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TheLady

John Blanchardstood up from the bench, straightened
his Armyuniform, and studied the crowd of people
makingtheir way through Grand Central Station.
He lookedfor a girl whose heart he knew, but whose face
he didn't,the girl with the rose.

His interestin her had begin thirteen months before in a
Floridalibrary.  Taking a book off the shelf he found
himselfintrigued, not with the words of the book, but
withthe notes penciled in the margin.

The softhandwriting reflected a thoughtful soul
and insightfulmind.
In thefront of the book, he discovered the previous owners
name,
MissHollis Maynell.
Withtime and effort he located her address.

She livedin New York City.

He wroteher a letter introducing himself and
invitingher to correspond.
The nextday he was shipped overseas for service in
WorldWar II.

Duringthe next year and one month the two grew to
knoweach other through mail.
Eachletter was a seed falling on a fertile heart.
A romancewas budding.
Blanchardrequested a photograph, but she refused.
She feltthat if he really cared, it wouldn't matter
whatshe looked like.
Whenthe day finally came for him to return from
Europe,
theyscheduled their first meeting

7:00 PMat the Grand Central Station in New York.
"you'llrecognize me," she wrote,
"by thered rose I'll will be wearing on my lapel."

So at7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose
hearthe loved ,but whose face he'd never seen.
 

I'll letMr. Blanchard tell you what happened.:

A youngwoman was coming toward me, her figure long
and slim.
Her blondehair lay back in curls from her delicate ears;
her eyeswere blue as flowers.
Her lipsand chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale
greensuit she was like springtime come alive.
I startedtoward her, entirely forgetting to notice that she
was notwearing a rose.
As Imoved, a small provocative smile curved her lips.
"Goingmy way sailor?" she murmured.

Almostuncontrollably I made on step closer to her and
then
I sawHollis Maynell.
She wasstanding  almost directly behind the girl.
A womanwell past 40, she had graying hair tucked
underher worn hat.

She wasmore than plump, her thick-ankled feet
thrustinto low heeled shoes.
The girlin the green suit was walking quickly away.
I feltas though I was split in two, so keen was my desire
to followher, and yet so deep in my longing for the
womanwhose spirit had truly companioned me and
upheldmy own.

And thereshe stood.
Her paleplump face was gentle and sensible, her gray
eyeshad a warm kindly twinkle.
I didnot hesitate.
My fingersgripped the small worn blue leather copy of
the bookthat was to identify me to her.
Thiswould not be love, but it would be something
precious, something perhaps even better than love, a
friendshipfor which I had been and must ever be
grateful.

I squaredmy shoulders and saluted and held out the
bookto the woman, even though while I spoke I felt
chokedby the bitterness of my disappointment.
"I'mLieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss
Maynell.
I amso glad you could meet me, may I take you to
dinner?"

The woman'sface broadened into a tolerant smile.
"I don'tknow what this is about son," she answered,
" butthe young lady in the green suite begged me to
wear
thisrose on my coat.
And shesaid if you were to ask me out to dinner, I
shouldgo and tell you she is waiting for you in the big
restaurantacross the street.
She saidit was some kind of a test."
end.....
....................
     Its not difficult to understand and admire Miss
Maynell'swisdom.
"Thetrue nature of a heart is seen in its response to the
unattractive."
"Tellme whom you love, and I will tell you who you
are..."



 
 

If anyone knows theauthor of this,  please e mail me.. OR,
if anyone has an inspirationalpoem, letter or story, I'd be glad to post it here !

This storyreally Inspired me, as too often shallow mindedness causes us to miss outon the best things in life...

~Marilyn

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