Scene 12

Scene Twelve...Love Letters
Time: Morning, Saturday, January 19, 1946
Place: Robertson's attic
Storyteller: Janet



I'm in the attic rummaging through our largest cedar chest. Some of these beautiful dresses look so old, they might have been Grandma Allen's. This pink one...Mom's Dogwood Queen gown...her waist was so small.

I try it on. Nice fit, except too short. Needs a little Kleenex, too. Maybe she'll let me get it altered for the prom?

What will work for my dance recital? I try on the aqua blue satin; it's a bit big in the bust. I'll borrow Betty's bra and stuff it with toilet paper.

Digging deeper...on the very bottom is a silver box tied with a gold silk ribbon. Probably costume jewelry. Let's find out. I pull the ribbon and remove the lid. Hummm. Letters. Non-of-my-business letters. It won't hurt to look at the postmarks. The top envelope is the oldest. May 1917. I thumb through them. They're in order. The bottom date is September 1918.
 

I'll only open the top one. Just as I suspect. It begins "Dear Lois" and ends "Affectionately Harry". I giggle quietly. Okay, Dad. What did you write to Mom in 1917? They meet on a train from Atlantic City to Philly. Sorority sisters and fraternity brothers are with them. He's studying law at Penn. She's at Bryn Mawr. Their schools are only eight miles apart.

After returning the first letter, I instinctively pick up the second. "Dear Harry"...she's upset. He's home in Princeton, NJ, for the summer. She's in Ardmore, PA. Looks like they won't be seeing each other til September. At least Mom's enjoying her private oil painting lessons. She misses Dad..."Sincerely Lois."

Next letter. It's fall semester. Football games. A few coeds drive up to the Pocono Mountains for the weekend. Mom paints a landscape of the autumn leaves.

Next. Several students take the train to The Shore. Some get drunk and jump into the cold ocean. They play on The Boardwalk and...oh my gosh...visit Lucy the Elephant in Margate. No wonder Mom took me there.

Next. Holiday parties. More parties. He gives her a "friendship ring" for Christmas. They kiss under the mistletoe. Finally it's getting juicy.

This old, faded sofa is comfortable. I curl up and read a few more. By now they both close "with love".

June 1918. Mom graduates from Bryn Mawr. She and a girlfriend move to New York City and share a tiny apartment. Rent is high. Mom gets her dream job at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She spends her lunch hours studying a painting by Renoir. They accept work by Matisse, too.

Dad's stuck in Princeton, per usual.

July 1918. I can't believe it. Mom and Dad arrange to meet in Atlantic City...without friends...just the two of them...for the weekend of July 27-28. They stay at the modern, eight story, Chalfonte Hotel. Spend lots of time in the ocean. Get sun-burnt.
 

September 21, 1918. This is the most miserable day of Mom's life. She quits her beloved job at The Met. She's pregnant...has to return to Ardmore.

Dad is in his last year of law school. He comes up with the fib that they eloped last May 4th. They agree to stick with that story til death. Dad tells everybody that his parents want the marriage blessed in a church.  The date is set for October 5th.  "Family Only" are invited.

Oh, no! I hear Mom. "Janet, what are you doing up there? Come down and help me carry groceries."

I fly down the stairs and put on the act of a lifetime. "Mom, you should have called sooner. These bags are too heavy for you."

"What were you doing in the attic?" she repeats.

"Promise you won't get mad?"

"That all depends."

"I tried on your pink Dogwood gown."

"It must have been too short."

"Yes, but other than that, it fits perfectly...almost. What if we get it shortened to right below the knee for my prom? Half of the girls are wearing that length these days."

"Let's buy you a new dress. Betty can drive you to Miami when it gets closer to prom time."

"Okay, if you insist. Any more bags in the car?"

"No, thanks. You better do math homework. Later, please pick me some oranges. The doctors say I can eat whole fruit."

I slip off to my room, close the door, and flop onto the pink chenille bedspread. What a relief.

Who can I tell about the letters?

Betty? No, no, no. She'd feel guilty about her small role in the marriage.

Paul? No, he might blackmail Dad.

Lucy? She'll have to do til I can arrange some alone time with William.