Part Love Story, Part Travelogue Pt 14
Our
Love – Story
My Grandmother Margaret E. Winslow, 1908
BY SWEETHEART (SHARED BY J. STEWART)
( click here for other installments)
Installment #14:
It was at exactly 11 o’clock the next morning ~ I will keep your ‘now,’ to always remember the day and hour, my Other Self ~ that a knock came at your door awaking you. “Come,” you called drowsily and saw your little landladies flutter in. “We just couldn’t wait,” they exclaimed in chorus and produced a long box which was addressed to you. Instantly you were wide awake and sitting up in bed, with nervous fingers at the string. “Oh!” you gasped, as the cover fell off and the perfume of roses rushed into the air. Mr. Stewart’s card with the message “To keep you from getting lonesome till six o’clock” lay on the tissue paper which, being torn off, revealed the magnificent crimson blossoms of his thoughtfulness. Something caught in your throat. You could do nothing but gaze while the landladies were running all over the house for vases to hold the beautiful things. Even after they were properly arranged and three had gone downstairs to brighten their rooms, you still sat in bed arranging your thoughts ~ perhaps not as properly as the roses but at least truthfully. How the glorious crimson heads brightened up that little back room. How that card that came with them cast an aura in the gloom of your card case! Did you eat salad or ambrosia at the little table at Stokes that noon? Even you didn’t know so I can only remember how you hurried back to your room to gaze at your roses. When Roger came to call you took them down on the piazza with you so you wouldn’t miss a moment of their beauty.
Your jolly dinner hour with the boys over, you went back to your room previous to going to the station and thence to the Fair. You pinned a rose on your coat and were rewarded by a gladness in Mr. Stewart’s eyes. At the station he inquired about a berth for you on the Pullman that was to take you to California in a few days. It was such a comfort to have Mr. Stewart take the responsibility and you appreciated his kindness for you liked that feeling of being taken care of. Taking the boat to the Fair Grounds you were surprised on nearing them to see no blaze of glory, no fairy-like glitterings of lights among the trees along the lake. Only the stadium was lighted by red fire and as you saw it from the music pavilion, where you heard the evening concert in restful moonlight, silhouetting the tall gaunt firs that reached toward the yellow moon, it seemed as though you must be in an enchanted garden. That evening you and your guardian turned children. You indulged in the wonderful spectacle of the “Monitor and Merrimac,” where you grew intensely excited and kept your fingers in your ears. You rolled balls into holes under the watchful eye of an attendant Japanese man and came away with a beautiful cup and saucer as a prize. Always delighted with a merry-go-round, you lured Mr. Stewart to ride with you. But this one was to any you had ever known as a bucking bronco is to a livery horse. You implored them to stop it, you clutched at Mr. Stewart, and though you nearly died of apoplectic laughter united you stuck it out and turned toward the toboggan. For the last time you whirled thru the caverns and down the ravines, Mr. Stewart holding you safe, and after watching the antics of the Joy wheel riders for a few laughing moments, you indulged in a roast-beef sandwich and a cup of coffee. Then you started for home and your nightly converse on the piazza. Where you found yourself in the shelter of your guardian’s arms you looked up at him and whispered, “I saved it till now to tell you what the roses have meant all day. I couldn’t tell you before,” and you hid your eyes before the glow in his. A little later you were speaking of having to borrow some money from Roger when Mr. Stewart broke out with “You will borrow it from me, Sweetheart. I guess I can lend a few dollars to my future wife!” Such seriousness was in his voice, dear Other Girl, that you couldn’t laugh as you had done before. You had begun to be so happy because of him that your fear of making him unhappy and yourself, too, preyed on your mind. So you said, “Mr. Stewart, if you are not careful one of our hearts will hurt when we say goodbye.” For a moment he was thoughtful, then came the tale of his love for you and his knowledge that you loved him in return but did not yet recognize it. When it was told and he had kissed you goodnight, you went upstairs re-echoing your bewildered wail, “Oh! I don’t know, I don’t know.” It was long after your burning face was laid on the pillow that thoughts of home and someone across the ocean, of a question to be decided and the good true love you had been offered would let you fall asleep.