Dearest Linda

January 7, 1902

My dearest Linda,

When last I saw you at your most wonderful family’s Thanksgiving gathering (has this eternity indeed been but a mere six weeks) I knew, from my own feelings so hesitantly expressed, and from your much more tenderhearted and fond responses, that I am even more smitten with your beauty and character than I ever thought possible. It is only in these continued times away from you that I’ve come to realize that I am, indeed, the most fortunate man alive. I am the envy of all the fellows here, having won your favor and jealousy is rampant. I just smile though, knowing you are there waiting for me.

I so enjoyed our time together and long for the days when we shall be together again. The aroma of your hair, the gentle touch of your hand in mine, the warm softness of your pale cheek against my own and that heavenly feeling as our lips met are eternally emblazoned on my mind and heart. Oh what would your mother and father think if they knew that we had kissed already? I’m sure that I’ll go absolutely crazy if I think about it any longer. Even when I just look at that wonderful picture of you my heart begins to race and it’s all that I can do to stay here and tend to the matters at hand.

I have a secret and I can no longer contain it so I’ll share it here with you and pray that your anticipation and joy will match my own. I spoke with your father, very privately, and then with your mother who graciously gave me a small ring from your own jewelry box, the purpose of which shall remain a mystery for the present time.

So my dearest Linda, I pray you think of me as lovingly as I continuously think of you. Your voice, all those aromas that are you and you alone, the incredible emerald green of your eyes, the glory of that red hair all combine to create the most fascinating creature that God ever chose to cast upon the earth. If perfection had a muse, you would be it my dearest. You are the inspiration for all things beautiful and worthwhile.

Now, as I regretfully end this brief letter, I once again tell you that there is no love in all the world like that I hold for you. It fairly bursts from my heart each morning as I awaken and carries me through the day as I anticipate that time when I return home to sit and stare so longingly at your portrait, set with such loving care on the table beside my reading chair. I shall write again as soon as all the love and adoration can’t be contained within (which may be within the hour) and I must put pen to paper and post it off to you.

With all my love forever and ever,