July 5, 1925

Sunday Nite
July 5, 1925

My dearest Walter:

You don’t know what a queer feeling it gave me tonight to come home from church without you. This time last night we were having such a pleasant time. It hurt me like everything this afternoon to tell you “good-bye.” When you drove off I had such a lost, sinking feeling. A lump came in my throat, but I swallowed it because Mr. and Mrs. Parman were right there. They must have had an idea about it because Mrs. Parman made a few appropriate remarks about how lonesome I would be after you left etc.

July 5, 1925

July 5, 1925

By this time I am sure you have left San Antonio. Perhaps you are asleep as it is after eleven o’clock, and, knowing your never failing habit of retiring early, I am not a bit surprised. I hope you are having a pleasant trip. Altho I would have been so glad if the circumstances had been so that you coiuld have remained longer in Uvalde, I am glad you succeeded in making connections this afternoon.

No, the little Ford roadster didn’t come out this evening. I have just looked out of the door to see if I could see it but its chair is vacant. Merwin must have roped it and tied it securely, or would surely have been here by now.

I just had to write you a few words before going to sleep. I will write some more tomorrow.

I love you and love you and love you.

Good night and pleasant dreams.

Love,
Ina.

Monday Nite

Hello-o!

It is now eight o’clock – just about time for you to be coming in the gate saying that. I can almost hear you right now – wish I could.

Altho I have been busy at different things all day, the day has been uneventful, that is, as far as startling events are concerned. Time and again I have found myself looking at the clock to see how long it would be before time to dress for you to come. I think it will be some several days before I can get out of that habit.

Last night after church, when Claudelle, Lucile and I started to get in the car, we saw Mr. Owens and another young man parked near us. He came over, shook hands with us and talked a long time. The moon was bright, and finally he remarked pointing to my ring, “Please turn that thing around, it hurts my eyes.” I said “‘scuse me” and turned it on the inside of my hand. However, the other young man examined and admired it but said it was rather hard on Mr. Owens. Just about that time they discovered the baggage in the car. Altho they inquired the “why and wherefore” of it, I didn’t offer any explanation, so I suppose they thought it belonged to Lucile or someone else. By the way, I am still just as proud as can be of my birthday gifts from you. They are so pretty and useful and necessary too that I like to keep them out where I can see them every few minutes. I get most sweetly thrilled when I look at them and realize that before so terribly long I will be using them when you and I are making our trip. Yes, “the madam” (don’t you dare!!) still experiences lots of thrills even though her “beeswa_” ‘scuse me! I mean even though you are away and also, even though she has almost reached her twenty-sixth milepost. Ripe old age, don’t you think?

A short time after you left yesterday afternoon, I went over to see Thelma and Bob and stayed until League time. Thelma said that the other day she asked Thelma Lee if she had seen Ina’s ring. Whereupon she calmly, most seriously and simply answered “yes.” Thelma asked her if she thought it was pretty. Again the solitary word, “yes,” spoken in a sadder tone. Then she asked if she knew who gave it to me. “Yes, Mr. Dove.” Then Thelma very enthusiastically told her that it meant that Ina was going to marry Mr. Dove, they were going to be happy, and, incidentally, that they were going to move away from Uvalde. At that point Thelma Lee shocked her by breaking down and crying as though her heart would break. She kept it up continuously for at least twenty minutes, and nothing would quiet her. Thelma tried to make her laugh by telling her that your Mama and Papa lived a long way from you, that you were lonesome and needed someone to take care of you; that you needed someone to darn your socks and sew up your shirts, and since you thought I could do it better than anyone else you were going to marry me (you didn’t know that, did you?). That didn’t have the desired effect though, so she cried until she was about exhausted. Yesterday afternoon while I was there, she saw my ring, tears came into her eyes, she bit her lip, turned her head, and did everything she coiuld to keep from showing her feelings. It shocked me that a child her age would take anything like that so seriously and so much like a grown person. Of course it isn’t that she objects to you in the least, because you know what sentiments she has expressed about you many times before, but it is the idea of my leaving that concerns her so deeply.

Thelma Lee and Reitha are spending the night with us tonight while Thelma and Bob have gone to Eastern Star. They were by the desk where I am writing a moment ago and I told them I was writing to you. When I asked Thelma Lee what I should tell you for her she said “Tell him that we miss him and want him to come back soon. If he can come back day after tomorrow, tell him to come.” Reitha said “Tell ‘im dat I tank ‘em for divving me lots of shewin dum.” I hereby deliver the messages. Thelma Lee furthermore asked me if Mr. Dove knew how to read my letters. What she meant I don’t know, but I could have told her that you had taken a year’s correspondence course in it, and I believed you could almost pass an examination in that subject. However, if you think you will need any assistance I shall gladly render it personally in the Fall.

Walter, you don’t know how much I wish for you tonight. The moon is wonderful, and everything would be ideal if — Well, the moon will shine again, and you are coming back too, and then, won’t we be happy? I am happy now thinking of the past two wonderful months and of the many, many many happy months we have ahead of us, when we can be together always.

My, my, how I do love you!

Goodnight, bless your heart.

Lots of love,
Ina