Paris, September
I am here for three days’permission. At the hotel a packet of letters, from every one except from—her!
Molly is married! I cannot believe it and yet the evidence is before me in two letters.
August, 1917.Dear David:Molly has, of course, written you of her marriage. I know that she is tremendously upset over what you will think of it. And, remembering some of the things you said, I am a little afraid, too. But I know you too well, David, to fear that you will ever write anything to hurt her. For she needs all your love and you are the only one now that counts with her in the loneliness of the situation she must face. Remember, whatever you may think, Molly never did this impulsively, but from the highest sense of her duty to share in the anguish that this war must bring. And, David,—you men may have one way of looking at it (the chivalry of the American, God bless him) but every real woman will understand Molly. And, David, could I say more than this: despite all that may come, and it is fearful to think what may come, if I write the truth and you can understand,—I envy her.There were some things about it that were so fine that, whether we agree with her or not, I want you to know what a trump your little sister is.She came over to spend a week with me and begged me not to ask questions, and to let her quite alone. Naturally, I suspected, particularly when she went off every afternoon for long walks and shut herself up in her room the rest of the time. So the third day I went to her and, putting my arm around her, I asked if I couldn’t help her.“No,” she said very quietly, “this is something I must decide absolutely by myself.”“Of course, I know what it is, dear,” I began, hoping to get her to talk. “Don’t you think some one who loves you might help you to see clearer?”She shook her head.“No. No one should take the responsibility of deciding my life. Even if Davy were here, and you know what he means to me, I should do this alone. When I’ve made up my mind I’ll tell you.”At the end of the week, she told me that she was engaged to Mr. Seaver and had made up her mind to marry him before he left with his Division for France. I admit that I hadn’t expected this and my breath was rather taken away.“But, Molly, have you thought over all this may mean to you?” I said at once.“Yes.”“You may have to begin life all over, dear, alone, perhaps as a mother,—and you are only nineteen.”“I have thought that all out.”“Are you sure that it isn’t a desire simply to do a hard thing that is influencing you?”She shook her head.“No. I did want to be sure of that,—to be fair to him. Now I know. If I love him I should marry him. It is his right and my right. If anything is going to happen to him, I am going to share it as his wife. Anything else is cowardice. That’s the way I feel about it.”Of course, after that there was nothing more to do about it, except to take her in my arms.David, I have never seen any one quite like her. She made up her mind and she quietly carried through her will, despiteevery one and everything. And, David, I do believe it was her idea alone. For when Mr. Seaver came, he looked all broken up. He is very young, of course, and perhaps Molly does idealize him, but he is the sort of man you could trust and it is easy to see that he adores the ground she walks on.How Molly carried it through I cannot imagine, but she did, somehow or other. She made every one do as she wanted and that by just quietly reiterating her decision. Your mother was terribly opposed to it, for theyareyoung and Mr. Seaver has still his way to make. His parents were terribly distressed, and the father telegraphed Mrs. Littledale and came down with his son in tow. There was a family conference, with all concerned present and every one excited and expostulating,—every one except Molly.And what do you think happened? In the midst of the uproar who should walk in but your Aunt Janie, and straight up to Molly and put her arm around her,—which was the only time your sister came near breaking down.“If this is a question of Molly’s marrying, why am I not consulted?” she said indignantly.Molly told me that only three or four times in her life has your Aunt Janie asserted herself, and then she frightened the wits out of every one.“Who is this gentleman? Is this the father of Mr. Seaver?”The presentations were hastily made.“Do I understand, sir, that you are opposing the marriage of my niece to your son?”“I am,” said Mr. Seaver, wavering a little before her eyes (but I think, also, Molly had won him over). “So I conceive my duty.”“You ought to go down on your knees and thank God, sir, that your son has the chance to marry any one as brave and true and loyal as my niece.”“But, good Lord, ma’am, I’ve no objection to their being engaged,” he said hastily, “only I don’t want them to marry now.”“Why?”“My son’s too young.”“He’s old enough for his country.”“Frankly, I don’t think it is fair to your niece! Who knows what may happen!”“That’s her affair. Any other objections?” she continued, as though she had dismissed all that had been offered before.“Janie, what are they going to live on?” said your mother at this point.“Exactly. My son hasn’t a cent,” said Mr. Seaver, plucking up courage.“I beg your pardon?”“My son hasn’t a cent,” repeated Mr. Seaver, but he must have quailed under the awful look Molly tells me your aunt gave him at this.“Have you?”The father’s jaw must have dropped at this, for he was so astonished that he had nothing more to say.“I am going to make my meaning so plain that no one can misunderstand it,” she said, very thin, and tall, and aroused. “If your son is willing to give his life for his country, and my niece is ready to pledge her life to him, sir, and face the consequences,—if these young people see their duty and do it, we are going to stand back of them and see them through! That’s as much our duty as going out to fight. And now, don’t let me hear any more of this nonsense. Molly shall marry your son, and you and I will take care of her until he gets back from the war. If you won’t, I intend to do it myself!”Molly broke down at this. Your mother threw up her hands and capitulated and, in the confusion, Ted Seaver’s voice was heard, saying:“Governor, it’s up to you.”Mr. Seaver went over to Molly and said solemnly:“Young lady, every word your aunt has said is gospel. I’m thoroughly lambasted and convinced and mighty glad of it. Go ahead. Wewillsee you through. Molly dear,—will you have me for a father-in-law?”And married they were, with every one present and adoring Molly. Mr. and Mrs. Seaver, who were quite won over,wanted her to come to them, but she chose to stay at Littledale, mainly on account of Aunt Janie, and maybe also from pride.But now that she is alone, I think the full realization has come to her of what is ahead and though her pride will never let her admit it, at times her dear little face is awfully serious. You are her ideal, David. Be generous.Father is in Europe. Have you seen him? The war feeling is wonderful. All the men are going and all the women are making ready to help. I am not satisfied with what I am doing here in the local Red Cross and have made up my mind to go to New York and train for a nurse’s assistant. Mother is opposed but I, too, must decide things. She has agreed on condition that I shall find a companion. It seems rather unnecessary but if it will make her happy I shall do it. I go to-morrow to stay with some cousins. Later on, I am determined to go over but I’m not saying anything about that now. I do appreciate your writing to me, David, as you do, and don’t ever think you have to hide things from me.Bless you,Anne.P.S.—I know you’ll stand by Molly.P.P.S.—It is a very great inspiration to know any one so fine as Molly, who looks things so straight in the face and never hesitates. It has done something for me that I shall never forget.
August, 1917.
Dear David:
Molly has, of course, written you of her marriage. I know that she is tremendously upset over what you will think of it. And, remembering some of the things you said, I am a little afraid, too. But I know you too well, David, to fear that you will ever write anything to hurt her. For she needs all your love and you are the only one now that counts with her in the loneliness of the situation she must face. Remember, whatever you may think, Molly never did this impulsively, but from the highest sense of her duty to share in the anguish that this war must bring. And, David,—you men may have one way of looking at it (the chivalry of the American, God bless him) but every real woman will understand Molly. And, David, could I say more than this: despite all that may come, and it is fearful to think what may come, if I write the truth and you can understand,—I envy her.
There were some things about it that were so fine that, whether we agree with her or not, I want you to know what a trump your little sister is.
She came over to spend a week with me and begged me not to ask questions, and to let her quite alone. Naturally, I suspected, particularly when she went off every afternoon for long walks and shut herself up in her room the rest of the time. So the third day I went to her and, putting my arm around her, I asked if I couldn’t help her.
“No,” she said very quietly, “this is something I must decide absolutely by myself.”
“Of course, I know what it is, dear,” I began, hoping to get her to talk. “Don’t you think some one who loves you might help you to see clearer?”
She shook her head.
“No. No one should take the responsibility of deciding my life. Even if Davy were here, and you know what he means to me, I should do this alone. When I’ve made up my mind I’ll tell you.”
At the end of the week, she told me that she was engaged to Mr. Seaver and had made up her mind to marry him before he left with his Division for France. I admit that I hadn’t expected this and my breath was rather taken away.
“But, Molly, have you thought over all this may mean to you?” I said at once.
“Yes.”
“You may have to begin life all over, dear, alone, perhaps as a mother,—and you are only nineteen.”
“I have thought that all out.”
“Are you sure that it isn’t a desire simply to do a hard thing that is influencing you?”
She shook her head.
“No. I did want to be sure of that,—to be fair to him. Now I know. If I love him I should marry him. It is his right and my right. If anything is going to happen to him, I am going to share it as his wife. Anything else is cowardice. That’s the way I feel about it.”
Of course, after that there was nothing more to do about it, except to take her in my arms.
David, I have never seen any one quite like her. She made up her mind and she quietly carried through her will, despiteevery one and everything. And, David, I do believe it was her idea alone. For when Mr. Seaver came, he looked all broken up. He is very young, of course, and perhaps Molly does idealize him, but he is the sort of man you could trust and it is easy to see that he adores the ground she walks on.
How Molly carried it through I cannot imagine, but she did, somehow or other. She made every one do as she wanted and that by just quietly reiterating her decision. Your mother was terribly opposed to it, for theyareyoung and Mr. Seaver has still his way to make. His parents were terribly distressed, and the father telegraphed Mrs. Littledale and came down with his son in tow. There was a family conference, with all concerned present and every one excited and expostulating,—every one except Molly.
And what do you think happened? In the midst of the uproar who should walk in but your Aunt Janie, and straight up to Molly and put her arm around her,—which was the only time your sister came near breaking down.
“If this is a question of Molly’s marrying, why am I not consulted?” she said indignantly.
Molly told me that only three or four times in her life has your Aunt Janie asserted herself, and then she frightened the wits out of every one.
“Who is this gentleman? Is this the father of Mr. Seaver?”
The presentations were hastily made.
“Do I understand, sir, that you are opposing the marriage of my niece to your son?”
“I am,” said Mr. Seaver, wavering a little before her eyes (but I think, also, Molly had won him over). “So I conceive my duty.”
“You ought to go down on your knees and thank God, sir, that your son has the chance to marry any one as brave and true and loyal as my niece.”
“But, good Lord, ma’am, I’ve no objection to their being engaged,” he said hastily, “only I don’t want them to marry now.”
“Why?”
“My son’s too young.”
“He’s old enough for his country.”
“Frankly, I don’t think it is fair to your niece! Who knows what may happen!”
“That’s her affair. Any other objections?” she continued, as though she had dismissed all that had been offered before.
“Janie, what are they going to live on?” said your mother at this point.
“Exactly. My son hasn’t a cent,” said Mr. Seaver, plucking up courage.
“I beg your pardon?”
“My son hasn’t a cent,” repeated Mr. Seaver, but he must have quailed under the awful look Molly tells me your aunt gave him at this.
“Have you?”
The father’s jaw must have dropped at this, for he was so astonished that he had nothing more to say.
“I am going to make my meaning so plain that no one can misunderstand it,” she said, very thin, and tall, and aroused. “If your son is willing to give his life for his country, and my niece is ready to pledge her life to him, sir, and face the consequences,—if these young people see their duty and do it, we are going to stand back of them and see them through! That’s as much our duty as going out to fight. And now, don’t let me hear any more of this nonsense. Molly shall marry your son, and you and I will take care of her until he gets back from the war. If you won’t, I intend to do it myself!”
Molly broke down at this. Your mother threw up her hands and capitulated and, in the confusion, Ted Seaver’s voice was heard, saying:
“Governor, it’s up to you.”
Mr. Seaver went over to Molly and said solemnly:
“Young lady, every word your aunt has said is gospel. I’m thoroughly lambasted and convinced and mighty glad of it. Go ahead. Wewillsee you through. Molly dear,—will you have me for a father-in-law?”
And married they were, with every one present and adoring Molly. Mr. and Mrs. Seaver, who were quite won over,wanted her to come to them, but she chose to stay at Littledale, mainly on account of Aunt Janie, and maybe also from pride.
But now that she is alone, I think the full realization has come to her of what is ahead and though her pride will never let her admit it, at times her dear little face is awfully serious. You are her ideal, David. Be generous.
Father is in Europe. Have you seen him? The war feeling is wonderful. All the men are going and all the women are making ready to help. I am not satisfied with what I am doing here in the local Red Cross and have made up my mind to go to New York and train for a nurse’s assistant. Mother is opposed but I, too, must decide things. She has agreed on condition that I shall find a companion. It seems rather unnecessary but if it will make her happy I shall do it. I go to-morrow to stay with some cousins. Later on, I am determined to go over but I’m not saying anything about that now. I do appreciate your writing to me, David, as you do, and don’t ever think you have to hide things from me.
Bless you,Anne.
P.S.—I know you’ll stand by Molly.
P.P.S.—It is a very great inspiration to know any one so fine as Molly, who looks things so straight in the face and never hesitates. It has done something for me that I shall never forget.
Littledale, AugustMy own big Brother:I married Ted Seaver three days ago and to-morrow he leaves for his camp. I do not know when I shall see him again. I have married him knowing that he may never come back to me. I thought it all over very hard, and when I knew I loved him I insisted that I should have the right to share with him whatever sacrifice he may have to face.I am a little afraid of what you will think just at first, David, dear, and oh, I don’t want you to misunderstand. I didn’t do it impulsively or just out of a weak sentimentality.You do know and trust me, don’t you, better than that. When I came to realize how much I loved him, it was only the right and simple thing to do. At first it was rather hard convincing others—all except Aunt Janie, who was a tower of strength—but in the end every one saw my point of view and respected it. I don’t think they all agreed with it, but they did respect it,—and that is all I can ask, isn’t it? For, Davy, with my three brothers gone, I couldn’t flinch, could I, and take the easy way out? Davy, dear, there is of course one thing I can’t explain to you and yet it’s all, and that is the way I love my husband. It’s just one of those things you can’t speak about, and that you’ll have to try to understand, for everything else is so simple when you understand that.I feel ten years older than the day, you remember, when we sat and talked in the blue sitting room and I was so broken up about Ted’s proposing. I know now that I did care,—only I didn’t know. I didn’t realize what I wanted in life, nor all the finer quality in him. We have seen each other a great deal, written to each other a great deal, and the knowledge that I loved him came to me gradually, not all at once. I knew what a serious thing I was doing, and do believe that I thought it over from every side.I shall be quite truthful with you, Davy. If it were not for the war, I should have wanted to wait for a year, maybe two,—not because I didn’t know that I could love him but because I wanted to be more of a woman, to be of greater help to him as his wife.Will you understand? Please do, dear, even if, just at first, you are terribly upset, as I’m afraid you’re going to be. You will trust your little sister this far, won’t you, to know that the man she gives her life to is worthy to be your brother. Please do, even if you can’t approve of me, all at once. Dear Davy, I wish you were here to-night, to catch me up in that great bear hug of yours. I need it. I have been two days writing this, and Ted went back this afternoon.Your old Peggoty, who loves you,Molly.
Littledale, August
My own big Brother:
I married Ted Seaver three days ago and to-morrow he leaves for his camp. I do not know when I shall see him again. I have married him knowing that he may never come back to me. I thought it all over very hard, and when I knew I loved him I insisted that I should have the right to share with him whatever sacrifice he may have to face.
I am a little afraid of what you will think just at first, David, dear, and oh, I don’t want you to misunderstand. I didn’t do it impulsively or just out of a weak sentimentality.You do know and trust me, don’t you, better than that. When I came to realize how much I loved him, it was only the right and simple thing to do. At first it was rather hard convincing others—all except Aunt Janie, who was a tower of strength—but in the end every one saw my point of view and respected it. I don’t think they all agreed with it, but they did respect it,—and that is all I can ask, isn’t it? For, Davy, with my three brothers gone, I couldn’t flinch, could I, and take the easy way out? Davy, dear, there is of course one thing I can’t explain to you and yet it’s all, and that is the way I love my husband. It’s just one of those things you can’t speak about, and that you’ll have to try to understand, for everything else is so simple when you understand that.
I feel ten years older than the day, you remember, when we sat and talked in the blue sitting room and I was so broken up about Ted’s proposing. I know now that I did care,—only I didn’t know. I didn’t realize what I wanted in life, nor all the finer quality in him. We have seen each other a great deal, written to each other a great deal, and the knowledge that I loved him came to me gradually, not all at once. I knew what a serious thing I was doing, and do believe that I thought it over from every side.
I shall be quite truthful with you, Davy. If it were not for the war, I should have wanted to wait for a year, maybe two,—not because I didn’t know that I could love him but because I wanted to be more of a woman, to be of greater help to him as his wife.
Will you understand? Please do, dear, even if, just at first, you are terribly upset, as I’m afraid you’re going to be. You will trust your little sister this far, won’t you, to know that the man she gives her life to is worthy to be your brother. Please do, even if you can’t approve of me, all at once. Dear Davy, I wish you were here to-night, to catch me up in that great bear hug of yours. I need it. I have been two days writing this, and Ted went back this afternoon.
Your old Peggoty, who loves you,Molly.
When I read these two letters and thought of Aunt Janie (it was like her, never to refer to the captain she didn’t marry) and dear old Molly, a lump was in my throat. And, though it was a shock, there was only one thing I thought of and that was what a little Spartan my sister was. I rushed out and sent her the following cable:
God bless you. With you from start to finish. Bully for Aunt Janie!
God bless you. With you from start to finish. Bully for Aunt Janie!