This letter of Dart’s ambles all over the map, stopping occasionally to address a topic from Dot’s recent letter before skittering off the path to an unrelated thought. As usual, the pages are laced with humor, wisdom, news and chit-chat.

He hopes she has received the package he sent her when he thought he was leaving the hospital. It’s a bracelet he made her in the wood shop. If I remember correctly from my secret childhood forays through the mysterious landscape of my mother’s top dresser drawer, the bracelet was made of small pieces of wood, like square disks, linked together with a thin strip of something; Leather? Plastic? I don’t recall. I never saw her wearing it – perhaps it was out of fashion by then, or not to her liking – but she kept it, nonetheless. I’ll have to ask her if she still has it. (It’s been decades since I rummaged through her things.)

But I digress, as Dart’s letter did a time or two. He drops a cryptic line about his relapse perhaps being worse than he wants to think about right now. In the past when he’s made comments like that, we learn in a day or so that his concerns were not unfounded. I hope this time he’s wrong.

He agrees with Dot’s assessment that he should try very hard to make it through the remaining days of boot camp so he can get his leave, at last. He knows that a dozen home-cooked meals, and time with friends and family would do him more good than any more time in this hospital.

As I predicted, he is intrigued with Dot’s comments about the ice bag drenching his bed having reminded her of an untold story from her time at Andrews. He begins to guess what the story is and begs her to “shoot the works” and just tell him.

He admits that she made lots of good points about his attitude in her letter and he promises to ponder them and see what he can do about it.

After some other trivia, he says “I hope you’re not too disappointed if I can’t think fast enough to say the type of things I cook up in my letters. Maybe if you let me speak as slowly as I think, I might be able to say the same things.” He then goes on for quite some distance about hearing letters that are chock full of “darlings” and typical lovey-dovey language. They have a hollow ring to his ear and he finds himself wondering how sincere they are and how many sailors and soldiers are getting identical letters from the same “sweet young thing.” He assures her that he is sincere in what he writes, even if he’s unable to say them in person. “But, who knows? Maybe with the proper inspiration, I can say ’em when we’re together again.” If anyone’s taking bets, I put my money on the affirmative. He will hardly be able to stop himself with all the pretty talk when Dot is in his arms once more.

He pleads with Dot to take care of her cold. He hates to think of this lovely girl being sick, especially since he believes he’s been sick enough for both of them to cover the rest of their lives.

He closes by saying there are only 15 guys left in his ward – five of whom are bed patients. There was discussion among the nurses today to have the corpsmen wheel those five out into the courtyard to enjoy the sunshine, but in the end, only the ambulatory patients were allowed that privilege.

With Mrs. Pecsok and baby Linda home from the hospital, Dot has returned to her house. She seems almost breathless as she describes a family outing to Todd’s Beach on Long Island Sound yesterday. The first treat for Dot was the fact that her father joined the party for his first beach trip in five years. The group also included the Ruquoi family – Dot’s cousin Dot, her Belgian husband Leon and their children. They had lived in Belgium for 12 years before returning to New York a couple of years ago. This was a kind of farewell visit because they were about to move to the Belgian Congo. Writes Dot (Chamberlain), “Those kids have certainly ‘seen the world,’ and they didn’t have to join the Navy to do it. ”

Dot’s cousin Waddy was also there. He’s her first cousin whose resemblance to Dart is uncanny. He was flattered when he learned that Dot’s first attraction to Dart was that he was a dead-ringer to one of her favorite cousins. The eerie thing is that Waddy just received a medical discharge from the Navy after a long series of ailments, and now he plans to study journalism!

Dot writes that she loves her bracelet. It’s like nothing she’s ever seen before, and she’s proud to accept compliments from all who see it.

She ends the letter by writing, “The reason I haven’t said anything about your being back in the hospital is that I can’t think of anything to say. …I’ll keep my chin up, but sometimes I wonder how much longer this can go on.”

This is such a brief and well-crafted letter from Dart that I’ve decided to copy it all – more or less verbatim.

Today was very much uneventful, with no mail, no friends, no love, no nothin’. The one thing which happened to me was the loss of my little cold companion, my bedfellow for lo, these many days, the most affectionate icebag I’ve ever known. It stayed by my side, maintaining its silent vigil for six days. I miss my l’il pal.

We got five new patients and lost four old ones today. I manage to be the long-termer on each of my wards. The honor is a hollow one, however. Being called “Old Man Peterson” is becoming a habit, and a most disgusting habit, too.

The boredom of the days is getting more intense as they follow in their swift, endless cordon. Pretty soon, maybe I can bore my way out of this pit of perfidy, this hacienda of health, this evil aerie…

Today I’ve skimmed three novels without striking a flame of desire. I’ve started a mystery story, and at the 55th page, thrown it down with a curse upon its yellowed pages. And now the exploits of one Ellery Queen are unfolding their tortuous way in a maze of plot and character possible only in an impossible detective story. I’m becoming an addict.

Oh fiddle! Fie on the mess!…The sooner this period of weakness is over, the better. The beautiful summer serves only to emphasize the effects of this gaol in keeping me from you, the object of my every whim, fancy and desire; the girl I love so dearly.

I love that he clearly expresses his despair and loneliness with enough humor and panache to keep from being maudlin. What tender mercy for his reader, who loves him.

Dot is delighted to have received both a letter from Dart and one from his mother. She quickly absolves him of his guilt for having missed a day or two of writing and she commiserates with him about the heat. The current weather in Greenwich inspires her to share a little rhyme she learned as a child: Spring has spung, Fall has fell. Summer’s here and it’s hot as…everything.

She writes that El is in Providence, RI meeting Don’s parents before they return to Greenwich on Thursday for their official engagement announcement party. The engagement is a surprise for family and friends, so Ruth is using Dot’s homecoming as an excuse to get folks to the Chamberlain home.

Dot is dreading the huge sale at her store this weekend, but is looking forward to her improved sales tally card. She also tells Dart it feels strange to be back at home, and sort of wishes she were staying with the Pecsoks. I suspect, like many young adults, she feels more mature or independent when she’s not sleeping under her parents’ roof.

She reports that she has just been rudely interrupted by her mother who has told her to go to sleep. And just when she was working up a mood to write some passionate prose to her sailor! Well, some other time, but her love is forever.

As I write this entry, the world is observing the 70th anniversary of the invasion of Europe by Allied forces. I heard one historian on NPR today say that day was the single most important day in the history of western civilization. We’ve all heard of the monumental victory that began with a fierce battle on the shores of Normandy. We’ve heard the heroic stories and the staggering loss of life.

These letters give us a glimpse of how two young people, far from the historic scene, reacted to the news of the day.

From Dart:

Well, looks like Peterson missed the boat again. Europe’s been invaded and I missed out on it. Oh well, so what? So, Hitler’s having an American species of ants in his French britches. So the Japs are crawling back into the holes in their bamboo walls by having a couple of “practice” air raid alarms in their Tokyo. …Now I can never truthfully boast to my progeny (if any) of the role I played…in the invasion of the Flower of Europe. All I can tell is the sad tale of the rigors of hospital life, with Beautyrest mattresses, clean sheets and dry shoes.

The events of the day began at 0500 hours, for us. In the midst of a bitter storm and from the depths of deep sleep, came the horrid buzzing of our sad ward radio. The invasion was on, and slowly, surely, the realization awoke us a few at a time as we came to our senses with thermometers incubating in our mouths. The few minutes of the day when news was not being repeated, martial music was played. But today the music was not boring, was not turned off in favor of some jive. No, there was no shouting, no particular joy, only an immense uplifting of spirit, as if the Sword of Damocles had been removed from above the heads of the men here.

Can you imagine what President Roosevelt felt as he was delivering his radio address heralding the Liberation of Rome, with the full knowledge that men all along England were at that minute embarking on the most historical boatride of their lives? How could he keep his voice well-modulated, how could he keep his place on the typed broadcasting script? Remarkable power of concentration and self-control in that man. Hooray for our side, in 3-inch letters, bold face, heraldic type.

Whether moved by a new surge of patriotism and a sense of urgency, or simply feeling a little better, Dart announces he is going to ask the doctor if he can return to duty on Monday or Tuesday. If he gets a slip granting light duty, he should regain his strength and be able to complete boot camp once and for all.

I guess we’ll find out soon enough.

Dot writes:

It has arrived. The day we have all been waiting for so long has finally come. Let us hope and pray that this is the beginning of the end for the Axis nations and the war to end all wars.

Because of the significance of the day, they gave us half a day off at Franklin Simons. It was quite a surprise to all, but a pleasant one, you may be sure.

…All evening we kept the radio on to hear the latest reports on the invasion. I’m afraid I hadn’t thought of it quite as seriously as I ought. All the churches were opened today, and I‘m sorry I didn’t go, altho’ we did have a few minutes of silence here at home for prayer.

My mood today has been a combination of extreme gladness and extreme sadness. When I think of all the young kids who’ll never see the country for which they are fighting again, I get a lump in my throat which is almost enough to choke me, and yet it is a joy to know that the end is that much nearer and all those boys who are left will soon be able to return home.

We have so very much to be thankful for, Dart, that it hardly seems right for us to complain about anything. Knowing you, alone, is more than I deserve for a whole lifetime of good deeds. I have known more happiness in knowing you than I have had in all of my almost 18 years. Please don’t ever change, Dart, except maybe physically, and that doesn’t even matter too much, except that I want you as happy as possible and I don’t think you can be unless you’re physically fit.

God bless you, dearest, and make you well as soon as possible.

There is other minor news from both of our leading characters, but it can wait for a less momentous day. Sixteen million men served in the US military on that day 70 years ago. One million of them are left. We owe them so much.

Dart begins his letter with a statement that he is tired. It’s no wonder! Last night, a nurse asked him to help her make out 20 charts for her and the dear old Navy. Then, today, he was assigned to the galley crew with three of the other “up” patients. Tomorrow, when the three others return to active duty, he alone will be responsible for the ward’s chores. Again, I must say this is the craziest hospital rehab program I’ve ever heard of!

He comments that Dot’s recent airmail letter (remember those?) took just as long to get to him as regular mail letters do, so the extra expense was wasted.

He commented about her fascinating cousins, thinking they might not be too happy living in the Belgian Congo. His cousin Jessie was a nurse on the Firestone rubber tree plantation in Liberia where she met her husband, Gil. (I heard the story in my teens about how Jessie and Gil had a harrowing escape from the African continent, just ahead of the advancing Nazis.) Now, they are happily living in Costa Rica with their three little girls. Dart also comments on the similarities between himself and Dot’s cousin Waddy. “I hope you were thinking of me when you kissed him. Is it okay if I kiss Miss Dorothy Riehl, who reminds me of you, good-bye?”

He’s happy she liked the bracelet he made. She’s lucky she has such an easy name – unlike “Samantha” or “Elizabeth.” He thought he didn’t have enough time to finish it the way he wanted to, but he doubts anyone would notice the difference.

He pauses from responding to her letter to tell her how glad he is that he knows her and that she likes him so well. He knows he would have been much lonelier and sadder during these past many months were that not the case.

He knows she will be a popular draw to Eleanor and Don’s engagement party. If it were possible, he would happily travel the 1100 miles to see her at the big event.

He felt it fair to let her know that he occasionally copies a choice sentence from one of her letters to include in his letters to his parents. That’s a nice touch to allow them to get to know her a little better. With that, he reminds her that he loves her with all his heart and soul.

Dot is writing this letter in the wee hours of the morning. She is babysitting again and has opted to spend the night there. Her reason? So she won’t have any parents telling her it’s time to go to bed!

She writes that last week she was so happy, living on anticipation. By that I can only assume she meant that she thought Dart would be returning to, and finishing boot camp soon, and then getting his leave. Now, she says, she’s living on happy memories. She writes that every time she thinks of the loving thoughts he writes to her, and how he phrases them, she finds more thrills and meaning in them. She doesn’t know if God had a hand in their meeting, but “I think it a very good idea to put our trust in Him.”

She writes that there is another big sale at Franklin Simons next week, which she is dreading. If her fate were not still in the hands of Andrews School, who receives monthly reports from her employer, she would be tempted to pull a “Rip Van Winkle act,” and sleep in. Knowing this young lady’s strong work ethic, I seriously doubt she could bring herself to do that!

She’s dying to know what the Navy plans to do with Dart. She supposes it’s too much to hope for that he might end up closer to the east coast. She tells him if it takes ten years for her to be able to tell him to his face how much she loves him, he should not get discouraged. Nothing can ever change the fact that she does.

Dart’s letter today is brief and sweet. He has appropriated a blank sheet of patient charts to use as stationery – his “payment for helping the nurses so much” around the ward today. When their ward received a glowing report during the inspection today, the galley was singled out for special notice. Dart is proud because he cleaned the whole galley by himself.

He suggests that they not dream too much about seeing each other soon. Then if it happens, they can be happily surprised. Considering where all that dreaming got him last time, it’s probably not a bad plan.

He has to keep tonight’s letter short so he has time to write to his folks. He’s been neglecting them because he always wants to write to Dot first, and often runs out of time for more letters.

The Special Devices branch of the Navy has sites in Chicago, Washington, DC and Boston. He’s still fervently hoping to weasel an assignment to that group. I know Dot would be thrilled if he were to be stationed in Boston, just a short train ride from her home in Greenwich. (Plus, it would keep him out of combat.)

He was especially pleased with the last page of Dot’s recent letter, which he claims outshines anything he could write. Still, how could you beat his closing line, “Like the navigator who sets his sextant to the North star, I look to you for my inspiration for everything I do.”

“It’s not lack of enthusiasm or interest that has prevented me from writing a good substantial letter to you,” begins Dot. She has those qualifications, but when she’s not working at the store, her mother has kept her very busy in preparation for the big party last night.

She reports that about 20 people- mostly relatives -came for dinner. Dot was seated at the table next to Don. When guests opened their little announcement cards at their places and read “Badamo – Chamberlain,” they linked Don and Dot as the happy couple.  El made a quick correction, but Dot says it was fun to be engaged for three minutes.

She proclaims that in spite of her negligence in telling him every day, she loves him dearly.