Dave, That was very nice.
A friend just sent me the following:
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>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."
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Cheryl |
