Finally! Three letters from Dot arrived today and made Dart feel a lot better. Not physically, because he was still feeling so sick that he slept through dinner – but he’s much less lonely now.

He also learned who Pvt. Kellogg was. He saw Dart’s picture in the newspaper and would like to be friends with him. Dart got a little kick out of the “fan mail.”

A letter from Hal was also in his batch of mail today. It looks like Dart won the weenie roast bet because Hal’s back in Norfolk. Apparently, there is no such ship as the Glennon, or the Glennan or the Glennen. There was a destroyer with the same number as the ship Hal was supposed to transfer to, but it was sunk in the Coral Sea months ago. Now Hal is awaiting transfer back to Boston for temporary shore duty until his discharge comes through. “So Hal’s another Navy casualty of the Red Tape Brigade.”

Yes, he’d like to call her, but his tone would reflect the same mood as his letters and that would do neither of them any good. When he thought about calling her a few days ago, there was a five-hour wait for a line, so he decided against it. Maybe he’ll try again soon.

Dot must have mentioned hearing the words to “The Wedding March” from “Lohengrin” on the Hour of Charm radio show the other day. She had quipped that it was #1 on every young girl’s hit parade. “I surely hope it won’t be too long before you hear that song from inside your own bridal veil.”

He refers to a conversation that they had a while ago in which she told him about her sister Harriet’s many miscarriages. Perhaps Dot’s recent letter told him that she’s had another one, because he writes, “It must be terribly heartbreaking for her and George. There seem to be so many obstacles and accidents and close calls possible in the process of being born that it’s a wonder anybody’s born at all. Add to that the problems of blood types and heredity, and the adverse conditions under which a life is started, and the results are really astounding. Maybe the bad or difficult things just seem so prevalent because they cause so much heartbreak, discomfort, and loneliness. I hope that we can easily have as many healthy kids as we can afford and that we can afford as many as you want to have. I don’t have my heart set on any particular number because you’re the one who should have the say-so on matters like that. All I want is children – at least two.” (I love the fact that he concedes the exact number should be her choice.)

Yes, she’s right. Loving her and knowing she loves him does make him happy, but when he can’t be with her, and when other things are conspiring to make his spirits low, it’s hard for him to rally. “My spirits are low in spit of all the love and longing and pride I have for you.”

His ship is scheduled to join the Pacific fleet as close to New Year’s Day as they can make it. “If it doesn’t go around the world, it’ll probably end up in Iron Bottom Bay with the rest of the scrap steel.”

With tongue in cheek, he agrees with her assessment about sleeping in. “Yes Dot, it’s shameful to stay in bed until noon. The proper procedure is to get out of bed early to prove your good intentions, get dressed to give further proof, eat something for nourishment, and then go back to bed to stay as long as you jolly well please!”

He threatens to stop writing long letters if she keeps saying they make her feel inferior. But he wishes she’d comment on one particular letter. He’s most interested in hearing her thoughts on the subject.

I assume she said something about that record he made for her before leaving Norfolk, because he refers to it “wearing out.” He says it might be better that it did because she might have grown tired of it.

Again referring to something she might have said in a letter he got today, he talks about his train trip along the coast from Norfolk. It cost him an extra quarter because he had to buy a newspaper to tuck into the cracks around the window. He was attempting to keep out both the cold air and the black, sooty grit that was blowing into the car. One young man complained to the brakeman about all the coal dust coming through from the outside. The brakeman responded, “That ain’t coal dust. That there’s cinders!” He said it as though it were an honor to be covered in cinders!

In a funny little riff, he tells her to stop ribbing him about his ribs and shoulders. “They’re raw enough without your raw cracks. Haven’t you ever heard of ‘raw bones’? I don’t’ mind too much, except that it hurts. Not your humor – the raw shoulders.”

He’s surprised that she, too, wonders if the longing they have for each other is unhealthy. He hopes it’s a good, healthy sign that they’re very much in love. “The way I feel at times, Dot, I wonder just how long we’ll have to wait before being married. Years, even two of them, seem so long.”

He quotes a line from her long letter that he’s wanted to say countless times in his. “I wish I were going to sleep with your arms around me. And I wish it now. Goodnight, Darling.”

Dot’s hasty note is written as she dashes off to her last English class before Thanksgiving break. She’s so eager to leave for Cleveland in a couple of hours that she can hardly stand it. She thanks him for his two “super” letters that came yesterday, and promises to answer them from his parents’ house this weekend. She fills the rest of the page with a giant “I love you!” In tiny script someone else writes “I love you too.” Dot’s PS says, “That was Mid. See? Everyone loves you.”

There’s an odd letter from Dart today: It begins with a brief note about how his day went, and that is followed by a five-page outline entitled “Philosophy of Life”

First, the note. He’s writing from the USO while the guys he came with are upstairs scouting for a dance. It’s been a poor excuse for Thanksgiving. They all walked about 30 miles and they bowled three lines. “Aside from that we’ve wished for our girls.”

He wants to hurry back to the ship because it’s very cold and he didn’t wear his pea coat.

Now for the outline. I don’t know if this was just Dart capturing his thoughts about something he may try to write, or if he was assisting Dot on an assignment she has. The outline is just a series of questions: How do you feel about religion? Why are there so many? Do they have similarities? What are their differences? How do you feel about the Bible? Literal and exact, or a open to interpretation? Why is there tension between the races? Can it ever be resolved? If so, how? How do you feel about social prejudices and customs? What is your purpose in life? Is judgement of your fellow man acceptable, or unacceptable? Is marriage important to social structure? Why or why not?

The list goes on for several pages, with numerous questions and subsets of questions. Maybe the boy has too much time on his hands.

Dot begins her letter on the night before Thanksgiving. She’s sitting in Dart’s bedroom at his parents’ home. She tells him that if he could see her now, he’d have a big, wide smile. Why? Because of what she’s looking at. “Know what it is? Your closet. My clothes are hanging right next to your civies and it looks so good! Wonder how long it will be before it’s a bigger closet with more clothes, hanging for longer than just a weekend?”

She asks if he found himself blushing this evening around 8:30. That’s when she was playing his record for his parents. Even though she skipped some of the more personal parts, she blushed all the same. His folks were thrilled to hear his voice. She suggests a record of himself, made just for them, would be the best Christmas gift he could give them.

She begins anew the following morning, wishing him a nice Thanksgiving, knowing it won’t be exceptionally happy for him. “You can be thankful you’re not in Norfolk.” How she prays that next Thanksgiving they’ll be together.

She paused to help with dinner and then enjoy the feast. Mary Koehler stopped by for a visit and offered to drop Dot’s letter in the mail, so she addressed what she’d finished so far and sent it off with Mary.

Later, she sent along three silly Thanksgiving poems written by his mother, his father and her. Hers is a short one that ends with “This poem I know has no meter, but what do you expect from a hearty eater? / Your mom says she can’t write a ‘pome’ but when she sees mine, she’ll send me home. / Your dad suggested we torture you this way. Hope it hasn’t ruined your Thanksgiving Day.”

Also for this day, I found a Round Robin letter, written by all those who shared the holiday at the Chamberlain house in Greenwich. Eleven of the 14 people around the table sent their warmest regards to this young man far from home. What a cheerful, charming tradition this family makes at every opportunity.

Today Dart writes a more detailed letter of his Thanksgiving Day activities. He was granted liberty at 10:00 but stayed aboard ship for the noon meal. I felt a little twinge of sadness at his comment that the men ate their “feast” in virtual silence – not one of the sailors on board was where he wanted to be that day.

Then he and a like-minded pal left for a trip to town. They walked and walked and walked, trying to stay out of the wind and in the sun to where it was a little warmer. They checked the USO but found there was a formal dance there that night and they weren’t dressed for it. Wandering some more, they stumbled across a movie theater and spent 26 cents on a movie that at least kept them out of the cold wind for a couple of hours. Again, they began walking – this time looking for a restaurant. All Dart says about that was that they were not lucky in their choice. The bowled three lines, with Dart winning two of them and then tracked down a skating rink they’d heard of. Although Dart didn’t like to skate, he was willing to try, if for no other reason than to have something to do on his next few liberties. But Jack Bevins, his buddy, took one look at the rink and deemed it no good. They hoofed it all the way back to the ship. Now all Dart has to look forward to is going to bed in a bunk with no mattress and insufficient blankets to keep him warm.

He’d rather sit alone with Dot, in front of a cozy fireplace in a sweet little house. Ah, but that must wait.

There’s a rumor that the Craig will now be sent to the north Atlantic this winter instead of the Pacific. Maybe Dart will never get warm!

His camera arrived today with a few rolls of film. By storing things inside his dress shoes and squeezing his locker contents a little tighter, he was able to find the space for his new bounty.

After finding no work to do on the ship, he turns his attentions to answering some of Dot’s recent letters. He’s glad she got an A in archery. The only A he ever got in phys ed was for the ballroom dance section. Anyone who showed up for every class got an A.

He’s surprised to hear that she’s considering Hiram College. It seems too small to have a full curriculum, but his parents tell him it has a lovely campus. Has she mentioned her dissatisfaction with Kent to her parents? Can she put her finger on what displeases her about this school?

He feels silly saying goodnight so early, but there’s nothing to do but sleep. Besides, she’ll be reading the letter in daylight, so “goodnight” will sound silly anyway. He loves her and he misses her.

Before Dot describes her wonderful Thanksgiving Day, she makes a bold and mature move. She reminds Dart that a few months ago, he wrote to her that he thought it was wrong of Fred to write such discouraging letters to his folks, filled with venom against the Marines. Now, Dart’s writing that same kind of letter about the Navy to his folks. She asks him to save his griping and grousing for her letters only, and then, having purged himself of his mood, maybe he could write something more positive to his parents. She knows he had no idea how much those letters worry his parents or he would never have written them, but she feels he’d want to know and she’s the only one who could tell him.

Then she talks about her holiday. She had a wonderful and delicious meal with his folks and a great phone call to her family. Everyone at home told her how much they missed having her and Dart around the table. She’s thrilled they took the time to write a Round Robin to him. Now, she’s counting the days until she’s home for Christmas with her beloved family. If only he could be there…

“Your mom, dad and I went downtown this afternoon to see “Weekend at the Waldorf.” It was every bit as good as you’d said it would be, and I did manage to untangle the plot you so nicely knotted up for me.”

Like Dart, she talks about how cold it is outside, except his low temperature is in the high 30s and hers in in the low 20s.

“Your description of Charleston was, as all your description is, magnificent. Please tell me how you do it so that the next time I spend a week at a beautiful spot I’ll be able to write more than a sentence about it.”

She loves him and she doesn’t know how she’ll pass the time until she can see him again. She hopes he’s not too angry about the little scolding at the beginning of this letter.

An hour after finishing a phone call to Dot, Dart begins his letter to her with “My Darling ‘Me-Too’.” I suspect that when he ended the call, which she would have received in a public area of her boarding house, he would have said “I love you,” and she would have responded with “Me, too.” She’s still a little shy about public displays of affection.

In the first paragraph of the letter he admits to drifting off into a pretty dream of ‘what-ifs.’ He writes, “I won’t tell you what they are because it would get your hopes too high. Ask me a month from now if they came true.”

He was tickled to get all the Thanksgiving mail. The poetry letters from Dot and his folks have just about convinced him to stop writing poetry, if their offerings are what she thinks poetry is. The Round Robin from Greenwich was a delightful surprise. He says he’ll have to draft some help to write a response to it.

He and Jack Blevins had another nice liberty in Charleston yesterday. Lots of walking and picture-taking, followed by some letter-writing at the Lutheran Serviceman’s Club. If I know Dart, I’m sure they also stopped for a meal or two.

One of these days he says he just may go to the USO or YWCA and display his “elephantine clumsiness” on the dance floor. Most of these dances have a disproportionate number of “gobs” to “frails,” so a guy can wait a long time for a dance.

His mail delivery still has some kinks in it. A money order that he expected last week had been delivered to the ship, buried under paper, rediscovered and returned to Western Union. Some of his letters are sent to the transfer station and some directly to the ship. If he doesn’t check both places often enough, letters are returned to sender. More Navy bungling, but as long as some of Dot’s letters get through, he seems to be patient with the process.

And now some thoughts from their phone call: He’ll honor her request to take some photos of the places he sees on this cruise. He says he’ll go one better and even keep a journal of places and events. After all, with the war over, there will be no restrictions on keeping ship movements secret.

At the risk of disillusioning her, he’ll tell her his theory about why he seems to be taking news of this extended cruise so calmly. She thought he was simply accepting the inevitable and being mature about the whole situation. He’s a little more cynical about it. He feels he has had so many disappointments from his Navy experience that each one brings a certain degree of numbness. Now he simply doesn’t feel things as deeply. After he was cheated out of a pre-deployment leave when he finally got out of the hospital, he believes he can handle anything the Navy wants to shove his way. “After a certain amount of pain, a threshold is reached, beyond which the nerves will carry no stronger impulses.”

He comments that men “aren’t supposed” to feel the way women do. He chimes that women are more lovable when they cry and feel things deeply. “What are women for, except to be loved by men? (Don’t answer that – might lead to bloodshed – if you can heave a hatchet this far.)” I’m relieved to know that his apparent chauvinism is all in jest.

Here, he thanks her for being such a marvelous person and for falling and staying in love with him. Sometimes his sweetness makes my heart hurt.

How he likes the scene she described in her recent letter of their clothes hanging side-by-side! He also likes her daydream of more clothes, bigger closet, together forever.  “I get a thrill out of things like that. Things that remind me of being with you. Things that remind us we’re planning to be together, always. Naturally, they don’t give me as much of a thrill as actually being with you, but isn’t anticipating those things fun?”

He ponders where they’ll spend their first married night together. Will it be Sunapee? That would be a perfect spot, but will they be too tired and nervous after a big wedding to make that trip? He’s also been thinking about silverware. Are they supposed to pick a pattern together, or does the bride choose? Maybe somebody gives them a spoon and then everyone who knows them rushes to the store to buy matching pieces for that spoon. If he’s allowed any say in the subject, he’d prefer a simple, pattern – nothing too frilly or fancy. I suspect Dot will share that vision, but isn’t he an exceptional guy to be thinking about such things?

Now, who the heck is this Mary Koehler who showed up for a visit over Thanksgiving? Dot mentioned her, but Dart doesn’t know who she is. “Mom mentioned that she showed up once out of the clear sky and has been a ‘regular customer’ ever since. Somebody says I know her but I disclaim all acquaintance with her.” Who is this mystery girl that shows up to visit Dot and his parents?

Dart begins to daydream again. This time, he and Dot are kissing and then they stop to share their thoughts on the topic. He catches her off guard and kisses her while she’s laughing. He squeezes her while she’s laughing and feels the quakes of her diaphragm. Now there’s a little wrestling and some tight holds thrown in “for good measure.”  Then he adds, “Golly, Dot, I tingle all over and have a hollow feeling inside when I think of things like that.”

“It’s supper time. These sessions of lovemaking make me hungry. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love only you, from the beginning to the end of every minute, hour, day, and month. Goodnight, Darling.”

Dot begins her letter on a rant. There’s an 18-year old housemate who is about to get a divorce from a man she never loved in the first place. She’s holding court and filling some of the girls’ heads with all kinds of obscene and unsavory notions about “married life.” It makes Dot so disgusted and she wishes that girl would stop talking. She wonders why there is so much indecency in the world and why some people seem happy to spread it around.

She’s so thankful for Dart and all he stands for. She can’t imagine two happier people in the world than they. “Before I met you, I never thought much about life or the future; after I met you, I wondered how I’d managed to live without knowing you and loving you, and now that we’ve been separated again, I wonder how I can live until we start our lives together for always.”

His phone call tonight meant the world to her – to hear his voice and sense his smile was almost like being with him. She was happy to hear him laugh and know that he’d not forgotten how. She began to wish she could see him and touch him and kiss him. But then she realized how much harder it is to dwell on what you want than to focus on what is possible and she came back to her senses.

She’s impressed that he has received fan mail and wonders if the Navy would provide him with a private secretary to handle the volume. She certainly hopes he responds to that young man who wrote to him. She’s a little jealous that Hal Martin is awaiting his discharge, but thinks it’ll be nice that he’ll have to pay for the weenie roast. Wouldn’t it be great if she and Dart were married by the time that happened? She just hopes it’s not two years from now.

Perhaps referring to part of their phone conversation, she asks if he’d rather be happily free and dependent on no one, or would he rather be in love and sometimes feel deep pain as a result of that relationship?  She suggests that happiness that comes from “living each day, taking nothing and giving nothing is thin-skinned and easily dies.” Dart, we’re lucky to have those low moments, for without them, how would we know our love is true?”

Continuing a theme that emerges often in their recent letters, she would be delighted for him to wake her some morning with a kiss. She knows she’d like it, because she dreamed it last night. When she awoke, she was clutching his picture that had been on the night stand when she went to sleep. “I dreamed something else, too, but I don’t want to make you blush again.”

She must get to sleep because she has an early class tomorrow. In her next letter, she’ll tell him all about what she and his folks did on her last day with them. She loves them more every time she sees them. “And I love you more every second.”

Dart seems disappointed that his buddy Bevins has just learned that his liberty section was changed so these two guys won’t be going out on their congenial liberties any more. As if Dart weren’t quite lonely enough already.

He says it’s a beautiful day except for one thing – no letter from Dot.

There’s a lot of conversation going on around him and he’s too distracted to write much. It still looks like he’ll be “in” until June. If he can get out by June 1, he could take some summer classes to make up some of his failures at Case, and then start school in the fall as a true sophomore.

He asks Dot for the addresses of all her relatives that he’s met so far. He’s creating his Christmas card list. Such a thoughtful guy.

Dot’s letter will have to be shorter than she’d hoped. She’s been studying science for hours, it’s 11:30 and she has a test at 8:00, so she must sleep.

She was happy to get a more upbeat letter from Dart today. She knows it must be hard for him to sound cheerful when he’s probably feeling the opposite. but she appreciates his efforts.

Wow! This is the third time he’s written about his “luck” in scoring the highest during an evening of bowling. “Hurry up and come home so I can challenge you to a game before you’re in the professional bracket.” She’s sorry to learn he doesn’t like to roller skate. She loves it, although in her youth, much of her skating was done on her knees or a much more padded portion of her anatomy.

She finds herself daydreaming a lot about him getting a 72-hour pass before he ships out. If there’s any way he can swing it, he has her permission to try!

She’s decided not to mention anything to her family about switching colleges until she’s sure what she wants to do. She’s afraid she’ll be at Kent until she rots or gets thrown out.

If it would make him more comfortable, she’d be happy to send him her mattress. At 2 feet wide, it would be plenty wide enough for him, but the 5-1/2 foot length wouldn’t do him much good, she fears.

On Saturday, she and Mary Francis met Mrs. Woodworth downtown for dinner and a movie. (Was that her housemother from Andrews?) They saw “Love Letters” after a fabulous feast at the hotel. How Dot wishes she could review films as well as Dart does, “but all I can say is see it if you can. It’s a tense drama that doesn’t allow you to use the back of your chair until the last 30 seconds of the movie. Jennifer Jones and Joseph Cotton were both superb in their roles.”

Mrs. Woodworth asked about Dart and told Dot she was very lucky to have found such a fine young man. Dot is inclined to agree.

Something’s amiss in Dart’s world. Two whole days without a letter from Dot! He reminds her to be sure to put the R in the ship’s name, as well as the number DD885 on the envelope. There’s a ship called “J. E. Craig” which is a DE and both ships are always getting each other’s mail.

He went into town again last night. After checking all the theaters, he found a hillbilly band at one, “The Spanish Main” at another, “Isle of Dead” at a third, and finally settled on “Youth Aflame” at his favorite 4th-rate cinema house. No stars, no plot, other than “good triumphs over evil,” no claim to fame.

After the movie he bought some candy and comic books for some guys who are restricted to the ship. There was no need to eat dinner out because he’d stayed aboard until he’d eaten at the mess, allowing himself to save some money.  He checked out a USO dance class, but didn’t join in.  While there, he spotted an unattended phonograph and a stack of classical records, so he put on Tchaikovsky’s Fourth Symphony and settled in for some easy listening. Before long, a small group had gathered and they stuck around to hear the “Nutcracker Suite,” and the “Overture to Romeo and Juliet.” He deems one of the passages in the latter piece to be one of the most beautiful and relaxing pieces of music ever written.

He thinks a phonograph and a small library of records would make a great wedding present for them, and he hopes someone thinks of it. They’ll need music to help them fill in the blue hours while they wait for their house to become a reality. The records will fill some of the shelves he keeps sketching into his designs.

Today, he had a long watch. Several welders were working aboard the ship with acetylene burners. A fire watchman had to stand by with a CO2 extinguisher in case of a fire. He was able to put out several small ones with his squirts of fluffy snowflakes that snuff out the flames. “We’d never have lost the Normandie if the fire watch had been on the ball.” It must have been good for Dart’s mood to have some constructive work to do, at last.

In an attempt to get to the bottom of his frequent headaches, he’s having his eyes checked tomorrow. The Chief Pharmacist’s Mate thinks eye troubles might also be causing his stomach trouble and loss of appetite.

That’s all he has to say tonight, except that all he can think about is coming home to her and the need for letters stopping forever.

Dot has plenty to do, but the most enjoyable thing is to write to Dart. How could he be so thoughtless as to keep her hanging like that? What was he thinking of in his last letter when he told her he didn’t want to get her hopes up and he’d tell her in a month if his idea had worked out. Now he MUST tell her what he’s thinking about. She’s feverishly curious to know what he’s plotting.

She’s been studying science for hours and now she knows exactly nothing. What in the heck are protons, electrons, neutrons and positrons? She needs a good grade on her test, but she fears she’ll never get it.

Belatedly she tells Dart how glad she is that he has a buddy to share his liberties with. How sad she’ll be when she learns that Bevins has been transferred to another section and Dart is once again all alone.

She’ll have to wait until tomorrow to answer the rest of his letter, but isn’t it nice she won’t have to wait to tell him how much she loves him? She misses him more every day, and she suggests he simply resign from the Navy and come home to stay.

Hooray! Dart finally got a letter from Dot. For some reason, although she hasn’t mentioned it for a long time, it made him wonder how her sore thumb was doing.

At this moment, there’s a party organizing for a 12-day leave. Dart’s pretty sore about it because most of these guys have had more leave than he has. There’s no justice in this Navy.

His eye exam today showed both eyes to be 20/20 and his color perception is 100%. Since the eyes are not the cause of his recurring headaches and dental issues have been ruled out, he’s to report to sick bay whenever another headache strikes.

The recent investment he made in a new blue jumper has turned out to be a good one. He did his laundry today and can still go out tonight while his old blues are drying. Anything that enables him to get off that ship is looking like a sure thing to him.

Hal’s letter today acknowledged that he’d lost the bet and would host a weenie roast. On December 26, he’ll have enough points for discharge. He should be getting out by January 1.

Referring to Dot’s letter where she was so disgusted by the soon-to-be-divorced housemate, he asks “What makes Erla Stratton think she knows what she’s talking about? She’s made such a flop of herself and her life.” He hopes the “kids” in the house will see how much happier Dot is and decide to follow her example before they emulate Erla.

Putting on his “wise old man” hat, he observes that Dot seems to be experiencing many of the same mixed emotions he did at 18 or 19. “It’s hard to stay ‘straight’ with stuff like that going on all around. You and I have lead what the writers of books call ‘sheltered lives.’ We were not aware of the more sordid aspects of the facts of life until we suddenly grew up into a world that had passed us by. Because we never dreamed of the tremendous prevalence of such goings-on, we are aghast and revolted by them. I try to take them in my stride, but I still show surprise when some 18-year old kid sailor makes allusions to his ‘bastard kid in ‘Frisco,’ or to the innumerable girls he claims to have conquered.”

“Yes, Dot. I think we’re just waking up to these things. They seem to have gone on in greater or less force among people of our ages for all  time. …We do worry a lot about other peoples’ wrecking their lives. They live, as you say, for the momentary pleasures, forgetting about the future. We are fortunate, Dot. Our being as we are is not entirely our own doing, but is the combined results of many circumstances. We can begin thanking ourselves when we begin to think things out for ourselves and arrive at the same conclusions we instinctively went to before. Who we are after we’re aware of things is our doing. Before that, it’s not.”

“Whenever I hear a boy talking as Erla must have been, I ask his definition of love. I almost always get the same reply: a blushing, obscene word of Anglo-Saxon origin, never used in polite mixed company. …They’ve never realized what the other kind of love is. We, who have spiritual love, who look forward to realizing our expectations of the other, sexual love, are indeed, very, very fortunate.”

In the letter Dot wrote the night he called her, she said she’d whispered “I love you” several times, but she feared that he’d not heard her. He confirms that now. “No, Dot. I’m afraid I didn’t hear you whisper that stuff. Gosh, I wish I had. I wish I could hear you say it the way you did those times when we were in each other’s arms on the davenports in our houses.”

Yes, he got his staff to answer the fan mail, but he signed the letter himself. Even did it on Navy time. “After all, I’m in the Navy on ‘me time’, aren’t I?”

He’s delighted to learn that she dreams things that would make him blush. He has such dreams as well.  “I wonder how much we’ll blush on the first night of our honeymoon? I love you sumpin’ fierce!” What an endearing man, this guy!

Dot writes the kind of chipper, newsy letter that surely is a salve to the heart of her lonely sailor. She and Ellie (The roommate she could barely tolerate early in the school year) were planning to see a movie, but decided against it. They had too little cash and too much other stuff they should be doing. Dot decided to try to finish the letter she ended so hastily last night.

She can think of a great many things women are good for besides being loved, but she’ll skip the subject because she detests bloodshed.

He was right to guess that she’ll be home around December 21. She leaves Cleveland that night and will arrive in Greenwich in the wee hours of the 22nd. How she wishes she could have the same traveling companion as she had on her trip out in September. She really loved that guy!

Spending their first married night at Sunapee would depend on what time of day they were married. Neither her parents nor Harriet and George made it up there for the first night, but it’s fun to think about it. Sadly, they have way too much time to think about it!

She’d forgotten to tell him that while she was shopping downtown with his folks, Pop suggested she pick out a sterling pattern. She found one she liked, but won’t decide for sure until he weighs in. The name of the pattern is “Lyric,” and it’s simple but elegant. She even draws a diagram of it and asks Dart for his honest reaction to it.

Mary Koehler was Lois Cain’s roommate at Andrews last fall. She had a nervous breakdown and ever since then, Dot has been trying to keep in close touch with her, “cuz’ she’s such a swell kid and has so little social life.”  She lives only a few doors down from Dart’s parents on Superior, and she works in the meat market where his mom shops.

She begs Dart not to stop writing poetry. “I really do appreciate the finer things, even though I’m not conspicuous about it in my poetry. We can’t all be born Shakespeare, you know.”

Reading his last two paragraphs of Sunday’s letters gives her goose bumps. “Oh, what I’d give for an evening such as the one you described! There never was anything like it, and never will be. Like love, I mean. I agree with you whole-heartedly that no home should be without it. Ours surely won’t.”

She began a third page only because she has too much love to fit on two pages. Her letters have been short and even duller than usual lately. “All work and no play makes Dottie’s letters duller than usual. It’s not that I’ve been working so hard, but I sure spend lots of time doing something besides playing! If I had spent more time studying for that physical science test last night, perhaps I wouldn’t have flunked it today. We haven’t gotten our grades back yet, but I’m as sure I flunked it as I am that God made green apples.”

“But I began this page for the sole purpose of telling you how much I love you and I’ve only told you once! But do you need to be told? When one is as poor a writer as I, actions speak ever so much better than words. Someday I’ll be able to offer sufficient proof of my love for you, but ’til then you’ll just have to take my word for it. I LOVE YOU!!”

She wishes he’d give her better ideas for Christmas. Those socks look silly in that big box she wrapped.

Dart apologizes for the terrible paper he’s using for this letter. He was on fire watch until after the canteen closed, so he was unable to buy any of the good stuff. I’m sure Dot wouldn’t care if he wrote on the back of a cereal box, as long as he wrote!

A package arrived from home today with nuts and cookies, Scotch tape, band-aids, etc. Most of the “eats” are gone. He also got a letter from his Aunt Flora who says she’s sending him some “goodies” and some political literature. The latter, he could do without, although some of her stuff is rather interesting. Best of all, he got a letter he’d been missing from Dot. It was stamped “delayed,” with no further explanation. He’s happy to have it, whenever it arrives.

“My liberty last night consisted of a walk of approximately five miles, punctuated by two cokes and a chocolate milkshake. It was terminated by a few minutes at the USO, where I was solicited to join a choir – until the lady heard me sing.”

At this point, he begins to gleefully sing the praises of his “handy, easy-to-use, clean CO2 fire extinguisher.” This boy can get so darned excited by slick technology and keen new gadgets! He extols the virtues of this extinguisher/refrigerant for several paragraphs, even trying to tie it into what Dot might be studying in physical science class. He concludes, comically , with “It’s the same stuff that’s in ginger ale that makes your mouth feel like your foot’s asleep.”

Has he mentioned that the John R. Craig’s stay in the yard has been extended? They’re now saying the ship will be in Charleston until at least mid-January. He half wishes he hadn’t used up all his 30-day leave.

Referring to the delayed letter that arrived today, in which she asks him to be less negative in his letters to his folks, he writes, “Your scolding’s well-taken, Dot. At least, it’s well-directed. To see if it’s well-taken will require some more time to see if I can resist the impulse to grouse about my situation. I didn’t write so much to you because I thought you were having it tough enough without my continual, ceaseless fault-finding and complaining.”

He wishes they could have one of their 0400 staying up sessions again. Maybe they won’t need to be so long next time because they won’t have to cling to every fleeting second they’re together. They’ll only need to cling to each other. There’s something so intimate and heart-warming about those times. He’s sorry if they’ve done anything to upset their parents by staying up so late those times, but he feels they needed that time together.

He loves that she’s getting so much better at expressing her feelings. He tells her he’s not sure their love would have thrived if she hadn’t answered his letters from the hospital so quickly and so well. In her third or fourth letter to him, she seemed surprised (and delighted) that he should have written to her so promptly and so often. He recalls that those early letters to her always began with “Dear Dorothy.” He much prefers the current openings of “My Darling” and “My Dearest Fiance’.”

“No, I’m not angry in the least for my scolding. I know I deserved it. You see, I do need ‘squaring away’ occasionally. So far you’ve done admirable jobs of it.”

“Goodnight my darling. I love you and miss you more than I can describe.”

Dot begins, “This will have to be a quickie tonight because we did what we thought better of last night – we went to see “A Bell for Adano” and “Having a Wonderful Crime.” The first was a very (that’s about the extent of my adjectives) good war picture, but there was no fighting. Perhaps that’s what made it so enjoyable. …The other was a mystery/comedy starring Pat O’Brien, George Murphy and Carol Landis. Funny and light, it was just the sort of thing we needed to boost our sadly sagging spirits.”

She forgot to mention that they have a new roommate. Her favorite, Phyllis, moved to a quiet back room because she needed a better place to study. In moved Joyce, another very nice girl. “The only trouble is, we’re both interested in only one thing – a certain man. Consequently, we tend to much discussion about our future, but rarely do we talk of things at hand – like physical science, for example.”

As Dot writes, Ellie is madly sewing, “as if she were planning to be married at 6:00 Mass tomorrow. She says it’s something for her ‘Hopeless Chest,” but at the rate she’s going, I think she’s got something up her sleeve. By the way, she told me to tell you that she isn’t Catholic, but that’s the only church open that early, and the drug might wear off if she waits until noon.”

She writes wryly, “I got a short letter from you today which was twice as long as the one I got from you yesterday.”

She wonders if one of the “what ifs” he was thinking about recently was the possibility that he could get discharged before June 1. Something he said in a letter made her think about that. She also wonders if she’s told him enough just how much she loves him, but says she loves him too much to ever say it enough.Her roommates want her to go to bed, and so she must, after drawing a little cartoon of the officer saying “Let’s go!”