Comment
More letters from Fred than Roma in this batch. The reason seems to be that she is hurt that after asking him in an earlier letter for a loan of $30 to pay her insurance, he has not only not sent the money but not responded at all, even though for her it was a pressing matter.
Fred makes reference to traveling abroad, and Roma has traveled to the western part of the US, but they do not write about their travels. They continue to spend time with friends and acquaintances of the other sex and mention this in their letters. Perhaps to stir a little jealousy or to show that they are not completely dependent on the other’s affections.
They get into whether it’s better for her to continue to be a salesperson or to secure a teaching job. He clearly prefers the teaching track—more acceptable for a young woman’s reputation. “You are too good to be buffeted about in the world of trade. I think you have a stronger affinity for teaching the fine arts than for the coarse and ‘vulgar’ ways of commerce.”
My dearest Roma Busy Belle;
A word to the wise is sufficient—just score one for Mr. Tod [sic]. The enclosure is the answer. I appreciate his view point. I received your generous letter of invitation this morning. I am unable to reply definitely as to Sunday i.e. at this hour. I shall know by evening or early morning. It may be necessary to wire you. Believe me, the willingness to go is more than strong—I must, if possible provide a way. My going will mean some radical changes in plans here. You’ll hear from me in due time.
I am glad to know the flowers were so much appreciated. I hope the gloves are the right fit. By the way, your positive and flat refusal to come down this Sunday sounds like “law and gospel” and coming from a woman any man knows what that means. It’s almost as severe as that watery grave in midocean.
Lovingly,
Fred. [June 23, 1915]
To my dearest girl;
On arriving home for dinner to-day I found a “bunch” of mail at my plate—the best among it, of course, was your nice, fat letter. In this mail was a missive from a Cincinnati girl, whom I met aboard ship when going abroad in 1910. She is spending a week at a watering place in Clermont County. Mail from Fostoria doesn’t come as frequently as I should like. I am pleased to know that you are so comfortably located. Do you know this is a perfect day—the temperature is just right and the outdoor world seems glad in its robes of green. It must have been just such a day that inspired the author of the song entitled “Perfect Day”, or did he have in mind that “perfect day” in the “sweet by and by?”
“Oh, what is so rare as a day in June,
Then, if ever, come perfect days?”
This June day has become rarer, to me, because of your letter, freighted with such tender thoughts. What a delight—a delight beyond measure, turned he for me to spend with you the hours of this grand day—through the twilight, aye, even far into the night, when the air is cooler and purer, and when the silence lends a sacred charm to things and when the stars—those forget-me-nots of the angels, twinkle and beckon and delight the eye of man. “How nobly eloquent of the Deity it all is.”
I feel flattered at the nice things you say about my letters—well, my dear girl, if I have said anything nice about you it should have been nicer, anything sweet, it should have been sweeter, anything good it should have been better—pray, tell me, where could I have found a theme so lofty as you? You, my little ‘dew drop’ personify the purest thing that God sends to bless this earth—there is nothing so pure, unless it be a snow flake, yet somehow, I prefer the former.
You devote one paragraph to “one thing that worries me” let me say here and now, root out every thought of that kind and never again dwell upon it. I feel that no purer or sweeter friendship could have grown up between us. How I do love to reflect upon the happy hours spent with you. I never know that I could develop such a fondness for any one as I have for you.
You have and exercise the power to draw from me respect, esteem, affection and love. No experience of my life has been anything like it.
You know how proud I am of you. Don’t you think I have shown it? I am stronger for you now than ever.
I am invited to join an auto party to Wheelersburg and as I have accepted, I must now close, so as to have time to get home, change clothes and join my friends at 6:15.
Please don’t keep me waiting so long for an answer. I am not going to tell you how many times I read and reread your letters. They act like a tonic on me.
With sincere and loving regard,
F.B.W.
Portsmouth, Ohio,
June twenty three, Nineteen fifteen.
[June 1915(?)]
My most charming girl;
I returned at a late (?) hour (11:45) last night from the Wheelersburg trip. It was an ideal night for an auto ride—the moon was silvery, the air bracing and energizing and the company congenial. We were five Masons and made the trip in Miss Marting’s brother’s large car. I was wishing that you and I could have been together last night. I felt that I wanted to talk with you about some things that I prefer not to write about. Just “tete-a tete” and confidential chat, don’t you know. I hesitate to advise you as to your present occupation, tho you have asked me to do so and I appreciate the compliment implied in that request to me. I would say that my preference would be decidedly for teaching—music or any other line for which you feel equipped. Why, your amiable disposition sends out a music, tho silent, yet decidedly pleasing and this coupled with your sweet voice will bring you success anywhere.
The experience you have gained in this work should be very valuable to you and you no doubt are realizing it every day. The “brushing up” against the world, its stern realities, tells on character and a moderate amount of it is desirable. I am sure a year of it would be enough. I want to say more—you are too sweet to continue much longer in this agency work. You are too good to be buffeted about in the world of trade. I think you have a stronger affinity for teaching the fine arts than for the coarse and “vulgar” ways of commerce. Amiability, purity, sweetness, intellectuality and refinement are cardinal virtues of your character as I have been able to read and interpret it and these all combine to make you the charming girl that you are. To me you are altogether lovely and the finest of them all.
It will soon be lunch time and, oh, how I wish you were here to share it with me. Aunt Mary will serve fried ham, roasted brown new potatoes, June peas, salad, strawberries, cake, fresh bread, jelly, butter and coffee.
Referring to the house party in August—say, that sounds fine, but then any place is good if you are there. Let me know your plans. I want to arrange for it. I shall probably see Mr. L. to-night at lodge. I seldom see him. I am informed that Mr. Hunsberger will not teach here next fall.
Writing you a note affords me a peculiar pleasure, but receiving one from you gives me a joy and delight you cannot know. I feel that they are sacred, since they bear messages from the heart and soul and shall be laid away among my most treasured possessions.
In closing let me wish you continued happiness and prosperity and may the beauty of this perfect June day be only a reflection of that beauty I see in you.
Remember me to Miss Hopper and other inquiring friends.
Your sincere and admiring friend,
F.B.W.
Miss Roma Belle Matteson, Fostoria, Ohio, Main 326.
[Portsmouth, Ohio, 11 PM, June 26, 1915. Sent to 97 A Jefferson Ave., Columbus, Ohio.]
To the girl of my heart,
Dear, I expected a letter from you Sunday—I was hoping it would be a special—those Sunday morning specials were most dear to me.
Sweetheart, I am writing you this letter not knowing just where you are, however, I’ll take a chance on it reaching you at Columbus.
I have been very busy today, but was unable to accomplish all that I intended. I find that digging hard and deeply into the work helps to keep the mind off of other troubles. Dear, I wish I was real well—just normal as I should be—that I could meet and greet you with the energy and enthusiasm in harmonious keeping with the intensity of my love for you. All my love is yours and has been for these many weeks and months.
In a former letter I wrote you as to the calendar for this week. I wish you were with me tonight. There is so much I would like to tell you. Dear, I am hoping to hear from you sure tomorrow morning.
Sweetheart, good night, Heaven, bless and keep you.
Only love,
Fred.
My dearest Roma Belle;
I am sitting before a picture entitled “Love’s fire burns forever.” and as I meditate upon it my thoughts turn toward you—you of whom I am so fond, yea, I was about to say fonder than life itself. A week ago today you wrote me that “sentimental” letter in which you said you were so lonesome; why, bless you, do you know that I am and have been feeling so lonesome for you, for the past two weeks (just two weeks to-night since I left you at the Marion station) that sometimes I think I must take the first train and hurry to your side? Dear, tell me what it is that draws me so tenaciously and so constantly to you? It dates from that bright morning, Sunday morning in May. I can see you now, as I saw you then, attired in that cream colored coat suit, so petite, so attractive, so sweet. I have been wanting to steal you ever since. My happiness seems to reach its zenith in you, but alas, my anguish becomes almost unbearable when the possibility and probability of not seeing you again forces itself upon me. This pining and longing to be with you, became almost furious, when Friday’s mail brought me the post card, “Wish you were here”, Sun., oh, what wouldn’t I give to be with you this, another ideal, June day, and Sunday at that! Fate is indeed, at times, most cruel. Why couldn’t your territory have been continued indefinitely among the beautiful halls of Southern Ohio? I would have done my “damdest” (this is not swearing, used only for emphasis) to make your stay both pleasant and profitable. Say, while I think of it, tell me about you and Lena going to the coast, for I am interested.
I met Mrs. Hoobler last night and strange as it may sound, she gave me a very cordial invitation to call. Mr. H. is still laid up. She inquired about you and Miss Hopper; she had heard I was up to see you. Saw Miss Marting last night; as usual she looked very nice. I had the pleasure of riding to church this morning with Miss Allard and another friend.
The Masons attended public worship at Bigelow M.E. Church this morning. We attended in a body; the music was especially good. Messrs. Lemon and Killy were with us. I am enclosing bulletins from both churches. I have a date to-night to attend the regular Sunday night band concert at Millbrook Park. While one of my good, girl friends will be with me, yet I know my thoughts will frequently—yes, oftener than that, “wend” their way toward Marion, then “Fostoriaward” to you, the quintessence of all that is lovable and adorable in a young woman—you are “the choicest morsel on earth” and I want you to know I feel just that way.
To me you are a masterpiece of and in womanly loveliness—a gem of priceless worth and a jewel fit to adorn and grace the home of one of God’s nobleman. You have inspired me with thoughts of the purist and most lofty love and seemingly have tapped a fountain of affection in my heart, that I never knew I possessed.
And now as I close this message, before the sun sets its seal upon that cycle of time called the day, let me send it forth with the wish and hope that it will find you will and happy and the same, bright, cheerful and affectionate girl I have learned to love so well. I am intensely longing for an early reply. I remain
Most lovingly ever, F.B.W.
6/27/15
[Cleveland, Ohio, 8:30 PM, June 29, 1915. Written on hotel stationary: The Hollenden, Cleveland.]
My dear Mr. Winter:
As you see from the above I am not in Fostoria, but nine-thirty, however, will find me home. Lena and I made a business trip to the city today, and sure have enjoyed it.
The last week we have been so busy doing “society”, however that does not explain my not writing to you.
I have hesitated to write you, for I had no idea what it might mean. I have thot and thot, and yet my mind is positively blank. I have wondered if you could ever be the same to me again, and if I ever wanted to see you again. My heart tells me I do, my pride I do not, which should be the stronger?
To me you have seemed “friend” personified, yet the first and only insult I have experienced has come from you. Does it hurt? yes, more than you will ever know.
I have not been so hurt over your not sending the money I asked you to loan me, as your failing to make mention of same. I wish to say I have done nothing for wish [sic] I am sorry, indeed I am glad for it, altho the experience has been bitter.
I have never posed for you only as my true self, and have done nothing except which has been perfectly honorable. If your love and friendship can be bought for thirty pieces of silver, it is not worth very much, is it?
Does a business man ever borrow money, no matter how good his standing?
Mr. Rossin is coming over Saturday to spend Sunday and Monday. I am not asking you to come, as I feel it would be too much, but if you should care to, and can, I should be glad to see you. Somehow, I feel if our friendship ended here, I should always be unhappy. In your last letter you said, “there was a possibility, and probability, you would never see me again.” There must have been a desire to that effect, or you would not have said it.
This morning I thot of you all the time on the train, and am glad to say they were happy thots.
Sunday Lena and I were invited for a ride in a Cadillac eight. Mr. Bowers has asked me to drive from Detroit to my home in one, after Sunday’s experience, I think I shall accept.
Last night we drove in a Buick to Findley and had such a nice time at the park.
Just now the strains of “The Rosary”, are floating on the air. What an effect music has on one. It seems to draw out all the good one possesses.
I hope you will pardon this hurried and blunt note. I positively had no idea how I should ever get thru it. It is time we migrated to the station, so will close with the best of wishes,
Roma
June twenty-eight. Six P.M.
[Fostoria, Ohio, 11 PM, June 30, 1915. Postcard.]
Dear Mr. W__:
Am leaving Fostoria tomorrow. Will write later.
Roma.
QBA 
So much admiration, passion, & more than friendly-fondness between Roma & Fred! I can’t bear to see them end their relationship! I’m certain Fred will explain himself, as he so eloquently does, & all will end happily.
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