Comments
Apologies for any confusion arising from the order of the letters. Fred’s were usually not dated, and my detective skills are wanting.
They seem to both be worried about work and their ability to make a livelihood. Roma has mixed feelings about “school work” that may relate to the low pay and the possibility that this could set her up for petty politics in a community. Roma references her “Bible work” and I’m not sure what this means, perhaps she sold Bibles along with Who’s Who and encyclopedias? Again, both are fairly opaque with exactly how they earn their living.
Roma brings up marriage and is eager, even desperate, to know for sure that this will come about by year’s end. And even though he is lavish with his expressions of love, he does not mention marriage. His financial situation seems to be at the root of this, but I’ve wondered if perhaps he was involved in homosexual experiences that put a cloud on this part of his life. They talk again about farming and chickens comes up. One memory I have of Roma was when she came to visit in the 1950s and a chicken ran across our yard. Roma yelled out, “Catch it! We can cook it for supper.” So she likely knew how to pluck a chicken. Fred has difficulty imagining Roma engaging in household chores, but my memory is that though she may have had intermittent household help, she was an accomplished cook and had high standards for cleanliness. She was an excellent seamstress, darned socks (and taught me) and even holes in dishtowels. By contrast, my mother didn’t sew, only mended, and her house was cluttered and often dirty. In one of the letters Roma talks about taking a dress apart, dry cleaning it, ironing it and then sewing it back together. She sewed many of her outfits and laundry and ironing must have been quite a production.
Fred comments on her ambitious nature and rather likes it. Perhaps this also makes him feel unworthy of her, as she is accomplished and cultured as well. His lyrical romantic phrasing is almost over the top: “May this message, dear heart, reach you on the wings of the morning of the day that will soon dawn….”
Roma is invited by Mrs. Todd in Columbus to stay at her house. Mrs. Todd is quite taken with Roma’s charm and culture and takes Roma under her wing. She thinks Roma looks younger than her years and is surprised that Roma is still unmarried. She wants to vet Fred to make sure he is worthy. Roma, seems to bask in this affection, especially as Mr. Todd has some standing as an ex-senator.
My dearest Roma;
Just to think of it—a sweet girl like you, all dressed up, no place to go, no one to love her—well it’s a good thing I wasn’t near or part of that story couldn’t have been written.
I was agreeably surprised to get a letter from you yesterday morning as I had supposed Mr. B. had “taken up” all your time Sunday which would, of course, preclude any letter writing.
Mr. B. called last evening in the coupe, having with him his sister and Miss Farmer; I was invited to join them and we enjoyed a ride about the city. Only one sister was along and no mention was made of any other members of Mr. B’s family. There was absolutely no chance for me to turn the “trick” you suggested. I was ready for it but the opportunity did not present itself. Pet, I am sure those “little thoughtless ways” can be easily changed.
Dearest, you ask if I am ashamed of you—what a question for you to ask me! Ashamed of you! “Well, might midnight blush to own its star.” I have always been proud of you. Dear girl, you further ask if I understand you; my answer is yes and no; some wise fellow long since said, “No man ever understood a woman.” but my dear, little girl, I do love you and there is no mistaking that.
Why did you ask in a former letter whether anyone but myself read your letters to me?
My sweet girl, do you know that I, too, have had the same sweet thoughts and beautiful dreams that came to you when reading your favorite Paul Lawrence Dunbar. I have seen such dreams come true. I “appreciate” the huge bouquet you send that reflects so favorably upon the capacity of my mind for grasping the sciences—even the science of engines.
You open up a “field” of tremendous proportions and opportunities when you write about the farm proposition. I at one time, not so very long ago, enthused very much on the fruit farm idea; I went to see quite a number of apple orchards that were offered for sale. I almost bought one located on the traction near Cincinnati. It was nicely located and looked like a good proposition. It sounds “funny” to hear you talk about garden, cows, pigs and chickens. It takes an awful stretch of the imagination to associate my Roma Belle with such things.
My sweetheart, I told you you were “effervescing” with love and I believe it, but I also find you are “effervescing” with ambition and enthusiasm and that makes me like you all the more.
Dear Roma, I know a number of people who went into the chicken business and not one of them made a success of it. The paper profits climb high but somehow they never seem to materialize. The fruit farm is a much better thing, although success is attained only from hard work and capable and efficient management.
I have business with Capt. Donnelley again to-morrow. I saw him Monday. So far there is nothing doing and prospects are not pleasing.
I am wondering if you accepted the offer at Lazarus’ store. It is one of Ohio’s best department stores.
Oh, how I wish I could see you to-night; my mental image of you needs refreshing. I like the flood of confidence you let flow toward me. I think of you as a precious jewel that would garnish and adorn the life of any man. You possess an elegant abundance of those womanly charms that make such an appeal to any man having a sense of appreciation.
Dear, a hundred miles separate us in body, but in spirit I am, oh, so close. How I would enjoy a long chat with you and talk over things that are too precious to reduce to writing.
The hour is late, beast and flower have gone to sleep and only a few of mankind are astir; the quiet of the hour suggests a sacred sweetness—a sweetness characteristic of you, dear Roma Belle; that same sweetness that I saw when I first met you—how it does abide. I am reveling in the thought of it now. May this message, dear heart, reach you on the wings of the morning of the day that will soon dawn, bearing to you my truest, my deepest, my tenderest love.
A fond good night, Fred.
To my only sweetheart:
The pleasant surprise of this morning was the receipt of your good and generous letter. I somehow, did not expect one to-day, hence, the joy was all the sweeter.
I am unable to grasp, even after reading it several times, your paragraph on “Damn”, i.e., I don’t get the point, so I just let the damn thing go.
You seem to have a “penchant” for visiting “writing” rooms—will, those that I have seen are certainly very inviting. I appreciate more than I can tell you the kind, sweet and generous solicitation you show toward me in considering your every move. It is more than I deserve.
The difference that I notice in your letters since my visit to Bucyrus, is to say the least, pleasing. You thought “I just amused you”—well, if that be true, then “amuse” must mean much.
You say you now feel the “freedom”—oh, that magic word freedom or its better known synonym liberty, “the birthright of babes, the shout of childhood, the buoyancy of youth, the energy of middle age and the aureole at life’s decline.”—of tongue and pen. That means all barriers are cleared away and our talks shall be as heart to heart. Oh, that thrice blessed freedom and liberty!~ Do you wonder that the writer grew eloquent?
I shall anxiously await the little book with the unique and helpful passages. There is a relation between “silks” and heart’s desires” that I can’t just explain; though it may be only artificial.
“Echoes” of that Xmas dream abound in this your latest letter—I carefully garner them and see that they are safely lodged in the repository of a faithful breast. Pet, what have I done to win your love? I did love you and I just had to give some expression to it, for you know what some wise philosopher man said about that, “love unexpressed is poison”! Yes, and I love you now and will continue to love you no matter what turn events may take. I can’t help it. I have been honest with you and I feel I say much when I say that. Honesty is the foundation of all virtue. I want to be honest with myself. “First to thine own self be true, and it follows as the night the day, thou cans’t not be false to any man.” I say to B. on the “Old Rose” go to it, if he can. I could enjoy that myself. Yes, dearest one, I am your lover, but I absolutely can’t help it. Any man that couldn’t love you needs a doctor—yes, two of them. Your Xmas dream has found its counterpart and complement in thoughts sweet and tender that I have entertained times without number.
Yes, dear Roma, things between you and me are sacred and holy and I am glad to know that our confidences are guarded by two lives, even, tho Fate should decree that they never be one. You ask if I am satisfied—I answer yes and no. You ask if I trust you—emphatically yes. You ask if “my letters are read by anyone, but you”—I should say not. I keep them under lock and key and feel that I should have a blue ribbon to tie around them. Why did you ask that question?
Dear heart, the paragraph you ask “elucidation” on refers to the bread and butter, the dollars and cents or the economic issues that you discussed in more or less detail. While these are of vital interest and highly important, it is too bad to think that they must enter so seriously and prominently into affairs of the heart.
Thank you for saying my letters are always a pleasure. What I meant about that letter being stranger was this, I wrote you at the Chemical Co. office, on paper part of which was “copying” and part “original” it all being typewriter size. The pen was scratchy which helped to make my writing poorer. About one third of the letter was written at the office and the rest at home—some of the writing was done in the dining room while the “finish” took place in my own room. And then I was disturbed by several callers. It was far past midnight when I left the house to post that letter in the station box. You know I am opposed to late hours, except———-.
Pet, I don’t wonder that Mr. Fred Lazarus hesitated to give you a place. I know I would. Its “dangerous” for any man or rather to the department to have a girl as pretty and attractive as you, in any department of the store, for the reason that she can’t or won’t stay because some “feller” will steal her and take her away, perhaps, when she is most needed. Love, do you see the impression you made on Mr. Lazarus? Didn’t I tell you you were unique? You said I was brilliant (wow) do you believe it now? You common? You?—well, I guess not, you belong to that twenty percent not the eighty. You say you “growed” that way and can’t change it. I don’t want you to change it, if you could.
Yes, dear, I have heard much of Michigan apples but I like their peaches better—i.e. one peach.—no I mean dew drop. Dear girl, I can’t associate you with a farm of any kind; why, it’s hard for me to associate you with the sterner side of even simple, domestic life—such as wash day, ironing day, cleaning day, baking day and all that sort of thing. These things must be met with strong courage, some muscle and without murmuring. I see little “affinity” in your fine and delicate nature for such things. Do I judge rightly?
My sweet girl, if I could do any old darn thing I please—do you know what I would do?—God knows, I know—you ought to by this time. We must know soon. I shall spend Sunday with my two sisters and their families in Ironton, leaving this evening and returning Monday morning. I should so much like to have you along. I’ll see seven babies.
I notice this letter is getting “big”. You have not told me you liked “big” ones. I must hurry out to the plant before supper. The train goes at 7:30 P.M. My niece, Helen, from Detroit will go with me.
I am enclosing a “blessing eloquent” from the pen of my favorite living writer Dr. Crane.
May the Sunday now approaching be and bring to you a benediction of peace and gladness, and may the friends who will surround you make you happy and joyful by their companionship and may the inspiration of it all lift you toward this ideas you so much cherish.
All with love, Fred.
P.S. The clippings are from to-day’s paper.
How strange I saw them. F.
Dearest Roma;
What has happened? Are you ill? Has something gone wrong? Has something been said or done to offend? Has anything been left unsaid or undone that should have been said or done? Why is it that I am so oppressed and depressed by this feeling of uneasiness and anxiety? The suspense is awful. Your kind letter of Sunday is the last I have had. You have heard from me three times since Sunday.
I am reading “Love for an hour”, thus far only two chapters. I have read and reread those passages you marked. I would enjoy this book a thousand times more if we could read and discuss it together. Roma dear, to me you are as lovely as a poet’s dream and to be with you is to “wear the look of a man who had always lived in the sunniest places of human happiness.” Your words, whether written or spoken, but more especially spoken, are like music to me.
I cannot write more, as I want this to go out on the next train, which leaves in about twenty minutes. I presume general delivery will reach you. I am expecting word before the setting of another sun.
Lovingly, Fred.
[Columbus, Ohio, 3 PM, August 12, 1915.]
My dearest Fred:
I have burned one of my fingers badly, so it is very difficult for me to write.
The letter which I received this evening was so sweet, so tender, so full of love. How much I appreciated it.
Dear, where do you suppose I am? At ex-Senator I. E. Todd’s. Do you “know” of him? Mrs. Todd is one grand, dear, sweet, woman. How she ever took such a fancy to me, I don’t know, but she came down to the Y.W.C.A., and said she wanted me to come and stay at her house as a guest, that she dearly loved girls, and did not know as she had ever seen one that appealed to her as I do, unless it was her nieces. I just can’t tell you how nice she is to me.
She says she can’t believe I am nearly as old as I say and does not see how I happen not to be married. She seems very fond of me, and indeed must be, or else she would not have invited me to come and stay with her. Her husband is one of the leading lawyers here now.
Dear, she is very anxious to meet you, and asked me several times to invite you up. She said the whole house was at my disposal, and she wanted me to enjoy myself and have any company I cared for. Today she has asked me several times if I did not wish to invite my friend from Portsmouth. She says she should like to look over any young man I was interested in before it became serious. Dear lover, I hesitate to ask you, because you have been so good about coming to see me, and have been so good to me in other ways, but I do not feel that I will be in Columbus very much longer, and I should hate to leave without seeing you again. There are many things I should like to talk to you about, that I cannot write. As you once said it was so hard to be understood on paper.
I have never been able to entertain you as I should like, and now I can. The folks before they got me had planned with friends to go on a picnic Sunday. If they do we can have this big beautiful house all to ourselves. Dear, this trip won’t be “heavy” like the other ones, we will make it “awfully” light. I don’t like to coax, because as I have said, you have been so dear, so sweet, so kind and good to me I hate to ask you, but sweetheart, I believe if you feel you can, it will be worthwhile. I have so much I want to tell you that Mrs. Todd has told me. It would be hard to write. I have been in beautiful homes but nothing like this.
The other day I made some jell all myself, and let me tell you it is good. Will give you some.
I can’t write an interesting letter this evening, I can only tell you how much I want to entertain one of “god’s nobleman” Sunday. Come Saturday either morning or afternoon and stay until Monday morning. Darling I want to go to the Presbyterian Church with you. I went last Sunday night and it was simply sublime. How my heart just ached and longed for you to enjoy it with me.
I read Mrs. Todd one or two of your beautiful letters and she thinks you must be a wonderful man. Now come and make my word good.
With deepest love and affection, Roma.
97 N. Jefferson Ave.
[At top of first page:]
I think I am going in a work with Mr. Todd’s niece. Ind.
[Columbus, Ohio, 11:30 PM, August 20, 1915.]
[At top of backside of envelope:]
The pillow top looks good. It has a big G. in the middle. Is that all right?
My most precious lover:
Dear, when I say “precious,” that is the most I can say. You are precious, every hair of your head, and I just love you with all my love. I am not sentimental, just lonesome. I have thot of you so much of my time today, and oh darling, when Mrs. Todd talked about going to bed and cuddling up to her husband, how I wanted to cuddle close in your arms last night. It was so cold we had to light the gas. They say, “It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.” I don’t know as I can agree to that. I believe I should rather never love.
Friday P.M.
Dear, I was so tired and “love-sick” last night, I could not finish my letter. Your dear sweet letter came this morning, and was thrice welcome. I am glad dear, you are feeling better, and only hope it will continue. Please if you don’t feel well tell me. I want to know. I have been well since you left, but very busy. I have ripped my green dress up, dry cleaned and pressed it, and should be sewing on it this minute, but you are nearer and dearer than any old green dress. However, I might mention that I think the dress is going to be “good looking” when it is finished, at least I hope you will like it. Today Mrs. Todd and I did a big ironing, and I burned my arm awfully on the iron. I believe it would get better if I only had some one to kiss it. I still love Mrs. Todd devotedly, but she has given me some things to think about. Dear, she thinks you are a grand man, and wants me to “land” you. How I hate and despise that word, and how far it is from me. If I thot I had to work and “land” you, believe me, you, or any other man, would sink in mid-ocean. I might have had sufficient cause to try and “land” you for some time, but dear, I never thot of such a thing as really caring seriously for you, or believed you cared for me, until your visit in Bucyrus. Then dear I did, and I also allowed myself to see how much I cared for you, and when measured, I found it was all I had. Now dear, what Mrs. Todd has given me to think about is, she said the five years she was engaged to Mr. Todd she did not have the confidence and trust in him I have in you. She said she never asked him to come and see her or to stay longer than he wanted to. She was hitting me for rather insisting on your staying Monday night. She said, “they were glad to have Mr. W. stay, and had expected him to, but she was afraid you would get tired of me.” Sweetheart if you will get tired of me because I love you, and want you, and want you to know it, you better say good-bye and be done with it. I told you dear if you had to go, I would not ask or urge you to stay, but to deliberately leave in the early evening, was a sin and a shame if it were not necessary. Dearest sweetheart, I told you Sunday night I would never mention this again, but I can’t help it. You and I ought to be married, you know it and so do I. You can procrastinate in other things, but love is dangerous. Supposing this happy little world we know to exist, should be shot to pieces just because we had “put off.” [A splash of ink landed on the word “just”; over the ink splash, she has written “splash.”] Mrs. Todd wants me to stay here this winter if I do not get a school, and she says she hopes I don’t. I can get a church position, and she wants her nieces to take lessons of me, and says she can get me quite a class here. Now dear, if I teach, I will have to take what I can get, and we have no idea where that would take me. If I stay here, I can sew and get my clothes ready and be earning something besides. You could keep me for what you spend in coming to see me, and think of all of that dear sweet loving we could enjoy. We could live with your folks until spring, and in the meantime, watch, and plan, and study, and then at the opportune time, make some kind of a move, and start out together. Sweetheart please tell me we can be married then. I would not dare, or think of talking this way to you, only I know you love me, and dear, I want you to know my love is strong enough to go thru thick or thin with you. Darling to love you, to live with you, to care for you, to take you for better or for worse, and to be loved by you would be something money cannot buy. Dear, sometimes I feel you do not love me enough, or you would not hesitate when you know how I feel, when I know everything, and sometimes think maybe I have been too free and familiar, but it would break my heart to think that. My feelings, my conduct toward you have breathed but the purest, sweetest love, something I never dreamed existed until you showed it to me, how could you let it make any difference, unless it would be to love me more? You have never told me what you want me to do. Please dearest write me a real confidential and heart to heart letter, and tell me about our Yuletide dream. Darling it must come true, we will work together for it and make it true, but dear, you must tell me in your next letter. I must know about teaching. Something has told me all along that if I teach we will lose each other, and it seems as tho I would rather die than lose your love and you. I have felt this way every [sic] since I gave up the Bible work.
I am glad I received you card and letter so promptly to show Mrs. Todd you had not forgotten me. Please write me real often, every day, I do love your darling letters so much. Also please accept my thanks for the enclosure. I will try and make good use of it. I will write again Sunday, but when a poor substitute for last Sunday. Then I had with me the dearest, sweetest, kindest man in this whole world and how I love him.
With my deepest and truest love, “Dew Drop.”
I have got to take this down at once if the mail gets it.
[On the side margin:]
Mrs. Todd wants me to have a suit off that velvet we saw in Lazarus that you liked. Would you let me come and see you then?
QBA 