Friday the Thirteenth
8:25 P.M.

My dearest Sweetheart:

In spite of the fact that I had resolved to wait about a week to write you in order to see whether you would even miss my letters, here I go, as usual, answering your letter on the same day that I received it.

First of all, I want to tell you that you needn’t be at all surprised at any particular cuts this pen takes as I am unaccustomed to wielding one of its kind, especially when my only source of fuel is a great big ink bottle with a little tiny bit of sediment comfortably settled in one of its corners. My fountain pen is out of commission (overworked, poor thing!) so this letter promises to be a master-piece.

November 13, 1925

Yesterday and today have been two of the most beautiful days I have ever experienced I think. The sky has been just as clear as could be, and not a particle of cloud could be seen. It has been so nice and warm, everything is so pretty and green, and it has been just like springtime. I spent the day with Thelma today and we have been spending the afternoon pleasantly in making a few calls.

Mama and I went to a reception last night and enjoyed it so much. I was asked to pour tea for the occasion. My! how I did envy the young lady who had the privilege of pouring coffee. There were about a hundred and twenty five guests present.

No, Sweetheart, I mustn’t tell you how relieved I was to get your letter today nor how long I had been looking for it. Neither would it be very wise to tell you how many times of late that I have had to swallow a big lump in my throat consisting of anxiety, pride, independence, ‘n’everything, when I realized that it would take only about three minutes at the close of even the very busiest

One page missing – I tore it up. I didn’t want you to think I had gone back on my promise to be good, nor did I want you to think I was foolish or sensitive. Anyhow, I love you and love you and love you and don’t expect anything to ever come between us.

Yes, Sweetheart, from the description you have given me of the acreage west of Jacksonville, I think it would be mighty nice to live in a nice little home out there. I have no objections to living in the suburbs because we can drive in any time we get ready. We could enjoy there the advantages of both the city and the country. Yes, the profit on the sale of the Fulford lot would go a long way toward building a home, and, Dear, by the time we are married I will have a thousand dollars left from my savings, made while I was a “business woman” which I had intended for us to use for furnishing our home. It is drawing eight per cent interest at present, but we can get it any time we are ready to buy the furniture.

I am enclosing an account of the marriage of Zelma Barnette and Pat Campbell. As you have met them both I thought you might be interested.

I love you, Sweetheart, and I get so enthusiastic and happy when we are planning our wedding, home etc.

Always, your
Ina.