those questions to me?  I believe so, I hope so, I know so. For my faith in you, for my belief that you, alone, of all the girls I’ve ever known, can answer those, I love you very, very much.

You say that at the age of 19, you have accomplished nothing. I answer by asking you how many people have accomplished more than you at the age of 19? Don’t you have the most enviable trait of being able to make friends easily, and to be entertaining company? As for me, at the age of 21, I could say the same, in fact it has been the same since I was nineteen.

I’ve been in poor or delicate health half my life. I’ve quit, discouraged, almost everything I’ve ever tried. There are few accomplishments of which I’m really proud. I flunked miserably out of engineering college, and I try to rationalize it by some excuse about ‘back trouble. True, I was in the choir at Shaw. But I was always the last chosen for concerts. I was on the staff of the Shaw Observer, but I resigned. I was on the Shaw debate squad, but all I ever did was bang a gavel on a beat-up desk. I may have been president of my Hi-Y club, but no one will dispute my words that I was the poorest president they had. So it goes. I tried for a commission, ended up in boot camp, and am now seaman first class after two and a half years of active duty. No, there’s nothing wrong in your having not accomplished anything at 19. Our real job, our most important chance for the accomplishment of an ideal, comes when we can prove ourselves good and faithful homemakers and parents. Our greatest responsibility is to each other in this respect. We can meet that responsibility together. I’m sure of it. Neither can do it without the other. And we can’t rush into it thinking that “we’ll see if things work out all right.” We must believe and be determined that it will work, it must work, cannot fail. We must have open minds and open hearts. It is truly our biggest job. I’m willing to undertake it with you. Not only willing, but highly eager to do it. I’m sure we can. How about it? How do you feel on the same ideas?

Skip what old Hibschman said. There can be no hard and fast rule set for a thing like that, and he’s silly to try and make out like there is. Besides, what he said applies to us in the right way. We wouldn’t have been attracted to each other so strongly if it didn’t. Out of this paragraph you can divine another of the reasons you seek.

There’s another reason which you’ve discussed, undoubtedly, with your sisters and friends, just as much as I’ve discussed it with my buddies. But even though we may sometime talk about it with each other, I believe that here is not the time or place for it. We should have an understanding of some sort on that, too.

Now comes my part of the letter: the part you didn’t ask for; the part I’ve been thinking about for two weeks or more.

You surely recall how I’ve felt about being engaged to you during the war. It’s been a feeling of apprehension that I might not come back; that something might happen which would be tragic. After the events which have occurred out here, something has happened which has removed all doubt. I feel more sure now than ever before that I’ll be coming back, that there would be no harm, no heartbreak.

But now comes the question. Do you think that we could become officially, really, publicly engaged on my next leave? Surely that leave will not be more than many months from now. Eventually the ship must get tired and return. It will give us something to look forward to. Oh Dot, I do want that so very much. Shall we do that? Please give me your answer so we can make some plans for the big event.

I love you very, very much, Dot.

It’s an important letter and he handles it seriously. He told me in later years that after the kamikazi attack on the Haggard, he absolutely knew that he would get home in one piece. I’m nearly certain that by the date of this letter, he already knew that his beloved ship had fought her last battle.  I’m not sure when it happened, but I’ve noticed that he is no longer writing “in port,” or “at sea” at the top of his letters. I’m guessing that by now, the Haggard was probably already making her way, ever so slowly, back to the USA to be turned into scrap. He wouldn’t have been permitted to say anything in a letter because she was a sitting duck, unable because of her wounds to defend herself. Had the wrong letter fallen into enemy hands, it could have been disastrous for all hands. Still, I’m sure that the general belief on the ship was that by the time the Haggard had limped all the way back home, the war in the Pacific would be over. He knew he was safe, and therefore free to ask Dot what had been in his heart for months.

I cannot wait to read her response, even though the outcome is well known.

Dot is writing from her overnight stay at the Miller’s where she’s babysitting for Chris and Eric. She swiped one of their 1,000s of snapshots of the boys to send to Dart. She’s also included one of her taken at her graduation in February.

Her only mail today was a nice letter from Dart’s mother. She explained that they could not make a trip to New England this summer because Burke is on 24-hour notice for the Navy and they are not allowed to leave town. Helen was so kind to invite Dot to spend her vacation with them in Ohio, but Dot has to count her pennies. She’s afraid to think how long it may be before she gets to see Dart or his family again.

Last night,she dreamed she was at the Brooklyn Navy Yard to meet a ship when she suddenly spotted Dart on board! She ran to him and hugged him so tightly that she thought she’d break his ribs. Over his shoulder, she saw a big, burly sailor, and off she ran to give him the same treatment. Dart was more than a little stunned until she explained that the big guy was her brother, Gordon. She awoke clutching her pillow tightly to her stomach. “After a night like that, I’m a nervous wreck!”

She’s also very tired and needs to shut her eyes. More tomorrow.

As another month comes to a close, Dart writes a playful, funny letter to his favorite girl. A huge bull session has formed in his corner, threatening to draw his attention away from the letter he’s writing. He blames the three boxes that arrived today from the USA; cookies from Aunt Elizabeth, a baseball cap from his mother, and “that swell assortment of cookies, candies, fruitcake and games” from Dot.

The cookies are in remarkably fresh and unbroken condition. Much of what arrives from home is a “hopeless and unrecognizable mass of salty, soggy, moldy crumbs and bugs.”

He warns her that if his future letters are too short, she only has herself and her wonderful family to blame because he’s spending too much time with his Readers’ Digest, but it makes the time fly mighty fast.

He asks Dot for an update on Harriet, George and Gale’s cat Fifi and her expected litter. He tells about a stray cat his family once took in who blessed them with five kittens. After the feline family stunk up the basement and drove his relatives from their door, his parents took the cats to the ASPCA. He recalls the most robust kitten was called “Blitzkrieg.”

In her letter, she mentioned the long-ago ice-cube incident. “Ordinarily I am not given to holding grudges. But this is one time I feel morally obligated to get even. You know that you owe your miraculous escape from that same spine-chilling torture you inflicted on me solely to the rebuke I received from Mother, who said, ‘Dartie, don’t put that ice cube down Dot’s neck.’ When I heard that, I relaxed my grip, allowing your escape. Remember the Alamo. Remember the Maine. Remember Pearl Harbor. And remember that ice cube, Darling. Another one’s on it’s way.”

“Well, Tempus keeps on fugitin’ faster than I can write, so I’ll have to stop.—————–. There, that space was used by me dreaming that I was kissing you goodnight. Wish it were real.”

Dot has lots of news, but no time to write. Nancy has been keeping her so busy this week that she’s wrung out.

She got a sweet note from Dart’s father the other day, thanking her for the cigarettes. She thinks he’s a swell guy, and she’s sure Dart agrees.

Her head is hung in shame because she hasn’t written for several days. Of course, she blames Nancy. There’s no time to write anything else, except that she loves him and all reports indicate the condition is permanent.