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Letters between Sylvester and Eva, June 1918
Bricktop
June 1, 1918
Dearest,
Daido and I undertook to do some cleaning and had about fifty visitors.
I thot I was going to have bad news to tell you again after my good news letter of the morning as Miss Davis came in about one o'clock and said she would not take the house as Mrs. Japhet Pierce had offered her one room and a kitchenette, with no gas bills to pay or no cleaning to do, for nine dollars a month and she thot that would be fine. It was for her. I was certainly disappointed but about three she came back again to say that she had discovered Mr. Le Compe was rooming there and naturally she didn't want to go, so I guess I'm safe.
It feels as if we are going to have an August day tomorrow. I hope not. If you go to Italy you just needn't send home pictures of you making snow balls in summertime for I sure can't appreciate that kind of humor and especially if the thermometer is 202 degrees here.
It's getting late so I'll kiss you good night and hurry away. Good-night, sweetheart.
Be Good.
Your Lady Me.
Camp Devens
Sat. Eve. June 1 / 18
Dearest One,
Evening on the porch, but I can't watch the sunset, except by reflection, for our porch forces the east, and anyway, we're backed up against a hill. There is a pretty cloud formation over in the east, though, which I have been watching - a great flat canopy with an edge, a filmy ostrich-plume-like edge, about half way up the sky; the canopy covering a big billowy bulge of wave clouds. It's shortening up a lot more now. And there's another billowy bulge over to the left which has come up which first looked like a giant mushroom, but in settling down two tips have grown out and it looks just like an Argentine steer.
Today has been frightfully hot, and it has been quite a push to be able to do anything in it. Our quarters seem just to absorb all the heat there is, just as before in the winter the cold wind found every crack. You should see how this damp weather has curled my hair, particularly as I left it so long on top just to please you, lady.
The afternoon has been particularly lonesome, being Saturday and scarcely anyone around. I would have liked to be out, but not walking, because it was distinctly one not to walk in, unless there are cooler spots than this around. I would have liked to have ridden to the end of nowhere, with you to hold up my left arm, and feel the air in my face. My arm I suppose can't say it really needs holding up much more for its own sake. I have a great ambition now, to be able to hold the arm straight up over my head in one week's time. A physical examination of all officers is coming soon, and I've got to be ready to fool them. If it should deny me a chance to go over the sea with my organization, I just don't know what I'd do; Pop says I'm coming along if he has to put me up in a packing box, and ship me as baggage. You bet your life he will! But I'm going to fool the medicos on that arm. It's going to be all right, anyway, I guess so it won't have to be a matter of fooling.
Ralph has been down with me some this afternoon, and is going to stay down at the Supply Train to-night. Tomorrow afternoon we are going to drive the Ford up to Lowell to see a Cousin James Savage, whom I have never been up to see since I've been in Camp Devens. He is only a distant relative, but has always been quite a close friend of our family's, and the people have been anxious for us to run up and see him. Besides he sent me a special invitation a couple of months ago. We are just going to drive up, stay a couple of hours, and return. It will give me a chance to get out & get a little change. I've hardly left the place except the night I drove out with Leviseur to Groton. On a hot day one feels particularly cooped up here, for the heat just bears down on me, and gives me the desire to fly somewhere.
My vaccination didn't take so I have two perfect arms now. After ten days, I'll have to try the vaccination again.
There has been a little interval here, as it got absolutely dark on the porch, and I sat for some time talking to Ralph who had gotten around here again. Now I'm writing in my office. It is in the southwest corner of our building and is somewhat cooler than my room. My room seems so confining these days, I don't like to be there; the porch makes it dark, and the heat makes it hot. I guess that must be why.
When I first read your letter of Memorial Day evening, this afternoon, it almost melted me when you spoke of the fireplace going, for I was trying my best to keep cool. But now there is a nice breeze blowing in the window and I can read it very appreciatively. I just guess I ought to, with the almost-promise for me if I were with you.
Just wait until you're boss, huh? I thought there wasn't going to be any boss. Oh, no. I do remember somebody saying something about who would do the bossing if any was to be done. It's like Major Schoonmaker used to say when he was C.O. "If there's any swearing to be done around here, it will be done by the Commanding Officer." I guess Andy still holds the prize, however.
Isn't there some rather silly song about "Daisies Won't Tell"; perhaps it has something to do with the reason you had to pull half a dozen extra petals off. But you said you did that right after your last yes; however, I'm going to be conceited and take it that it was on the yes you did it. I don't believe it would make you tell me an untruth. Eva, there are no nos or chances; it is Yes, Yes, yes, all the time. He just told me so.
Dear sunshine lady, I love you every minute of every day. A good-night kiss.
Your Sylvester.
[June 2, 1918]
Dearest,
Goodness it is warm. I am almost melted. I thought we were going to have a day like this.
Did any of the boys run ahead of the commander this Memorial Day?
My peas are almost ripe. Isn't that just grand? I wish you could see the garden. I know you'd be proud of it.
Goodness, I'm afraid I'll have to go to Maine or Canada this summer if the weather is going to be like this.
It is so open here we ought to be cool but there is not a breath of air blowing. It's just perverse.
Now in the enclosed envelope there is a s'prise and don't you dare to open it until you're real, real, lonesome, and not just curious, remember! [note - what ever it was is no longer there]
I think I'll stop now as I wont have anything to say tonight if I don't.
Your sweetheart
Camp Devens
Sun. eve. June 2/18
My own dear Sunshine Lady,
I am surely happy that you are going to stay at Bricktop thru the summer; that's great news. And I hope Miss Davis will come there with you; I don't see how she can resist it when she has to choose between it and the Maple Inn. And I don't see how you and Miss Davis could help having a pleasant time together. And I am so happy to think you can keep that one corner of the garden for me, for you will, won't you, lady? Or for Us?
Eva, dear, I am sorry you have had that cold, but glad you got over it successfully. I'm sure I don't know where you get the idea there's no use taking anything for one, sweetheart. Of course, it has to run its course, but that isn't saying anything except that it has to start and end. Three 2-grain quinine pills have often stopped them for me when I felt one coming on; taken just before going to bed. And if they (the colds) get going, I break them up with a preparation known as Bell's Syrup of Codeine. Just because it's got to start and end is no reason why one shouldn't help it along toward the ending and incidentally prevent more serious trouble. Well, I am glad my dear girlie is better, but what must she think of me when I have talked so much about myself and my health, sometimes good news, of course, but not always. I guess she thinks I'm a terrible infant. When we're married, you'll think I'm going to bother you with every little toothache, tired feeling, & uncomfortableness I feel. But I won't. I'm going to reform. Eva, I don't believe I've told you how pleased I was with your sending those sweet alyssums up to my home. Mother spoke about them to me in last week's letter and she was very much pleased, too. If you could get up there this summer and see Lucinthia & Winnie & Eleanor & the Us gardens this summer it surely would be nice; or if Lucinthia could come down a week-end & see you; or both.
Don't be sorry you wrote me the other letter about not staying at Bricktop, for of course I want to know all about your plans at any time. Are you going to tell me when we go hunting for our first house which one you want us to take? Would you like one just like my Aunt Kate's bungalow? You know, I'm just hoping some of the old family furniture will descend to us, and I'm sort of thinking maybe it will, for they know how much I like old things. And wouldn't I like one of those cloth comfort rockers? Now that sounds wicked, doesn't it, as though I didn't care whether I lost relatives or not so long as I could get things? I trust I may not be thought of as thus sordid; perhaps somebody might give us some things outright.
I got started thinking about old furniture to-day when Ralph and I were up at Cousin James Savage's in Lowell. He was showing us a four century old desk with all kinds of secret, unfindable compartments in it. He is quite an antiquarian and genealogist. I have little patience with genealogy as a hobby but I do like old things. Ralph was with me here all morning; we read the Sunday papers. I did a little work, and wrote Mother & Lucinthia letters. I guess that's about all. Foe I didn't rise till 8:30. Right after dinner we started for Lowell in the trusty Ford. Some of the roads were very poor and in Lowell itself they were and in a Ford every bump is felt. However, I stood the trip without fatigue. We stayed there a couple of hours only, chatted and listened to some real treats on their Victrola. The music that speaks to the soul, dear. Kreisler's Viennois Caprice, played by himself; I wonder if you have ever heard it. It's a favorite of mine of many years standing, but I don't believe I've heard it for two years. I remember a friend of mine who used to play it a great deal on his violin. And I do love a violin. I think we ought to have the Viennois Caprice at out wedding, lady. Now don't get frightened. I have been thinking up a wedding that will please us both, perhaps lots more than what either of us has been contending for. But when I think of your talking about 19 years, then I think it's a little early to speak of it. And besides, there are some details, such as the preacher, which aren't arranged yet in the scheme. But I was just a-thinkin' when the music was playing this afternoon, how perhaps I could make a wedding that my sunshine lady would like.
Our doctor, Capt. Stewart, has a violin here, I discovered this morning. He was out playing it to the accompaniment of Victrola records. He plays quite beautifully. I have been afraid to play the Victrola since I got back, not really afraid, but just hesitating, because of a feeling it would make me too lonesome. His violin this morning broke the ice. It did give me a tug, but lonesomeness isn't always unhappiness, particularly when you know there's a Sunshine Lady who loves you.
I must say good-night, as it is getting late. A kiss for the nice letter I got to-day, for I found lots of nice things in it. And I am glad you are better of your cold. Take good care of yourself, sweetheart, please.
I love you.
Your
Sylvester.
[eve of June 2,morning of June 3, 1918]
Dearest Sylvester,
The for-get-me-not you planted long ago is getting ready to blossom for me. It was so hot yesterday and when I went out to water them I discovered it. I meant to tell you about it before. I covered it up from the heat today and it is almost out.
I went out and got some ice cream and made some sundaes so that made it feel a little less like the Torrid Zone for a few minutes. I'm working hard on my surprise and Daido said that it would be a surprise all right and I'm afraid it will.
I love you just lots.
Good night my Sweetheart
Eva.
Dearest
The Alumni Dance is to be held in the High School. It is not principally a dance but as it is customary for the Alumni to give either a dance or a banquet and we decided not to give the former. We thought we would give an entertainment - of Singing, Lee Terry to play his violin and of course Miss Haskell and a Jazz Band composed of John Weaver, Norman Reed, Ward Weaver, one of the Parsello boys and some others, and a buffet luncheon. We are to have games and things and the guests may dance if they wish. I don't think there will be very much dancing done so few of them know how.
Dorcas and I are going over to Atlantic tonight to finish getting the things.
Why, of course, Sylvester I wouldn't let anyone take me places and bring me home and as for dancing - everyone knows my reputation as a dancer and I think I will have all my time free to manage matters.
Sylvester, you needn't have asked me that for when I told you I loved you I meant that I was yours and some day I would be your wife and after making such a promise I would not want to do anything you would not want me as your wife to do and I won't knowingly.
Oh, I love you so and I want to do things that please you and make you happy.
Eva.
Camp Devens
Mon. eve. June 3/18
Dearest One,
I'm getting so I've almost moved into my office, it is so much cooler and airier than my room; and being in the same building, it is a simple matter to do my writing here, and plenty of things that are more personal than official. There is a most delightful breeze driving thru the two corner windows between which is my desk. It makes paper weights somewhat essential but that's a minor detail. It's gotten very dry again now, so that the sand is blowing around something tremendous; that's not such a pleasant feature.
I'm gradually getting up a little earlier each morning, and feel myself gradually regaining strength, & becoming capable of taking on a little more. My arm is doing very nicely, I think. I hope your cold didn't get any worse again.
I had a letter from Ernest Binks this afternoon, the first I've had since he knew we were engaged. He thinks its the limit I didn't tell him before. Well. I certainly should have told him, if I had been telling anybody. I am just hoping his wife will drop down to Pleasantville to see you; and am thinking she may, because Ern has written her about us. I wish their home and our could be in the same place, for I surely think a lot of Binkie. He says he knew I was engaged a month or so ago; of course he didn't really, when I tell you the circumstances under which he heard. He says that Tot (that's Mrs. B.) was judging a musical contest in Atlantic County, and got acquainted with some Pleasantville people who knew me and told her you and I were engaged. Whoever the people were, their source of information must have been gossip, or Mr. MacMillan's article in the A.C.G.R.
No letter today, but I naturally know it's because yesterday was Sunday. How did I ever get along before without your daily letter? But you surely always were good to me.
A frog or two just began peeping from the distance, and are reasonably cheerful frogs. I think those frogs in the quarry pond down home must be so melancholy because they are so near that cemetery.
I think I'd better get to sleep pretty soon, but I am going to write a sort of silly one of these soldiers' letters that I found in Everybody's, which tickled me when I read it.
I miss you so much, my sweetheart. But you will be my sunshine lady always, won't you, and waiting for me, until we can be always together. A good-night kiss.
Sylvester.
-ENCLOSURE-
A Soldier's Letter to His Sweetheart
Dere Mable:
I been thinkin of you a lot during the last week, Mable, havin nothin else to do. I been in the hospital with the Bronxitis. I guess I caught it from Joe Loomis. He comes from there.
I got some news for you, Mable. The cook says we only drew ten days supply of food last time. He says he guesses when we eat that up we'll go to France. Hes an awful smart fello, the cook. Hesgot a bet on that if the allys don't buck up an win the germans is comin out ahead. Max Gluckos, a fello in the tent, is referee. We're all eatin as fast as we can. Perhaps we can eat it all in less than ten days. So maybe we'll be gone, Mable, before I write you from here again.
There's a french sargent comes round once in a while and says the war is goin to be over quick. He ought to know cause hes been over there and seen the whole thing. He smokes cigarettes somethin awful and dont say much. That because the poor cus cant talk much English. It must be awful not to talk English. Think of not bein able to say nothin all your life without wavin your arms around and then lookin it up in a dickshunary.
I feel so sorry for these fellos that I'm studin french a lot harder sos they'll have someone to talk to when we get over there. Im readin a book now thats wrote all in french. No English anywhere in it, Mable. A fello told me that was the only way to talk it good. I dont understand it very well so far. The only way I know its french is by the pictures. Some day Im goin to find out what the name is. Then Im goin to get the English of it. Those are some pictures. Aint I fierce, Mable. I guess thats why I get on with wimmin so well.
As soon as we got the hot showers all fixed the pipes busted. So the other day the Captin walked us all in town to take a bath. I didn't need one much. I used my head more than most of em. Last fall when it was warm I took as many as two a week and got away ahead of the game. I went along, though. More for the walk than anything.
I saw the Captin didn't make no move to take a bath himself. I thought he might be shy. He dont mix very well with the fellos. I felt sorry for him. Everyone else was laffin and throwin things around with him standin off and no one throwin nothin at him. I wwent up an says "Aint you goin to take a bath this winter, too, Captin?" Just jolly, Mable, that's all. I says, "You don't want to mind the bunch. They dont care a bit. Therre as dirty as you are anyway. Probably more." An I bet they were, Mable, cause I aint seen the Captin do a stroke of work since we come here. Just stands round givin orders.
I says, "If no one wont lend you a towel you can use mine, I was just goin to have it washed anyway." He got awful red and embarrased, Mable. I thought he was goin to stroke. Hes awful queer.
I keep herein more about this fello Broggins. I suppose he belongs to the Home bards an wares his uniform round in the evenin. An I suppose he has an American flag on his writin paper. It dont mean nothin in my life though, I aint goin to put up no arguments or get nasty like most fellos will. Dignity. Thats me all over, Mable. Let me tell you though if I ever come home and find him shinin his elbos on the top of your baby grand piano I'll kick him down the front steps if I only have one leg to do it.
As ever
on guard
BILL.
[Undated; postmark Jun 4]
Dearest,
I have just returned from the Alumni and I think that at last we're in a fair way to get things straightened out.
We had a most wonderful sunset tonight. At first it looked exactly like a Japanese fire mountain, then the mountain gradually melted and streams of rose just seemed to pour through the clouds. After evening had gone and night had come the glow still lingered a silvery rose. It certainly was most beautiful.
Sylvester, I love you oh so much and I do wish you would promise me one thing. Please, please never be jealous of me. I'll try as hard so you'll have no reason to be. Mother was jealous of Dad for no reason whatever and her senseless jealousy has absolutely wrecked his life. Of course, I love you and want you to be all mine and it would hurt me terrible if I thot you weren't but I'd try my hardest not to be jealous for I'd know you really were mine even if you didn't appear to be.
It's a long long trail we're going to travel someday and sometimes I get frightened when I think about it. It means so much oh so much and I feel so little wise in things I should know and I don't seem to know how to go about finding out. You know, I never really expected to tell anyone I would marry them. You can't imagine how I fought my love for you.
I can't sew, cook, sing, play or do anything nicely. I can smatter at lots of things but a smattering seems to be all I ever get of anything. How can I keep you happy? I want you to be oh so happy. You deserve to have a wonder girl. You work so earnestly, so faithfully and you're so wonderful yourself.
I love you Wonderful Man. I do, and I kiss each curl that was kept for me.
Eva
[June 4, 1918]
Dearest,
Wouldn't you like a little extra note from me this morning?
I found some more money to add to our savings account. A whole penny. I found it down by the station. I am forwarding it to you to save.
I am writing some little notes for you when you will be where you won't get mail from me. They are just little notes as you won't want to carry much and I am putting four or five in this envelope and will send some more when I have time. Remember read only one note at a time.
I expect to spend the night at Mannie's tonight. At last I guess I'm to get there.
There goes the train by that should bring me a letter from you. It's hurrying real fast and I think it's anxious about me. Don't you think if it knew how I wanted your letter it would stop right out here and give it to me?
I think I better stop now and get to work.
I am making the whole sum of $12 now and must work harder to earn it.
One kiss
Your Sweetheart.
Camp Devens
Tues. eve. June 4/18.
Dearest One,
Now, I've been real, real good to-day, and haven't opened that s'prise all day and the letter came in early morning. I knew it would be following the spirit of what you intended if I didn't open it during the day when I had to run right out to work again, but left it until evening. But now it's after Taps, there is no one 'round, and the heart-strings sure do pull for a heart that beats with them far away - so may I open it? Please? All right, then, I'm going to. Oh! Bless you, my angel girlie! I'll keep that little part of you with me forever and ever with those other things you know I have. That's a lovely surprise, lady. Now I can talk to you, can't I, but I'll talk and write at the same time. You call me your Happiness Man and I shall live up to it, my sweetheart; to bring you happiness always is the greatest thing I live for.
A lot of trucks went into Boston, 50 to be exact, starting at 4:00 a.m. this morning to get supplies to deliver to the camp Quartermaster. Two of the officers went along with them. Pop got up to see that everything went all right, and being a practical joker woke everybody but me up and made all kinds of noise around at 3:00 a.m. They're all so careful of me still. Of course I was awake just the same even though he didn't kick on my door. 35 more are going in tomorrow morning, so it may mean a repetition.
I have had the have an interruption because things began to start out in the hall. Pop found his comfort slippers full of dirt, so began kicking up a little racket and knocking on doors; and when the Doctor came out of his room and had his back turned Pop let him have an unfinished half glass of milk. Then the Doc retreated & Pop ran to prepare himself further with the fire-extinguisher; then Leviseur came out of his room and Pop let him have the stream full in the face. Which started in a battle-royal, a naval battle I should say, for the whole hall is flooded. Leviseur captured both fire-extinguishers and drove Pop outdoors. I think Pop is a little bit "sore", particularly as some one had stolen all his blankets just for fun. He's inclined to get put out when the joke's on him. But he's a great old boy, just the same. There isn't a man in the army I'd like to be connected with more than him.
I don't feel as though I had accomplished a great deal to-day. I laid a few plans for getting our headquarters records, forms, books, & stationary packed for shipment, so that we would have a ready plan when we get orders to move. I have been getting the company fund of Co. C ready to turn over to Moody. It took some time as I found we had $30.10 too much, and I couldn't tell where we got it. So I finally told the clerk to put an item in the account "Donations from interested parties" and made the account come out even. I don't believe I ever did make the thing come out exactly even.
After supper and getting out orders for to-morrow's truck details and attending Adjutants' meeting, I drove down town in the Ford myself. My first time since April. The position of the left arm on the steering wheel isn't a difficult one, and tooting the horn and operating the emergency brake are simple operations for it; the only thing which isn't easy is putting the arm out when getting ready to stop or turn. But, by the way, I've got my arm almost straight up. I drove down town to try an a new uniform I am having made, just a khaki for every day summer use; but I've got a new serge in the works, too; that ought to make me complete, I hope so. I also went to get a strong box to keep important papers in which we receive with instructions to keep absolutely confidential & let fall into no unauthorized hands. They are each numbered & record kept of which one each organization gets, so that it wouldn't pay to have one found around loose somewhere.
Dear, I do hope that there won't be anything more to make Miss Davis change her mind. I surely want you to have your Bricktop home thru the summer. I am glad the forget-me-not is getting ready to blossom for you, sweetheart. How I wish I could see the garden, & you!
Another letter to-night, which is the Post office's way of paying me for Sunday's letter it didn't deliver till this morning. Thank you, my own true sweetheart, for the promises; I never doubt you are mine, and my true sweetheart. I love you more than all the world. Good-night, and a kiss for the curl, MY curl, and my girl, my Lady of Sunshine.
Yours, all yours, forever.
Sylvester.
[evening, June 4, morning, June 5, 1918]
Dearest,
I am over at Manny's and just happened to have this paper and pencil. A perfect accident, of course.
What do you think as I was coming home at noon I found another cent. So again you are going to be burdened with money.
We played victrola records awhile this evening "The Lullaby from Joselyn" with Kreisler and McCormick, the "Serenade" by Moszkowski, Kreisler & McCormick again and lots of others.
Manny lives right down at the inlet so her mother saw them bringing the survivors from the submarine attacks in. We went down and saw the life boats. They are painted dark green. To think of about twenty-five people being in one of them two days. They are only about twenty-five feet long.
It's way late sweetheart, so I'll say good-night.
Eva.
Dearest,
I would like very much to have Lucinthia and Winnie both down for a week. I asked Lucinthia and she said she would love to but I don't exactly know how to ask Winnie. They would be lots of company for each other as I would have to work.
Grace Lewis has hinted quite broadly for an invitation but I didn't know whether to invite her or not. She was quite kind to me. I know she would enjoy the sea shore.
I am going to send you 'nother letter or so with this. I just hope you never have to use them.
I guess your friends Tom Beers and Ruth Austin (is the name right?) were married yesterday. Haven't I a wonderful memory for dates?
My honeysuckle on the way up to work is just ready to burst into blossom. I suppose I'll be sending you some so you can see just how lovely it is.
Wasn't your Uncle Will inspired to think of such an ideal name for a cat? Are we going to have any little "Dippies" in our home? I'm going to have about a dozen collies so if there are any little "Dippies" they better watch out. I might let you have four but not many more.
Do tell my sweetheart I love him. Won't you please? I'll kiss you if you do.
Your Eva.
Camp Devens
Wed. eve. June 5/18.
Dear Sunshine Lady,
I just got Curls and said "Hello"; so you are with me again to-night; looking right at me. I've lifted the over-card about half way up & clasped it there, so the curl is held in and the wind can't blow it away; and right above it is the message from Her whom I love, and says I'm her Happiness Man. [See the packet he describes]
Interruption again to-night. Jim Greene came into the office at Taps, and later Travers, Thorpe, and Andy. Jim and Andy have stayed to talk quite a while. But it wouldn't matter how late it was, I'd have my little moment with you before I'd call my day done. When Jim came in I turned the card down before he could see I had company.
This morning I definitely turned over everything in Co. C to Moody, so I can devote all my time to my Adjutant's duties now. There are plenty of things I see can be done for the good of the organization, besides daily routine, and other duties marked out for me.
I think I shall run down home Saturday afternoon, returning early Sunday afternoon. Ralph is going down home, so that I can have company, and queer enough, it will be the first time we have been home together, I think it's since Thanksgiving, except for the day he brought me home from Bridgeport. We never happened to find a convenient time to go together thru the winter. I didn't think very much about going until to-night, when Ralph called me up and said Father had taken a house in Rocky Hill, presumably the one we looked at, and Mother had written him they would like to see us both if possible this week-end to speak of the family arrangements connected with it, and so on. It will give me a chance to give US gardens a message about you, the nice letters I have had, and everything. It is now Wednesday night, and I'm afraid this will get you too late to have you write me a letter to Cromwell. I'll be gone only a few hours over a day, though, sweetheart, and be back here by supper time Sunday. I'll tuck away Curls and the message somewhere with me and read for my Saturday night message; and perhaps some more things. I have so many precious things now.
There is a card in here which I wish you would put your signature on, just two lines above "address", just for a specimen of it. It's for that thing we were speaking of the last night we were in Cromwell. I haven't been able to find yet whether I could have part of my pay sent each month to a bank, but what I do want to do is anyway to leave in the bank here $100 deposited in your name. It's such a little bit, just for if you ever do want any of it - if you were ever sick & had a lot of expense, or if you wanted to go to summer school next year, or anything at any time, & didn't have just quite all that was necessary, here is our fund you can draw on. I couldn't go with a clear conscience if it weren't there, and if there is an opportunity to have more deposited there from time to time in the same account, I want to have it done. It will be our little nest egg, and when I come back we'll use it for the comfort rocker & the rest. But while I'm away as much as you ever want is yours, just for signing checks, a few blank ones of which are enclosed; if they run out, send for a check book. And if arrangements can be made to add amounts to it periodically or once in a while, I'm going to try to see that the bank lets you know, so you'll know how much is there. I might just as well keep my money that way as any, and why not, if possible, keep it where if my sweetheart wants it she can get it. How would I be loyal if I didn't? Keep the blank checks in a safe place where you won't lose them, and please send the card right back to me.
Our $1.01 is safely packed away with S.B. Butler, banker. You'll have to prove you're 21 before you can draw out of this bank; this is a movable bank, follows its owner. What's more it will produce the same 1.00 & the same .01 that has gone into it. I hope, dear heart, you won't be so many months beyond your 21st birthday before we can meet, banker & depositor, to have that vast sum drawn out.
Aren't you the best lady there is to send me those little notes. I'm numbering them on the outside as they come, so I'll read them in order. I wonder where I'll be when I read the first. I'll do just as you say and read only one note at a time. It will surely be good to have something to bridge the time between when I go and the time that first batch of letters will reach me over in France. How I will look for them! I wonder if the increased shipment of troops may not mean more frequent mail, too. If only they would get to me one every day over there! There will not be a day go by in which I don't write you a message, although of course there might not be a place to post one every day. I suppose we'll both have to expect our mail in batches.
But then when I get back, pretty soon after I get back, we won't either of us get any, shall we? Unless we sit across the table and write them to each other. I'll hide my face behind the lamp shade so you can have plenty of inspiration, and write me a bit of verse now and again.
I feel very hopeful, dear; all of us here feel very hopeful that, despite present events, a break is coming before many months, and a break the right way. I feel that there are tremendous happenings yet to occur in 1918, and that when our enemies do go, it is going to be a sudden, irrecoverable collapse; and I don't think it will be far into 1919 before it occurs. It must, it must sometime & it must soon; wrong cannot maintain itself against right much longer; brutality and ruthlessness and faithlessness against humanity and mutual regard and good faith and justice. The world would not be right if it did. There can only be one outcome, and it is coming. And when it does, won't you be glad, and I be glad, that perhaps I had some little part toward bringing it about?
I hope that train that passed you did have my letter and didn't disappoint you.
That extra two dollars is fine. It surely shows Mr. Hammell is pleased with the way you do things. I knew he was by that letter he wrote & you found in the Pleasantville post office.
I will not make you unhappy, dear girl, with foolish jealousies, never, never; as you asked me to promise. 'Deed we have a long, long trail to follow together, but don't be frightened, dearest, ever. I am not a man of whims and I am not blind, if that is any comfort. I have seen unhappiness caused in homes, I think I know most roads to them, and those we will never go. Trust me to be a good guide, and a true-pointing guide, if, as you look ahead toward them, there seem unknown ways ahead. Perhaps on some you will be the guide. If I ever unknowingly make you unhappy always tell me, then I'll know. But, "there shall be no shadows" - that's a motto I once made myself say over and over again when every thing looked dark and hopeless. Together you and I shall maintain it; "the whole world rejoices when we are together", our whole world anyway; we have found that out together. You mustn't say you can't do anything nicely, besides you couldn't make me believe that. And anyway, what one can do isn't the whole thing; don't we also think of what one is? And if one finds one's own completion in another's companionship? Just the person who makes one's life complete; makes it complete just by being with one. And together we'll do lots of things; of course I can't sew with you, I'd have to get Uncle Bill to do that, and God didn't give me a voice to sing with, but we'll have a garden together; we'll read books together and go into things just the way I was speaking of on the train that day, so that we will know a lot about them; we'll get duets and play together - you put that as one thing you couldn't do nicely - but oh, you will, for I won't let you say you can't; you know I used to tell you in school that you mustn't say you couldn't get at studying History or something. We shall find worth while things by the score, my own dear girl, and shall have the realest home ever was; and you can keep the realest home ever was, I know. And I shall be so proud of Eva Butler, my lady, so proud to say "This is Mrs. Butler"; just as I experienced such special pride the first time I ever introduced you to anyone as my fiancée, to Cousin Will Marshall, in the hospital, you remember? Oh, I just glowed all over with pride! And since then at the many compliments on my choice.
Eva, dearest, I must stop, for it is quite late. I am going to kiss the Curl and send one that way to you. I love you oceans.
Sylvester.
[June 5, 1918]
Sweetheart,
You have several pictures of me that aren't very good. This picture is a rather good one of the flowers. If you'd rather exchange.
You may have the picture of "Bricktop", if you want it. Aren't I Maggie Nannie Mus?
[note - I read that last sentence about 20 times and it wasn't until I typed it and read it again that I realized she was saying magnanimous and not talking about the picture of her with the flowers and calling herself some idiomatic name of the time.]
I took some more but the photographer thot they weren't clear and didn't make any prints. They looked pretty good to me so I told him to go ahead and take a chance.
I certainly thot that soldier's letter to his sweetheart was funny. He was such a combination innocence and ignorance. I certainly did laugh over it.
I certainly am glad you are getting all right again but you won't mind if I hold the sick arm when we go automobiling will you?
I just wonder who it was that told Mrs. Binks of our great secret. The contest was decided in our favor and maybe that was the reason. She might have wanted to give it to our town, you know.
I'm sorry you don't get letters on Monday but I've thot of a way to remedy it. You get a letter on Sunday don't you? There is a mail leaves here Sunday afternoon and I send a letter off on that. I always imagined it reached you Monday. Will you look at the post marks on my letters and then tell me what time the different mails reach you, please?
That's me (I) sitting on the porch with my back turned and way over back of the post is Daido. Miss Davis took the picture. I don't want to give you too many pictures as they will be a nuisance for you to manage so just you keep what you want and send the rest back. I'll not care.
Don't you think the front view is a dandy one of "Bricktop". I took it.
Daido is going away the 15th and Miss Davis is going home until July 1st. I do wish I could have Lucinthia and Winnie down then. I think they might have a dull time of it while I was at work but I could introduce them to Dorcas, who has nothing to do all day, and I could tell them nice places to go and I think they could manage. I have a vacation day for Memorial Day anyway and if I take a Monday I'll have 2_ days straight.
A Good-night kiss
Eva.
Camp Devens
June 6, Thurs. eve.
My own Lady,
Aren't you afraid I'll spend all that money foolishly? $1.02, now, and going up.
I did appreciate that little bit of honeysuckle, sweetheart; I surely do love honeysuckle, especially the yellow kind. And we'll have a nice bunch of it around our home, shan't we? And the addition to my ahead-of-time letters has gone into it's place, waiting for the time when I'll need them. I am sending you to-night a little bunch of that blue lupin, which grows so much around here. [lupin still in letter] Does blue lupin make you see a railroad bank? And more, does it remind you of a perfect day? I did walk you pretty fast, though, didn't I? Next time we take that walk, you'll know the way, and I'll let you go ahead and find the dollar bills. When you get this letter, I presume it will be Saturday night, won't it, and you can think of me as with the Us gardens. When your sunshine has been anywhere, it just never seems to go away, lady. Your sunshine is around my home and the gardens and the places where we walked; gives a new beauty to it. Think of it, dear, that things familiar to me for ages before I knew you, and were well set on my mind, should now say Eva to my mind whenever I think of them or see them. For you are all sunshine, and genuineness and you are you, my Eva, my own always-to-keep lady.
Father didn't take any of the houses we saw, but a different one, further north in Rocky Hill; one much nicer, I think, from what I've seen of the outside of it. We went by it when we drove up to Hartford that day, but there's nothing which would mean anything to you by which I could describe to location. Aunt Sarah & Uncle Bill feel pretty badly that we should not stay longer, but it is the best thing to do. Mother has just been getting used up, and she must be where she doesn't have so much care of things. It will seem strange to think of the folks not being in Cromwell, where they have all their lives. But I shall probably always have some ties there. And I don't imagine a letter ever addressed to me at Cromwell will fail to reach me as long as I live.
This has been an uncomfortable day, exceedingly damp, but not warm, thank whomever should be thanked. It is rumored there is a chaplain down here in our barracks, but I think it's just something Pop started for the fun of it. If the poor unoffending eyes-lifted-unto-Heaven man could hear the various threats against his safety, I fear he'd do all he could to stay away. I hope we're going to be spared having chaplains on our hands, and I think we shall. The Infantry and Artillery regiments are not so fortunate.
You people in Jersey surely should have had something to talk about with the submarine raids. But I didn't realize you had had it brought quite so close home to you.
Mother wrote me of the Beers Austin wedding and said they had gone to the White Mountains for their trip. You remembered the date it was to come better than I.
I hope I cam make some little notes for you, too, against the time when my letters won't get to you for awhile. I'll try to very soon.
If you wanted to ask Winnie to come with Lucinthia at some time, I think it would be all right just to speak of it to Lucinthia, that is, invite her thru Lucinthia.
I must say good-night, dearest one. I love you. I've told your sweetheart you love him. Now the promised reward? I'm going to get The Curl and take it.
Your Sweetheart.
[June 6 - 7, 1918]
Sweetheart,
Just home from decorating up at the school. Dr. W.W.W. was quite amiable. Helped us out in all our plans. Actually hammered and worked like a Trojan. I was so surprised.
Outside it feels like rain but inside it's nice.
Daido is calling. She is quite sick and I am certainly glad school is about over. I love you my sweetheart.
Good night.
Eva.
You never said anything about the sunshine columbine I sent you so I'm not sure whether I want to send you this bit o' blue sky or not but I think I heard you say you were fond of larkspurs, so you might like it.
It is raining so perhaps we won't have so many out to the Dance tonight. I'm not worrying much. I am sending you the program and you see I have my partners picked in advance. They haven't accepted yet but I don't think I'll be refused.
I have some lovely honeysuckle here with me and it's so cheerful. I'm not cheerful today, I'm sleepy.
Oh horrors! It has started to clear off. Isn't that the limit. It's slang but it expresses my feelings exactly.
Goodness I'm afflicted and sleepy and hungry and cross. Terrible cross. I'm glad you're not here cause I might be cross to you and I never want to be cross to you but I really don't feel one bit like being sunshiny today and I ought to be doing double duty helping out the poor sun who is trying so hard to smile. I'm afraid I'm a slacker in lots of ways.
This is a stupid letter and the more I write the stupider it is getting so I think I better stop.
I went out and picked lots of daisies yesterday to trim for our dance. They are just wonderful now. I finished a daisy all in peace and quietness and it said my sweetheart loved me to write to him. I don't know how true it is.
Please, are these the right dimensions to build a house 30 X 60 X 1000.
Eva.
Here's one little letter for later on.
Camp Devens
Fri. eve. June 7/18.
Dearest Lady,
This is the most delightfully cool evening. How I wish I might enjoy it with you! A porch, and a single comfort rocker, the night, and you! I'd have to have my big overcoat for you again, too.
I think I'll see money in my sleep all night, for I was handling it most of the afternoon. I think I told you that in the Supply Train the Adjutant now pays off instead of the Supply Officer, and has to make up the payrolls for the whole organization, instead of their being made up in the individual companies. The payrolls go in to the Disbursing Quartermaster of the camp the 1st of each month, and as soon as an organization's roll is figured up it is notified that its' money is ready, and the paying officer goes down to get it. I was glad that I counted what they turned over to me, for it was $5.00 short. Inasmuch as the sum turned over was more than $8000, you can't blame me for taking the precaution; of course the only sensible thing to do; all the paying officers do it. When I got back to the Train, I made ready to pay off the different companies, establishing headquarters in Co. B mess hall, and I had previously sent notices around setting a time for each company to be there, about twenty minutes apart. Before starting I get the money out into piles of the different denominations - pennies up to twenty dollar bills. I have my sergeant on my left to call out the amounts, as the company commander, who is on my right, calls off the names. Then I get the amount from my piles, and turn it over to the company commander who turns it over to the man who has come up the pay table as his name is called. By custom the man always salutes when his name is called, and just before he leaves with his money. It took about 2_ hrs. to pay off the whole Train, and I was glad when it was finally done.
To-night after I came back from Adjutants' meeting I walked up to the Knights of Columbus building with Capt. June & Lts. Greene & Anderson. It was a kind of Supply Train night there for our men. Some of the men in Co. A, which seems to have considerable talent of the vaudeville type, gave some singing & dancing arts, and there were a few boxing matches in which the participants were men of the Supply Train; and then they showed moving pictures of the trip up from Bridgeport, which naturally were very interesting. Pop and Andy showed very plainly in them several times.
Pop has been acting very strange the last 3 or 4 days, I think he's overtired or something. Sometimes he doesn't seem to want anything to say to anyone. And he'll go and lock himself up in his room for no reason at all. He got on a streak like this last fall for a couple of weeks or so, and we all thought he was going crazy. I hope he gets over this one pretty soon.
If it's all the same to you, sweetheart, I'm not going to return any of the pictures you sent me. And thank you for them. My lady was full of sunshine, wasn't she? I see Miss Tolbert hides back of the post where the watchful camera can't catch her. That front view picture is indeed a very good one of your house.
Eva, it was silly of me to bother you by speaking of not getting a letter Monday. They are postmarked Sunday but get here Tuesday morning. Most of your letters are postmarked noon and get here the afternoon of the following day, which isn't bad time, is it? Please forgive me for mentioning it.
You know, that would be fine if Lucinthia could come to see you when you are alone the last of the month, and if Winnie could come with her. I don't know what either of their plans are just now, but I shall probably see Winnie to-morrow, and perhaps Lucinthia has already written you of hers. I didn't quite make out from your letter whether you had already written her or not. All I'll find out from Winnie is what she is going to be doing, and let you know. As I recall it now, she was to leave Boston this week and have a little rest before going back to the Home Office. Don't feel that you must invite them both, for I wouldn't want you to try to do too much. But if Lucinthia or both could I'm sure they wouldn't find it dull at all, on the contrary would have a very happy time. Lucinthia graduates next week and I expect to go over to Wellesley for one evening if I can. I couldn't go to the actual Commencement Day exercises as it's in the day time & she couldn't get me a ticket, only being allowed two, and they'll be for Father & Mother. What I shall see is a Greek play enacted by girls of the college, a regular part of each Commencement week.
You must have had a good time getting up the line of talk on the Alumni people. You didn't need to impress upon me so much that they were funny, for they are quite entertaining indeed.
Good-night to my sweetheart, a kiss, and all my love.
Sylvester.
[June 7-8, 1918]
[note - enclosed with this letter was a little pasteboard box that had held "Pine Bros. Genuine Glycerine Tablets, Menthol Flavor, highly recommended for all throat troubles," and now held a few little flowers with a little cotton wrapped around the stems, probably moist at one time to keep them fresh. It isn't mentioned in the letter.]
Dearest,
The dance is over without a dance being danced. Everyone said they had a nice time and especially when the refreshments were served.
I was going to wear curls and had my hair fixed when I decided I wanted my curls for someone else so I tucked them in and here I am now curls and all and terribly sleepy. You won't mind if I say good night until morning. If I kiss you will you? No. Good-night.
Eva.
I'm going to reform now and as we are not going to bother much with Alumni now until next winter probably I will be able to write nice letters every night. I really am ashamed but I've been awful tired at night and Daido is not a bit well.
The Jazz Band was just fine and afterward when the refreshments were served - good fruit salad, ice cream and punch. Norman, and Curtis and Lewis (we couldn't think who the other was) at the request of Dr. Whitney reproduced "Butler's Boys Trained Singers." John Weaver played the piano. Of course it wasn't as good as last year. Dr. Whitney gave a speech five times as long as he should have and in it he said that Christmas he laughed the first real laugh he ever laughed.
When Lewis and Curtis got up to recite the boys made them laugh so when the Jazz band got up for their second encore it was turn about as they were grinning so they could hardly play.
When Dr. Whitney spoke he said they were pretty good but they needed more practice on their second piece and they needed lessons in manners and modesty because they sat down on the steps leading up to the platform when they played. Why he said it I don't know as it was very insulting and at first from the looks that passed from one to the other I thot we were going to lose our orchestra but they were good sports and stuck although some left as soon as the program part was over.
I'm glad the things over but it's really not over. The place is to be cleaned up this afternoon. Goodness that's some work.
I sent just a tiny note to your home hoping you would get it just so you'd have a letter. I'm afraid you won't tho.
My s'prise is most _ finished and it's getting s'prisier and s'prisier every day. It's wonderful what variations, and s'prising things can be done with an innocent little piece of embroidery and what crimes are committed and called that.
Well good-morning and good day.
Your lady.
[morning, June 8, 1918]
Dearest,
I am sending you the copy of the funny things I wrote for the Alumni. They are funny. There is no doubt about it. Do you understand? They are not to be printed. Think what the world is going to miss. I was afraid it would make the kids Mad some of them are fierce. I corrected a few of the most obvious mistakes but not all as I thot you would never notice. [note- this copy is not with the letter]
Do you know there are going to be just two flowers on our for-get-me-not. One for Me and one for you.
I bought this paper at Pettet's and it must have been near some cheap soap. I didn't have time to air this before I sent it but will try and see what I can do with the rest. To think and I have a whole pound of it too.
I am going to write to your mother today so will have to stop writing to my sweetheart but I love him.
Eva.
Cromwell
Sat. eve. 6/8
Dearest One,
Your letter came to Cromwell in time tonight, and you were a dear thoughtful girlie to send it to me. [note -We don't seem to have the letter sent to Cromwell] There is no Sunday mail out of Cromwell, but I'll take this letter up to Hartford when we go up to-morrow afternoon, in the hope that it will get to you no more than a day after my last one.
Ralph and I left camp at about half-past eleven and were in Hartford shortly after three, which was the best time I ever made. We took a jitney to Worcester, and the train from there. Ralph met Winnie on the train, she having started with it in Boston. The train was very crowded and the end of the journey was most welcome. We went up to Father's office, and after a while he drove us down home. Most every one was surprised to see me, though Father & Mother knew I was coming. Aunt Lucy is home now for the summer. Everyone inquires for you.
Aunt Sarah has had the US gardens hoed once, she says, except she doesn't know they're the US gardens. The plot of plants we bought at the greenhouse is coming along quite well, the coleus especially having grown quite appreciably. The wood plant garden doesn't show up so well, but that isn't a cause for discouragement, for they needn't be expected to show up much until spring; now that spring is over, it's their time of rest. But I think they'll come up all nice & fresh next year. The nasturtiums are up quite a little way, and it didn't seem as though they could be up anywhere near as far.
This evening I have been talking to the folks, first all of us out on the porch, then to Uncle Bill, and still later to Mother & Father again. They've made all the plans for moving into our new house, and I believe are to begin next week. I wish now that this would have been a couple of weeks earlier; I don't know as I do either, for then Mother couldn't have had Lucinthia's help. But I do wish it might be different so that Lucinthia could be down with you at that time. But Mother feels she must have Lucinthia this month while she's making this move. Of course I want Mother to have her help, but I am so disappointed. Mother is going to write you about it soon.
A good-night kiss to my own true sweetheart. I love you, dear Sunshine Lady, and I am lonesome for you.
Your Sweetheart.
Dearest
I thought I would have time to write you this morning but there was someone around all the time, and then Father & Ralph & Winnie & I went up to the new house. We got back just in time for dinner and now it's time to go. I am putting in a syrinza & wigelia blossoms which are blossoming quite beautifully now. More to-night.
I love you,
Sylvester.
[evening June 8, 1918]
Dearest,
Just back from Atlantic. We took over the library books and then went out and got Daido's pictures then walked all the way up to the suburban cars.
It's nice and starry out tonight I wish you were here and I show you how much faster I could count than you.
I s'pose you are just composing yourself for bed in Cromwell after having inspected the U.S. gardens and told them all my secrets. Of course, I'm jealous because I can't see them too but then I have a branch of them with me all the time.
Good night sweetheart.
What do you think. I was making strawberry jam this morning and there came a knock at the door and just who do you suppose it was. It was Mrs. Binks. Lucky for me I did happen to have on a clean white waist and skirt but goodness! She was on her way to Atlantic with friends and stopped in to see me.
She said you'll be sorry for not letting them know the secret before you did as if you had she and I could have been dandy friends by now.
She only stayed a few minutes and probably won't get to see me again for some time at least as she leaves for Florida next Saturday and will, of course, be quite busy with commencement until then. I like her.
We had our own peas today. I mean they are cooking now and I must tend to them so I'll have to stop.
Eva.
I worked for about 16 hours and as a reward have three jars of strawberry preserves and one of jelly - but while spending all that time on them I picked peas, cooked dinner and did a two weeks wash so I've worked terrible hard. a kiss.
Camp Devens
Sun. eve. 6/9/18
Eva dear,
I found two letters when I came back to-night, the one you started the night you were decorating and the one you started the night of your Alumni party. You were good to keep your curls for me, dear girl. Always do, will you? That's a good lady. I am terribly sorry if I didn't say anything about the sunshine columbine, dear heart; I was sure I had, and I wonder if perhaps there is some letter you didn't get. So, thank you, dear, right here and now, and a kiss for it and for the bit of blue sky you almost weren't going to send me. The Butler family must have been out in force for your party, there were so many of them on your dance program; strange how they all had the same initials.
Those house dimensions - 30 x 60 x 1000 - are they inches, feet,, or miles? The proportions look to me more like a bowling alley. You're not cross at me for that, are you?
I mailed you a letter from Hartford this afternoon, which I wrote mostly last night. It went up the same chute we struggled with to get the round mailing piece when you were with me.
I slept pretty late - 8:15, this morning; the best sleep I've had in some time, for my camp bunk never has seemed comfortable after my 3 or 4 weeks in May. The Us gardens were still flourishing when I left, especially that little sweet alyssum I brought up from Bricktop. The syrinza bush in the front south corner of the yard and the wigelia in back are blooming very nicely now, and I sent you little samples of each. Uncle Bill's tomatoes are flourishing. Lots of people inquired for you. Martha Warner told me to tell you to be sure to come and see her whenever you were up in Cromwell.
Father drove Ralph and Winnie and me up to our new house in Rocky Hill the later part of the morning. I wish you could have been with us. I think you will like the house very much when you see it. It is quite old but well kept, a brown square house, with dark brown turnings. It has a delightful old knocker on the front door. There is a lily of the valley bed in front, a privet hedge which is somewhat dead however, quite a few different shrubs, a nice row of maples, and quite a few apples and pears north & back of the house. There is room for quite a good garden. It is altogether quite desirable. As soon as Mother goes up to Wellesley Tuesday, Father is going to start to move the things up, and by the end of the month they will probably be settled. I shall be glad for Mother's sake when they are, for it will mean the beginning of a much easier time than she has been having for years. The care of the house where we have been, and so many people, which has been practically all hers, has been absolutely too much for her, and I've been more than once frightened she would break down under it.
Winnie has come back from Boston permanently and is back in the home office of the Connecticut Mutual. She lives right at her home, and rides up with Father every morning.
Ralph and I had a terribly dusty ride back this afternoon. The only good thing on the trip was a whole hill full of mountain laurel we passed on the way, and that was simply gorgeous.
I do hate to think of your being alone next week. Of course it's only a couple of weeks. And perhaps you had someone like Dorcas in mind to ask to stay with you. And it wouldn't hurt surely to write Winnie if she would like to come to see you; she wouldn't mind it that you were away in the daytime, I know. Miss Winifred B. Russell, Cromwell, Conn., is all you have to write whenever you address her. I am more sorry than I can say that Lucinthia couldn't be with you just at that time. I am glad though, anyway, that you didn't decide to go to Cape May for the summer, for I think that would have been very unwise. Well, I hope Miss Davis doesn't stay away very long.
I must say good-night, as this week I must begin getting up real early mornings, and am going to try to keep a 10:30 limit at night.
Be a good lady. I love you.
Sylvester
I forgot to tell you there is a well-house goes with our new house. And I haven't thanked you for the pictures of yourself and our garden. It is one of my best pictures. I am just as glad as I can be to have it.
More love, and a good-night kiss.
Him.
[June 9-10, 1918]
Dearest,
I'll say good afternoon as I just imagine it will be about afternoon when you get this.
We are just back from a walk thru Somer's Point. It was a delightful day and is cool this evening.
We found little partridge berry flowers and they are so fragrant. They peeped out from among their leaves just like little stars. I am sending you a few. They are the fragrant, four pointed, fuzzy, little white stars.
The little pink flower is a wonderful wild oxalys. I have often seen the wild yellow oxalys, or wood sorrel, but never the pink. We brought home a few plants. I certainly am going to have a nice wood garden this year.
Can you imagine what those little red berry like things are? We just found oceans of them.
Oh goodness I just wish you could have been with us. We went down the sunset trail a ways and I found some new holly. It looked like the old holly only you could crush it all up without being hurt a bit as I said oh it reminds me of a soft shell crab and Daido isn't thru laughing yet. There must be a joke to it somewhere and I thot you might enjoy it so I am telling it to you.
Good night my sweetheart,
Eva.
Dearest,
Oh goodness I had an awful scare this morning. Saturday I saw two autos run together and no one was hurt and this morning just as I got to new road the 7:30 car was coming and a old man was coming driving an auto and I thot he would have to stop for the car and started to cross. He didn't see the car and kept right on coming. I was scared to death. I couldn't even scream but I did raise my hand. He stopped about one foot from the car. Goodness I was so nervous I just ran and cried all the way up here. I was so ashamed I thot I could stand more than that and nothing happened anyway.
I'm sending you some of your first forget-me-not. There is one flower a piece on the plant. I don't know whether this little bouquet I am sending will keep or not. If it does I will send one every once in a while.
Mr. & Mrs. Hammell have started for Wellesley via auto. I hope it doesn't take them as long in proportion as it did to get to Cape May once. Poor Helen would probably graduate family-less.
"A porch, a single (Underlined) comfort rocker, the night and you." Do you mean I must sit on the floor? I rather like to sit on the floor.
I would like very much to have both Lucinthia and Winnie down but won't write until I get your letter from Cromwell after you have see Winnie and have heard about your mother's plans for Lucinthia.
Good morning my sweetheart and I love you.
Eva.
I 'most forgot to mention the poor little faded most dropped wild rose but I thot you might want to play "To a Wild Rose" to a real one and see how it liked it.
[postmarked June 10, 1918]
Dearest,
I'm lonesome so I'll write to you. I just feel sorta like I'd like to see you. Just see you. I wouldn't want to kiss you or tell you I love you or anything like that. I guess I just want to see if your hair is still curly and cut nicely or something. Maybe I just want to tease. That might be the reason. I'm not sure. Maybe I'd be too glad to see you to tease. I'm not sure. I would be some glad. I just don't know why I should be lonesome. I just know I'm going to have you all the time some day soon. I guess it's because it's so nice outside. It is nice outside.
Don't you wish I could hide in this letter and when you opened it out I'd step. Wouldn't that be fun? I think I shall try and get in before I seal it. So don't get scared.
Don't you wish we were "at home" today. Me "at home" to you and you to me. Then I could tease you all I wanted. I'd be peacefully seated in the single comfort rocker and seeing that you hoed the garden right. It would be so nice and cool on the porch for the shade of the cut leaf maple tree would fall all over it and I'd have the nicest pitcher of ice cool lemonade or orange aid or grape juice. I'd be just so nice and comfortable. Of course you wouldn't mind that it was 98 degrees in the sun as you would be so anxious to get the garden in good condition and make it look nice and then every once in a while I'd say nice and encouragingly, "the paper says it will be cooler tomorrow'" or "you better hurry and water the snapdragons or it will rain before you get finished," or something like that. You really would appreciate my help, I'm sure. I would pick the flowers too for you and save you that much labor.
I really couldn't be out in the sun much, you know, because I might get freckled.
If we had a rose arbor, I might run off the porch, when you weren't looking, and hide there. You never would find me then. You'd wonder and wonder where I'd gone but you never would think of the rose arbor. You'd go most every place else and I never would be discovered if you didn't see me peeking thru at you. I wouldn't care much if you did discover me because I love you.
Your Lady.
Camp Devens
June 10/18 Mon. eve.
Dear Girl,
I received a letter today which you hoped I'd understand. I respect you, of course, for standing to a position you think is right, as I have respected you and honored you from the very first I knew you, for a girl who was striving to live ever by high ideals, and up to the best that was in her. I do wish, though, you could see this differently; I tried so hard to put it to you in what seemed the right light to me, and I feel as though you couldn't have tried very hard to understand me, or see it my way. But I suppose you did, and I needn't argue any more about it. But please, dear girl, try hard when anything else comes up to see what my point of view is, give me a fair show in your mind at least. [note- I don't find a letter from Gram along these lines among those we have but think it was probably about an actual WEDDING which Gram wanted no parts of]
Oh, my little girlie, I wish I could talk to you this minute. And then when I do have you, I forget half the things I want to tell you. But it does seem as though I could say so much tonight. About oceans of things. My heart is full to overflowing, my lips already to speak, but my pen is helpless. Just please dear if there comes ever the time when you have to think of your future yourself, be guided by what I have said before; believe that I am wise; that I know what I'm saying, and why I'm saying it, for I do.
You frighten me when you speak of leaving your present position, and "demand for stenographers", and so on. You plainly agreed with me, dear, when we were talking of things that a small quiet place such as your present one was the best sort of one, as long as you were working for a business house. Yet you make no mention of what we previously said, and what reason, if any, you have for thinking differently about it; just as though we had never spoken of it. All you say is something about somebody else getting more pay. Of course it's desirable to have as much money as possible, but please, oh my dear best girl in all the world, don't go into a large place, or a place where lots of people come and go, just for more money. My advice would be to stay absolutely where you are, unless you got into library work - of course lots of people come and go there but the atmosphere is so much different than in a commercial place; or until you get into teaching work. Eva, dear Eva, don't keep your eyes off the future; I know you have them on our future together, but we don't know how near that is; pray God, if I did, it is not far. The future is more than a living, it must be a life, for anyone who thinks of it rightly; something which is more than working and eating and sleeping - the doing of things worthwhile, the enjoyment of things worthwhile. There are difficulties in the way of all of us. I have had my share, if I do say it; and there is no one but myself knows what labyrinths I have had to fight my way thru. You have had more than your share, I guess; I know; and in going into the world, there is a lot you don't know about it; or at least I think there is, and I do wish I could point the way to you successfully, that is, be of some real help in pointing you the way. Don't say "can't" quite so easily; I don't like to see you say something like this: "I'm always so satisfied with conditions as they are" or you're this or that, which you think you ought not to be. Say "I will look ahead" and Do so.
Dear girl, this is not a scold. Not at all a scold. I have been in a scolding mood all day toward the world in general and I have snapped at most everybody, but I ran it out by nightfall. I wish I could think of a few things which would be a keynote, and which you would never forget. I have lots of them for myself, something which has come to me as a catchword just expressing the meaning of an idea which has given me a light I wanted - different ones for different times - "There shall be no Shadows", when I was letting my troubles and the "dark brown thoughts" of my verse on living eat into me - "I will be a self-conqueror", at another similar time - those are relics of two hard struggles, which I won. It is the first time I ever put them on paper for any one else to see.
I haven't written a bit of news tonight, but I have overstayed my 10:30 limit by half an hour, and been two hours writing. So good-night, lady of sunshine, and I hope I am not a total failure in what I am trying to say. Be a good lady. I love you and because I love you so greatly, I want to leave no stone unturned for your happiness forever.-
Your Sweetheart.
P.S. Just something a little separate. Please never use the expression "ask for work". Oh! I hate it! I've heard my mother use it, & others lots of times, and it makes me furious. And you used it in your letter. (Hence, you say, I am furious!) Anyway, it is an atrocious phrase. You don't ask for it; you give it after you have been put in the position where it's done. You ask for a position or place; or apply for; or try to get into a certain place or institution or line of work. But never the other! It's so absolutely wrong, and though not meant that way, it sounds so horribly servile. Next to the popular adjective "some" it's my pet antipathy - in the class with such horribles as "have a nerve", "swell", and "good-night". I have heard you use them all unconsciously, because people around you do, (as does my young brother), but don't, just for me.
S.
[postmarked June 11, 1918]
Dearest,
What do you think I made for supper? You'd never guess so I'll tell you. It was a cherry pie. See I'm determined you won't get to laugh at me about my pie crust at least.
I tho't it was pretty good and I tho't Daido did too until she said, "Why that's the best pie I've had for ages. It's just like mother used to make." That was too much to believe.
Aren't you fond of cherry pie?
It's most time to go to bed and I just ate some more and I suppose I'm due to get indigestion.
I got your letter you wrote in Cromwell tonight.
I'm so sorry Lucinthia can't come down now. She might be able to come later tho.
Weren't the gardens glad to see you? Did they miss me? I suppose they wondered why I wasn't with you. I hope you gave them my love and told them I often think of them.
I read three books thru last week. I'm getting into reading again. I read "Country House" - by Galsworthy. Deals with the problems of divorce in England. The unfairness of the law and its effect on the lives of Capt. Bellow & his wife. She's quite the vampire. Made so I believe by the law. I didn't like the book very well.
"The Melting Pot" - a play by Zangwell. I liked that. A young Russian Jew violinist comes to America with hopes and ideals. He leaves the land where his friends and family are outcasts and beaten and murdered and comes to America the melting pot. He loves and the girl is the daughter of a Russian nobleman, who is a Revolutionist (the girl) who (the girl) comes to America to escape Siberia. Here she takes up work in the settlements. There she hears the hero who is never so happy as when playing to the cripples, "who if they have lost one leg dance with the other, if they have lost two legs with their hands, and not having hands with their eyes." There is an element of humor thru it too. They have an Irish maid who is disgusted with the way of Jews and is about to leave when David speaks with her and asks her to have patience with his aunt who is old and not understanding or wanting to understand English, still clings to the customs of her people and longs for the time when they will be united in Jerusalem. The girl becomes so enthusiastic, that on the night of the debut of David and his masterpiece "The Melting Pot" when he wants to send her and his aunt down in the elevator she says, "Say, don't you know we Jews ain't allowed to ride on Sunday. Begora and if I don't think you're losing your religion."
I had a terrible long interruption just above to help Daido get her marks together and averaged.
The other book I read was the "Laughing Muse" by Guiteiman. It was poetry and very clever.
It is now after twelve so I must tell my Happiness Man Good night.
Eva.
Dearest,
I'm writing you again. This is two letters even if it does come in one envelope, so you owe me another.
[the next sentence is written as tiny dots strung together then returns to regular writing]
What do you think I am writing this way for?
Just because I'm lazy and haven't anything to say but I want an extra letter so I'm going to fill up paper.
I'm glad the U.S. gardens are doing well. I knew they would.
To night is class day night. Don't you think you can come down and go with me.
They have just phoned for the doctor as one of the men in cutting got a piece of steel in his eye. I don't think it is serious. Mr. Collins just said it was the apprentice boy. Poor kid, I bet he's some scared. Steel's out
It is getting most noon. Don't you really think I've written enough to deserve an extra letter.
I love my sweetheart.
Eva.
[note the " he's some scared." One of the things Gramp just mentioned that he hates. - Sue]
Camp Devens (smudged)
Tues. eve. June 11/18.
My own dear Lady,
That is not a tear on the word "Camp" which blotted it above here; it's the result of a gust of wind which made me put my hand up to shut the window, almost, and made me brush my sleeve over the just started letter in the process.
You know, I noticed on the envelope in which you sent the picture of yourself and the garden, the "Don't Open", the next day after I wrote you about getting it. And I wonder what you will be thinking. I really didn't see the Don't Open, dear, it was hidden in the print, and it was not sealed anyway. I am sorry, for it was a nice surprise you had made for me, but it is good to have anyway; you don't know how pleased I am with it.
I have played "To a Wild Rose" to the wild rose, as you suggested, girlie, just before I came in to write you. Wild roses are beautiful, they are so delicate, so modest, so expressive of gentle sweetness - I don't know as that's just it, but I love them anyway. And McDowell's music in "To a Wild Rose" is so perfectly expressive of them. That and Berceuse, the lullaby from Jocelyn, are absolutely the two most beautiful musical pieces of the soft, sweet, delicate strain. Berceuse, you remember, you heard at Miss Parsons' the other evening.
Thank you for the little collection from your afternoon tramp. Aren't those berries wild strawberries? They seem just like it. And for the forget-me-not, a special thank you, and, if I may, a kiss for my lady; if I may not, I'll steal that as well as having the forget-me-not. So!
I am indeed pleased that Mrs. Binks - did she tell you she went by the name of "Tot", really Flora, though - had stopped to see you; and I wish it could have been for much longer. I knew you would like her, and she would like you. And I do hope our two families can be a lot together.
Mother started for Wellesley today for a few days during Lucinthia's commencement. Father is coming up Thursday. I am going over Thursday evening by machine with Lieut. Taylor, and coming back the same evening. We shall have supper there and then see a Greek play by Wellesley students.
Pop is on a tirade out in the hall, not a water-battle this time, but a real growl on some delinquencies in the conduct of guard duty & guard ceremonies. Last night he was out and some of the other officers removed the side springs of his bed so when he got in he'd have a sudden jolt; but when he came in he saw it sagged some, and got suspicious, investigated, and fooled them.
I am working hard to get my headquarters records & work on a permanent system for the field; and also working on other things all looking toward having the organization ready.
I love my lady; you are my lady, my beautiful lady. Good-night dearest one.
Your sweetheart
[postmarked June 12, 1918]
Dearest
You don't object to my writing you with pencil when I come home late and go to my room to write. I don't like to write with pencil but I'd have to carry ink and blotter, pen and a desk into my room if I did otherwise.
Well class day is over. It was rather good. Nothing decidedly clever about it and of course it wasn't half as good as ours.
The jam lady and I were talking tonight and I told her of my wonderful success with the strawberries. She told me to come in this week, one afternoon, and she would show me how to put up delicious cherries and raspberries, and she said whenever I wanted to know anything about preserving not to hesitate a minute but to come and ask her. Of course I shall make it a point to go when her brother-in-law is not there. I really would like to know how to preserve things nicely and she makes delicious jams and preserves.
I fixed Daido up so sweetly tonight. She certainly is beautiful. She had on her flame dress she had for graduation last year and a spray of that wonderful blue larkspur. She didn't want to dress up but I made her. She certainly did look lovely. Everyone admired her.
It is getting late my sweetheart, so I will kiss you good-night.
Eva.
Dearest,
I just do hope you're not opening those little "don't open" notes yet, if you are, it is a calamity indeed.
I think we are going to have a thunder shower. It is quite dark and Heinrick Hudson has come to Jersey.
Today is Frank's birthday and I forgot all about it until I happened to look at the calendar this morning. I don't exactly know what to get him.
I am commencing to read a lot again. I hope I have lots of time this summer. Last winter was so broken up and there was so much to do. I think it is easier to keep clean in summer as there is no furnace to keep and no ice and snow and not much mud.
I want to put up lots of preserves for this winter tho. I am paying for the sugar, paraffin, jars and fruit myself and then am keeping an account of the cost and will count it in my weekly allowance next winter. I have planned to put up just bushels of things. I have never been able to put up corn yet so it will keep but I have tomatoes and string beans.
Goodness, if I don't watch out, I'm afraid I'll be able to really cook soon. I don't think there is much danger tho as I don't have very much time to sparament and besides when I have to ask if you cook pineapple, grease your pie tins and a thousand other silly things. I get pretty much disgusted and sometimes the book doesn't explain whether you stir with your right hand or left hand or both and then I'm lost.
I dreamed we were riding down from Philadelphia last night and you were so tired but you just wouldn't go to sleep. You were terrible perverse. What made me dream it I think was Jean Jarvis came over to me and said, "you know that night I saw you in Philadelphia I thot you were married". Wonder if we looked worried or cross. She had a diamond on the engagement finger and I asked her if best wishes were in order. She said No, she really shouldn't be wearing the ring on that finger as it was a Christmas present but she had broken her guard ring and it was too large entirely for her other hand.
I discovered I was an artist this morning. It was quite accidental I assure you but I will not keep the secret hidden from you longer and will give you the benefit of my
'Nuff, I won't be silly any more but I'm lonesome and I want to write to you and I haven't anything to say.
Eva.
Camp Devens
Wed.eve. June 12/18.
Dearest One,
An anniversary evening, lady - two months ago the greatest event in each of our lives, the Together night, and a month ago you came to Cromwell for the week that kind Providence gave us to have with each other.
I liked your happy little letter I got this morning ever so much. Did you find the envelope just a little too small to get into? But even if you didn't jump out just as the letter was opened, I didn't read far but what I felt you were right with me. What a meek creature you paint me to be, sweating my head off at 98 degrees in the sun with you cooling off and poking fun at me. You must think I'm terribly meek. Now, knowing my perversity, don't you think you could accomplish the same result by just begging me to sit in the rocker while you took the hoe and the sun; then I would insist that my dear sunshine-lady-wife don't work too hard, & endanger her head in the sun. I don't believe I'd say much about freckles because they're not so terrible - not since my childish notion that they indicated each one the utterance of some terrible forbidden phrase like "Oh, Gosh!" - I suppose yours might be the result of your profane husband's delinquencies.
But now tonight I have another letter which tells me you can make cherry pie, so that if you make me work too hard, why I'll just send you in to make me a whole one for supper. And perhaps I'll finish before you do, and I'm going to be the one to tease, for I'll sit on the nice cool porch and ask how it is in there by the stove. So there!
Of course the gardens missed you, dear girl! In fact, I don't think they quite knew me without you. Because we belong together. Something would have brought us together anyway. I know you thought of one or two other ways it might have happened. I like to think so.
I was interested in the books you have been reading, especially the "Melting Pot".
We have had two thundershowers today, one in early morning and one in late afternoon. Signs I learned when I was young I believe said those in the morning brought continuous rain for forty days. I trust not. I never saw it work yet.
We have had a salesman here with us today selling various articles of officers' necessary overseas equipment. I've ordered my "Sam Browne" belt, those that go over one shoulder, you know; can't be worn in this country but are worn continually overseas; everyone of us ordered a trench coat - a beautiful mole-skin with detachable lining, waterproof, and snappy-looking. The price was most modest, too, nothing that would startle anyone. They are also cootie proof which the short bobtailed sheep-lined or fur-lined coats we have worn this winter are not; but I don't imagine we of the Supply Train will encounter the cooties very much. I have also ordered a new double mattress, made like a sleeping bag; fits right inside the bedding roll, and should be delightfully warm. My old one has been useless as far as comfort is concerned for sometime, as the filling got loosened up inside & would bunch all around, making it thin in spots and generally lumpy. And I haven't had a real rest on it since I returned.
There was an item in Sunday's New York Times about wireless stations in the Jersey pines near Atlantic City, being in touch with German submarines, and Federal investigators scouring the woods for them. I haven't heard you speak of it, so I guess the woods aren't exactly full of them. I trust they aren't using the chimney at Hemlock Manor anyway, nor our frying pan as a sounding board.
Of course you deserve extra letters, dear lady. I've wanted to lots of times when I've had an extra letter from you. But if you could see the stack of things I have to be done at this minute and done quick too because something is going to happen in a very short time, you would know the extras have not come because of my being disinclined. I try to give you the best I have; I write you when there is nothing more I am going to do - there always is a lot else to do, but I have decided the day is done - ; that is, I write you when I can just think of you, and you only. And I have not failed to take that time every day, and will not fail to, even if everything is crowded on me so I can't let it go till midnight. And I shall try to give you when I can the extras you deserve. I feel so afraid that you think me ungrateful, or not as considerate of you as I ought - oh, I hope not; I don't see how you can, for I love you, you are ever in my thoughts, and I live for you - you must know all that.
Good-night. A kiss for my Eva. I love her.
Sylvester.
[postmarked June 12, 1918]
Dearest,
You tell me you are thankful for the flowers and you even actually guess that the little red berries are strawberries but you never said once in what condition they arrived.
Mr. Pennhollow was around this evening trying to get Daido to accept the principalship. She is half willing now that the force will be practically new.
I haven't done anything at all exciting today not even mildly exciting. I don't have an extra amount of work to do now that Mr. Hammell is away but I have enough as his brother and Mr. Long are running a race to keep me supplied.
I'll just close now sweetheart as it is after eleven and I haven't been to bed early for so long. Good night.
Eva.
Sweetheart,
Nearly every day it looks like rain and we never have a really real rain and have it over with.
I might have sent you some more flowers today as my honeysuckle bower is just wonderful but you never told me how the others came.
Miss Hodgson asked about you the other evening as did lots of the Highschoolers. - the reason being, I suppose, the little notice in the Alumni to the effect that I was well informed concerning the movements of Capt. S.B. Butler the former History instructor.
I just looked back and saw I was determined to have Miss Hodgeson preserve her identity.
The grass had just been cut in the cemetery and I walked thru it purposely. I just love the fragrance of new mown grass. It is just the spirit of nature just the very breath of the out-of-doors. There is no flower or leaf to distract you, it just seems to come from no where. I do like to walk thru it. You weren't up in time so I couldn't take you. Aren't you sorry you didn't get up earlier. I might take you some other time if you will get up real early. I love it real real early when the whole world is still except the birds and everything is so fresh and fragrant like mignonette. Goodness some day I'll see if I can't coax you to get up real real early. Captain June is spoiling you.
The Latin Club is to have a farewell meeting at our house tonight. I wonder if activities will ever be over.
Rambler roses are running everywhere. I just love a rose summer house. I like red ones and pink ones each by each but my aunt had lots of rose bushes and when she built her new house she wanted some ramblers around a summer house Uncle Charlie built for her and she wanted her red ones by the porch. He got them mixed and the other day I went down to see her gorgeous pink and red rambler summer house. It's a pity for both are beautiful large bushes. Now she plants her own. If ever I have a summer house I think I'll see to the planting of the roses. Goodness after such a mixup.
Must close now - Love
Eva.
Camp Devens
Thurs. noon [June 13, 1918]
Dearest,
An extra noon letter. I don't know whether you'll call it a letter or not. I have just finished dinner, a most delicious dinner for Cookie overdid himself on his rolls this noon, and also had nice raspberry gelatin for dessert. In a few minutes I have to take the Ford and run up to Adjutants' meeting.
This morning I succeeded in getting quite a replenishment of our supply of blank forms, and I am trying to get a much better more careful way of keeping them. I'm going to have a record kept of all of them and not let any out of headquarters without a written order for same from some company commander; and then have a record kept of what each company has so that they can't fool me and come around for more when they're not entitled to them. For some of them are scarce and precious, and Pop has accused some of the companies of using them for writing paper. You'd be astonished to see how many different blank forms there are in the Army which have to be filled out when different events occur.
Two lines above I was stopped because it was time to go to Adjutants' meeting and now it is one o'clock next morning. After Adjutants' meeting I was hustling every minute until four when Taylor and I started out for Wellesley. We went over in a Dodge car which the Supply Train has now. We lost our way on the way down thru Waltham but eventually got there. We met Lucinthia and Mother at Lucinthia's society house. Lucinthia and Mother and Aunt Lucy had already had supper, as we were late, so Lucinthia went and got Taylor & me some from what was left. Then we went out to the open air theater which had been constructed specially for the play, which began at 6:30. It was an admirable location for it, being right on the lake, which helped the imagination quite a little, because there was supposed to be a sea near in the play. It was "Iphisgenia in Taurius," based on an old Homeric myth. The acting was splendid, and the music with it was very enjoyable. After the play we went back to Agora, Lucinthia's society house, for a short time. Raymond and Eleanor Coe had in the meantime joined us; and we all visited together awhile and met a few of Lucinthia's friends. Father wasn't able finally to come up. After driving Mother and Aunt Lucy to the place they are staying while here, and Lucinthia back to her dormitory, we started back, with Capt. Butler at the wheel. Taylor was very patient, for I drove back the whole way, the first time I have ever taken a real car any more than just around a square or so; for driving a Ford is somewhat different than driving a real car. Although I must say this Dodge of ours has its limitations. Once when we came suddenly to a turn we had to make, I almost ran it into a fence on one side & then in the quick turn to the left most ran into the fence on the other side. Aside from that the trip was uneventful.
Of course I'm not opening the don't open notes, dear. What made you think I would? Oh, I guess it's because I didn't see the "don't open" on the picture of you and the garden.
Aunt Lucy gave me another pair of socks she had knitted, this evening, and I know I have at least two more pair on the way, one from my cousin in Lowell, and another I think from cousin Eleanor. I don't know what to do with so many of them; and am afraid I won't have room for them all; for there is a lot to take, and only one trunk, one bedding roll, and one piece of hand baggage allowed in which to take them.
I don't believe I'll want to get up at reveille this morning, I am glad though to have seen part of Lucinthia's Commencement. I never thought I was going to.
Good night, dear girl. I love you.
Your sweetheart.
[postmarked June 14, 1918]
Dearest,
What do you think, I haven't seen a single German wireless yet. There might be a dozen up at the Manor and to think I mayn't go and find out. I don't s'pose I may even take you up there on 'maginary trips.
Now this is an extra letter just because I want to write to you. I know you are bushels busy but maybe it won't take up much time. I appreciate the fact that you are working hard, when didn't you work hard, and I wish I had a play room I could hustle you off to now. Can't you just 'magine me hustlin' you off. I know you don't have much time to spare and am glad you do have time for me every night. I know I am neglectful about writing at night but Daido is usually around and I can't write then. I am really very much alone here, but I start my letters and write when I have time and then don't finish as I think I will have more to say, then usually have to finish in a hurry to get them up at the post office in time.
Here's a poem just come to me.
- I rose with the day this morning
- And wandered away from the town
- Out where the new grass whispers
- And blossoms flutter down
- I heard a robin singing
- As he bathed in the sparkling dew
- A wood thrush and an oriole sang
- and they all sang of you.
- I turned me then, to go once more
- Where the noisy houses stood
- But a silvery web enmeshed me then
- And I could not if I would.
- And wandered away from the town
Why are the belts called Sam Browne belts? Is that a terribly ignorant question? You say you got a mole skin coat. That's very nice. Coats are easily made into muffs and furs, aren't they?
Goodness I'm terribly selfish. I don't want you to go away 'cause then I won't get a letter every day. I haven't heard from Miss Quimby yet and she's been gone a long while. You might meet her over there. She's awful nice. I'm surely envious of her sometimes, she's so pretty and she sings and plays, is a star at tennis and swims like a fish, good in all outdoor sports and is so entertaining and has poise and a thousand other desirable things. I'll have them all some day.
I'll take a whole sheet of paper to end on.
You said my freckles might be the result of your delinquencies. I haven't any freckles. They are terribly unbecoming and girls use lemon and sandpaper or files to get them off. Please remember hereafter I have no freckles!
I'll not attempt to get in this letter but I'll send this beautiful daisy, which says I love you. {Yellow daisy still in envelope}
Your lady.
Camp Devens
Fri. afternoon [June 14, 1918]
Dear Sunshine Lady,
I got a surprise this noon when I went up to take a bundle of things to Ralph. He goes next week to Camp Hancock, Georgia, to a machine gun school. It will be just a continuation of his training for a commission, but will be specializing in machine gun work. He gets a pass to go down home tonight and early next week starts for Georgia. It will seem pretty lonesome for awhile not to know he's right near where I can see him once in a while. But I'm glad he accepted the opportunity, for it will be a little bit more in his line than straight Infantry work. He surely has made a lot of shifts since he's been in the Army, and had a great number of varied experiences. Here's his record in brief.
- Enlisted June '17 Troop B. Connecticut Cavalry, National Guard.
- Troop B called into service July 25, 1917.
- Troop B. made into Co.B, 101st Machine Gun Battalion, Sept. '17.
- Ralph taken sick last of Sept. & week afterward 101st Machine Gun Battalion sailed,
- leaving him behind.
- In hospital 3 weeks, home 3 weeks, then sent to Base Hospital Camp Devens, where he
- was for 10 days.
- From Base Hospital sent to Depot Brigade & in 3 different companies there while his
- big brother was pulling wires all he could to get him transferred permanently
- to National Army & assigned to 301st Supply Train. This was successful after
- two months.
- Transferred to 301st Supply Train Jan. 9, 1918.
- May 15, 1918 sent to Officers' Training School, Camp Devens.
- Now June 1918 to a machine gun Officers' Training school Camp Hancock, Ga.
Isn't that a varied history for one short year?
I did not get up at reveille this morning. The Adjutant doesn't have to, and hasn't since he got back, but he's been closer to it each day until this morning, when he back slid until 10 minutes of eight.
I must dip into my pile of work. More tonight. All my love, as always.
Sylvester.
Camp Devens
Fri. eve. June 14/18.
(I think we may be missing another letter from Gram in here )
Eva, dear Sweetheart,
I ask your forgiveness for saying anything which would hurt you.
I am glad you are not going to be alone for very long.
So you are going to teach me history, are you? I shouldn't wonder but what you could, with the time I shall have had to forget it. You know, I had three years to forget a lot before I went to Pleasantville. That's why I had to sit up nights, so that Miss Lutz wouldn't know more American History and Miss Test more European History than i. Because I remembered once I thought I knew more than my Latin and Greek teacher in High School. Now I'm really hoping you won't believe the former statements. But if I remembered rightly I awarded you a 92 or thereabouts and Miss Test something similar, and if I, as teacher, were 100, as I should be, supposed to know everything, it was a close race, wasn't it? Oh, I'm talking silly; it's the relaxation at the end of an energetically spent day, I guess.
Since I wrote you this afternoon, I've been to a meeting at the Y.M.C.A. auditorium which every officer in the 76th Division was required to attend. It was on nothing at all interesting, the subject being merely the system of rating officers, with which there was no one there who was not familiar. The system has its amusing sides to Greene and myself, who were sitting by each other, and Greene got me going with his side comments on the speech. General Hodges, the Camp Devens and 76th Division Commander, presided, and strangely enough, it's the first time I've ever heard him talk. To look at him you would never pick him out for a General, for he is very short and slim, a little stooped, and walks almost as though he had rheumatism. But he was physically O.K. when examined for overseas service, and that examination was very strict. He is without doubt a very able man.
After I came home, or as I was coming home, there was a beautiful shiny sunset; not the deep colors so much tonight. An hour or so before that I spied a lost end of a rainbow over in the east; I don't know how it got there, for there has been no rain; probably it was done thru a cloud or something. Is that possible? Ask our old puncture-bubble friend Cruse. I wonder if he's gotten his chance yet to show what he can do with a rifle in the army.
You have a surprise package - though a pretty old kind of surprise - coming in about 3 weeks' time. I'm telling you so that if I'm not here by chance you will know why it's sent from here. It won't be ready till about that time and directions that it be sent to you, or one of it, rather to you, and the other to Mother.
Good-night. You are the beautifullest sunshiniest lady there ever was and I love you. I want to kiss you good night.
Your sweetheart.
Camp Devens
Sat. eve. June 15/18.
Hello, Lady. This is the person you say is spoiled, whom you think you never can get up to enjoy the early morning with you. You don't know me if you say that, for I have been preaching early morning to the afflicted people who have to live near me for years. I have heaped my scorn on the common idea that it's the worst time of day, & those who say they don't begin to enjoy the day until it's about ten; it seems so out of the order of things. It's a common by word in the army that reveille is the lowest hour in the soldier's day, but I shan't accept the doctrine. I do love the morning indeed for it's delightful freshness, and my lady won't have to coax real, real hard to get me to enjoy it with her when she wants me to. Let me be with you next time you wade thru the new mown grass, won't you, for I'll be up in time, and I'm not sure I wasn't before.
Tomorrow is Sunday - astounding statement - but not a day of rest. All officers and men of the Supply Train have been required to stay here over Sunday this week-end, as tomorrow morning it is to be inspected by the Inspector General, who is in camp on a periodical visit. This morning we had a practice inspection at ten o'clock. The inspection is with full field equipment - that is with packs, with canteen & first aid packet on the belt, and everything on the person which is carried into the field. The Inspector General can then see just how well equipped each organization is. I made up the order on it for the Train this afternoon, prescribing the time to fall in, uniform to be worn, order in which companies would march, what would go into the packs, and so on. And I have been finishing up other details this evening. We are going to have reveille the same hour as week-days, instead of an hour later, as usual on Sundays, for in order to get up to the place the inspection is to be conducted we have to leave our headquarters at seven o'clock. It will be all over about half past nine. I hope the old boy will be satisfied. I'm just a bit nervous about it.
There have been lots of wives around tonight. Greene, Travers, and the Doctor all had their wives to supper. SO much company that I, being the last to come in to supper, had to wait before someone finished before I could eat. So in the meantime I went in to see what Dr. Stewart's baby was crying about. I guess he wanted company, for he didn't cry anymore when I came into the room. I also made my ugle-ugle sound down in my throat at him, and really, he was much more appreciative than someone else I know of that great accomplishment of mine. You'll forgive me, won't you, for it was done in a good cause.
I should like to hear that Miss Tolbert had accepted the principalship at the High School. With a new force, especially with the chief member of an opposing faction out, the task ought not to present itself to her as unpleasant.
I'm sure I didn't realize what a dreadful & unpardonable omission I was making in not saying just how the flowers you sent me Sunday arrived. I even get poked fun at for what I did say, and don't get any more because of what I didn't say. I have read your letter in which they came and do not find you asked me to say just how they came. So how was I to know, as we have lots of times sent flowers to each other, and I hardly believe have invariably reported on condition received to one another. These were nice and fresh. How did the lupin I put in a letter a week ago reach you, and the syringa & wigelia I sent you from home? I don't know whether you got them at all or not. Dear Eva, please don't stay cross at me for just one thing. I never meant to be mean, or say anything you wouldn't want me to, for I only said "Please don't, just for me" and never thought of trying to be didactic. Won't you please forget it and forgive me and tell me you don't hate me any more? For two days' letters you haven't said you loved me, even when you finished the night part of it, though you did send me one kiss one of the mornings, and you told me you hadn't done much on the garden lately, and made up the scold about the flowers. And my heart aches. I want you, want you always for my own; you have given me so much happiness by your friendship and good comradeship in happy times, and your sunshiny self - maidenly and modest and right-minded and characterful - and lots of things I like; and you have made me so very, very absolutely happy by giving me your love - I never want to seem, as I never am, unmindful of that blessed thing you have given me, the love you weren't going to give any man. I always swore I would be a bachelor, too, but I don't believe I really meant it, for deep down in I've wanted a home always, where I could find the right companion whom I would love and who would make the home I wanted and be the Wife and Mother I wanted for Queen of my home. A Home is a great responsibility, isn't it, dear? The realest home ever was, that's what we shall have.
Good-night. I love you, Eva.
Sylvester.
[postmarked June 15, 1918]
Dearest,
This is a little note for Monday. It will be just a little note, too, because I haven't done a thing.
Daido and I are getting ready to go over to Atlantic and do some shopping. She wants to get some clothes and I am going to get some books for Frank and something for Katie as she has a birthday Monday.
Today has been a delightful day, all day with never a sign of rain.
We have not done much reading this week so I guess we won't get any new books at the library.
I think I shall get Frank "Huck Fin" and "Tom Sawyer." They are not very helpful educationally except that they will help to stimulate his interest in reading and he needs something to do that.
I wish you could see the sweet alyssum out in front of our house and the house next door. It is wonderful. Didn't you see it, a tiny ridge of white, in the picture?
I'll have to say 'nuff 'till tonight my bestes' sweetheart whom I love
Eva.
Camp Devens
Sunday afternoon
June 16.
Dearest,
This is a nice bright and sunshiny day. I hope you are having one, too, and enjoying it.
From everything which happened this morning I had good reason to feel a bit nervous about the Inspector General's visit, for he took in several things we hadn't planned on. Pop was determined every one would be up in time to start this morning, for he was going up and down the hall at 5 a.m. with a Big Ben, 5 a.m.. being 15 minutes before first call for reveille. So everyone was up and had plenty of time to get ready. We got off promptly at seven, Capt. Moody's company in the lead, and we were up on the main Camp parade ground long before we had to be. So Capt. June gave the Train a good stiff practice drill while waiting. Then we got into place and waited for the General. The Military Police were being inspected at the same time and were formed on our left. Our Colonel was in general command of both organizations. The way the Supply Train was lined up was in "column of companies" which is this formation:
| | | | | z | o | o | o | o | o y ¦ | | | | | x
Each company in line in double rank; the dots represent the commander of each company, the x is the Commanding Officer of the Train, Capt. June; the y is the Adjutant, the z the Train Supply Officer. The Adjutant is a pace to the rear & to the left of the Commanding Officer, in all formations, and the Supply Officer at the left of the Adjutant. In the Supply Train the Adjutant and the Supply Officer are what are known as Staff Officers - they are the Commanding Officer's staff. Well, when the General came the first thing we were asked to do was to have the men unsling their equipment & open their packs, laying everything out for the inspector to see. A great number of our men have only been with us a month, and haven't had instruction in laying out equipment - for of course it all has to be done in a certain way, at certain commands, and according to a regular uniform method; in fact our old men were not very well versed in it. We realized we might be asked to do that, and in getting out the order yesterday for Capt. June, I stated thereon that if a layout of equipment was called for it would be in accordance with a certain diagram in a certain military manual which all companies had. So when the order went around to the companies the 1st sergeants should have gotten busy and seen that the men knew how to do it, and if they didn't understand it to consult their company commander, or in his absence some other officer. But they didn't do all that I guess for there was some little hesitation on the part of the men in some companies; still they did it better than I thought they would and that inspection got along all right. After that the packs were rolled up and each company commander was directed to take his company & drill it for a short time. In the meanwhile the inspecting officer, who was some Major, assistant to the Inspector General, was asking Pop all sorts of questions about the organization, the extent of its equipment, the training its men had had, and so on. Then we were directed to go back to our barracks and await an inspection there. That was something we hadn't bargained on; the men had had no time to clean them up before falling out this morning, and it meant everything had to be done between the time we got back and the Inspector General came. Pop immediately got all the officers & 1st sergeants together to warn them that the men must be gotten to work in a hurry to have things ready, and had a man sent over from each company to clean out and mop out the hallway & headquarters room in our quarters. Well, the General came too soon; he went to Co. A First and the men were hardly started; Co. C, & it was a little better. In the meanwhile his Major assistant went through B, D, & E and I followed around with him; there were a few discrepancies but they weren't really in such bad shape. But A was awful, and the General himself saw it, and although I think he appreciated the difficulties in the way, it didn't help create a good impression, and this naturally was a disappointment to Capt. June, it being his outfit and he being held responsible. He got pretty worked up over it, vowed no one had made an attempt to get ready, & swore no officer or man could leave the camp from the Supply Train this week. He softened down though, and only A Co. was blacklisted, and part of C's privilege's withheld. He was on a huge tear for a time, I really think everyone worked as hard as they could to get ready, unless it was Co. A, but he can't be blamed for being disappointed. Altogether it was quite an exciting morning to us, but I hope my two sheet account of it hasn't been a horrible bore to you.
Lieut. Greene invited me out to his house in Harvard, a little town just below Ayer, for dinner, and I stayed out there with him about half the afternoon. He and Mrs. Greene, and Lieut. & Mrs. Travers have a house out there together. I guess I have spoken of running out there once or twice before, though I never have gone out for a meal before. I think a great deal of Greene, and always find him enjoyable company.
I'll be writing more tonight. So long, Lady. A little Don't Open message is going with my love, a lot more of it than you would think it could carry.
Your Sweetheart.
Camp Devens
Sun. eve. June 16/18.
Dearest Lady,
It isn't many hours since I mailed you my last letter this afternoon; that told you about our exciting morning and my going out to Greene's, and the time since hasn't been very eventful. I drove the Dodge up to the post office with your letter and went up to see an officer in one of the infantry regiments, came back and had supper, did a little work, and wrote a letter to my Father and to my Mother. I'm like a child with a new toy driving that car; if I had time, I'd be thinking up excuses all day, I guess, for errands to run with it. It seems strange that a man of my age shouldn't have known how to drive a car, but I never have happened to have a chance to learn. I have never been home long enough or at the right time to learn on ours, and besides Father's only had it since the fall I was down in Pleasantville. Other cars are really much easier than Fords as soon as you learn, for you get so much more control over them. I was driving this afternoon where soldiers were thick on both sides of the road, & passing cars coming thru, and wasn't bothered about controlling the machine at all, where with the Ford I might likely have stalled.
Your letter with the out door call poem came in this afternoon's mail. Do you know, darling, I think that's just about the most beautifully written poem you've ever given me. Your whole letter made me feel happy all over, and especially the poem, and the "beautiful daisy which says I love you." Bless you for hope and cheer and sunshine and love.
The outdoors is ideal tonight with a nice fresh wind, a half a moon, and with the frogs singing most cheerfully. Won't you please come out on the porch a little while, and listen to it all, perhaps beat me counting stars; if you beat me doing that, I guess I'd have to try you on wind velocity. Oh, I know what would be better, guessing the musical note each frog was singing.
It is staying delightfully cool. I was afraid the end of last month it was starting to be unbearably hot. But for two weeks I've had nothing of which to complain in that line.
Ralph is down home over Sunday this week end again, having a special leave on account of his going away to Georgia. I guess the folks were surprised to see him breeze in Friday night. He won't be back till Tuesday morning, and may or may not get a chance to see me before he goes. I indeed hope so.
Eva, I am especially lonesome tonight, and just before I go to bed I am going to kiss the curl. May I ? The daisy does say you love me, indeed, I just counted. So I am very happy. And think, someday, soon, I'll have you always. Isn't that just about the happiest prospect any man could have?
A good night kiss, for I love you, dearest.
Your sweetheart
[June 16, 1918]
Dearest,
I have been up home today for a few minutes. I got Katie a little manicure set and Frank a "Penrod" book. I didn't see Frank at all but Katie and the rest of the family were home. Frank has his tent up in the yard and I suppose is living there now. He certainly does enjoy that. I did so want to see him as it has been some time since I have. I told them to tell him to come down as I wanted to see him. I don't know when he will get down as he is working on Uncle Henry's, (Dorcas' dad's) farm.
We worked quite hard today and cleaned the house from tip to toe. It looks rather nice.
You certainly are lucky about getting so much knitting done for you. I wish I could knit nicely.
A submarine drove a great big boat ashore off Atlantic City this morning. I didn't go over to see it and haven't heard whether it is off yet or not. They are getting to be a nuisance it seems to me.
Mrs. Harley heard from Miss Quimby and Miss Q. says they rode over without lights and they'd be walking about the deck and bump into people. She also said Paris was very beautiful but nothing about her work so I suppose she isn't into it as yet..
I wish you didn't work so late. It really does worry me as I don't think it is good for you. Goodness just wait until I get a chance to manage you!!! A good night kiss.
Eva.
Dearest,
It's a wonderful morning this morning - a morning of sunshine and roses. The cemetery is just full of red ramblers and the green and red against the grey of the monuments is just wonderful.
This is just the kind of morning on which discoveries are made. While walking thru the grass one thinks how soft how cool and suddenly appears a blade of red amid the green a single blade and yet it thrills and thrills you. Why I don't know except that it's different. The butterfly weed is just ready to burst. It must have been almost so yesterday but if you had seen it then you hadn't felt the spell as you did today and then too, yesterday the birds never could have been so musical or the air so fragrant. Nature's a good mother isn't she? She wants no one to be unhappy.
Please Sylvester won't you give me some of those circulars to fill out as perhaps I'd like to send a fireplace, a kiss, or my love or something sometime.
I have some clover on my desk, some honeysuckle on my table and above the file some yellow daisies. It seems I'm plentifully supplied.
I'm quite anxious to know about my s'prise package but not so anxious if it means you're "over there." Goodness I tho't this war would be over long ago.
I'm going to s'prise you too but not so pretty soon.
I love you my sweetheart, my happiness man.
Your sweetheart.
[postmarked June 17, 1918]
Dearest,
I told you today was the day for discoveries. I had hardly taken ten steps this noon before I discovered an almost ripe blackberry. I want to gather and can lots of blackberries and huckleberries this summer. I do so love to go get them and used to have lots of fun. I used to get up about four o'clock and go before the sun got too hot.
Mr. Hammell isn't back yet so I am not very much overworked. I thot he would be back today and would be very busy so I did not bring a book up to read. I have almost finished my "Architecture and the Allied Arts." It is very, very interesting. Daido is going to bring us lots of interesting books home to read this summer (from school). She does not know about the principalship yet.
Our forget-me-not is blossoming just wonderful. I have not picked my branch yet as it is getting larger and more beautiful every day. I'm glad there were only two branches on it as that made it seem really just for us. We are lucky as I think all the flowers will live.
We have had peas twice from our garden and one of my four potato plants is in blossom and every indication points to a bumper crop.
We expect our new crop of radishes soon and knowing you are so fond of them I shall put forth every effort to see that you get some so "be prepared."
I wonder how the manor looks now. I imagine it is a veritable wilderness of weeds and flowers run riot also mosquitoes.
You caught a rainless rainbow in the sky the other day you say. I'll tell you what I saw once and don't you laugh. I saw a double rainbow, the moon, the sun and one star, now wasn't that a combination? It seems to me there was something else but I can't think of it just now.
I just had to go out in the cemetery, it was so wonderful, so went over to the well house for a glass of water. The cemetery is prettier at a distance as the hedge hides all the flowers which are different from the red ramblers, also the graves, and the cemetery just appears to be red and grey.
Now I'll whisper a secret. I love you. Amo Te. Amo Te Me? Plese ans. bi return male and oblidge.
Me.
I just sent you a million kisses.
Camp Devens
Mon. noon 6/17
Dearest,
If I recall rightly - yes I know I'm right - it was two years ago today that I sent that telegram from New Britain, which signed me up for Pleasantville. Are you sure you don't remember it?
This morning I was sure I was going to accomplish more that any two previous days for weeks, but I fell far back in my expectations; there were so many little puttering things to interfere.
I have changed my table around so that it's in front of my window now; the first time I've made any change in my room since I first was here in this building. I don't believe I ever kept things arranged so nearly the same for so long before; I always did like to change around once in a while, as it would give things a fresh look. The summer I lived with the Coes in New Britain Eleanor used to shift things around in the living room about every two weeks, and when Raymond and I would come home afternoons after such a change, He used to have the funniest blank looks imaginable, as though he had come into the wrong house. Usually it meant his smoking outfit was misplaced, too, and so an imaginary fuss of some duration used to follow. He used to have a new name for her every week; names you could never imagine whence they came; the only one that sticks in my mind is "Pups". Isn't that a beautiful one?
You've got me on the Sam Browne belts, for I don't know where the name comes from. That's what they are known as in England, and I think they must be named after an English manufacturer. Since they have been adopted for our officers, they have given the name "Liberty" belts, for the Americans. I'm afraid the moleskin coat isn't as soft a