My dear
Sweetheart:
I never want
to stop calling you that, but before long, if I’m called on to write you
letters, I want to say, “my dear wife”. The time is growing short, but not
speedily enough for me, does April 8 come round. Mr. and Mrs. Allen were out
last night, and Chubby illustrated how each day meant one more day of freedom
cut off – but even that does not discourage me. I know that I’ll enjoy you as
“boss”.
I have been
told that it will not be surprising to find myself in the “lake” next door, one
of these fine nights, after a “belling”.
If that comes, too, I’ll have to endure it (unless you are able to
protect me). Mrs. Young said last night that she has your job picked out – that
you are to help her wait table at the dance. Of course you would marry me, so
you have let yourself in for that.
I don’t envy
you the experience of having a dozen girls come in to surprise you, though it
is nice to realize that you have such good friends. Mother Veach was so pleased
that the girls were coming that she fairly bubbled over with pleasure. (Really
I began to fear that she’d tell you inadvertently).
We have hung
your dresses in the cedar closet, and when guests run in, we eagerly drag them
to the second floor to show that we expect a girl in the house. Everybody likes
your rug, and the more times I unroll it to show it, the better looking I think
it is.
Dot, I know
we’re going to make a go of it. I have vowed myself that I’ll never by word or
act do anything to make you regret having married me. I want you to always be
happy in our home, and I am willing to go more than half way to see that you
are content. There is no assurance that we’ll ever be anything but ordinary
working folk, but there is every reason to believe that we can content ourselves
with what we have. Once again I want to assure you that your happiness is the
most important thing in life for me.
I’m coming
to claim you next week, and then you’ll know that I mean it when I say, “you
must be happy”.
I hope K was
able to enjoy the surprise on Monday eve. I wish there wered some way of
settling things for her and Bob.[1] Give them and mother my love, but save a big
share of it for yourself.
Andy
[1] Dottie's brother Bob and his intended, Kathleen, were engaged for sixty-plus years, but never married, because "she wouldn't move to the farm and he wouldn't move to town."
These letters make me just swoon! Poor Bob and K!
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