>>> A very cute Valentines Day Story
>>>
>>> John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened
>>> his Army uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way
>>> through
>>> Grand Central Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew,
>>> but whose
>>> face he didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun
>>> thirteen months before in a Florida library. Taking a book off the
>>> shelf he
>>> found himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the
>>> notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a
>>> thoughtful
>>> soul and insightful mind. In the front of the book, he discovered the
>>> previous
>>> owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her
>>> address. She lived in New York City. He wrote her a letter
>>> introducing
>>> himself and inviting her to correspond. The next day he was shipped
>>> overseas
>>> for service in World War II. During the next year and one month the
>>> two grew to
>>> know each other through the mail. Each letter was a seed falling on a
>>> fertile heart. A romance was budding. Blanchard requested a
>>> photograph, but
>>> she refused. She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter
>>> what she looked like.
>>> When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they
>>> scheduled
>>> their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New
>>> York.
>>> "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on
>>> my lapel."
>>> So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart he
>>> loved,
>>> but whose face he'd never seen. I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what
>>> happened:
>>> A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her
>>> blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were
>>> blue as
>>> flowers. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale
>>> green suit
>>> she was like springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely
>>> forgetting
>>> to notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, a small,
>>> provocative
>>> smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured.
>>> Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I saw
>>> Hollis
>>> Maynell. She was standing almost directly behind the girl. A woman
>>> well
>>> past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat. She was more
>>> than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes. The
>>> girl
>>> in the green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I was
>>> split
>>> in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my
>>> longing
>>> for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
>>> And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible,
>>> her
>>> gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. I did not hesitate. My
>>> fingers
>>> gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was to
>>> identify
>>> me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious,
>>> something
>>> perhaps even better than love, a friendship for which I had been and
>>> must
>>> ever be grateful. I squared my shoulders and saluted and held out the
>>> book to the woman, even though while I spoke I felt choked by the
>>> bitterness
>>> of my disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be
>>> Miss
>>> Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"
>>> The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what
>>> this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in
>>> the green suit who just went by, she begged me to wear this rose on my
>>> coat. And she said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go
>>> and
>>> tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the
>>> street. She said it was some kind of test!" It's not difficult to
>>> understand and admire Miss
>>> Maynell's wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response
>>> to the
>>> unattractive. "Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will
>>> tell you who
>>> you are."
Father Terrence |
