To Riley: My own dear precious one
June 5, 1929
8:30 o’clock
My own dear precious one:
I imagine this hour finds you driving. Don’t drive until you are too tired. You will need some sleep.
If you will agree to try to read this scratching which I am doing while lying in bed I’ll say how-dee-do and good-night.
Irene said tell you that she put me to bed early and would take care of me just for you.
I stood my drive nicely this afternoon. Bess and I got back just in time for supper. I think the drive did me good. I don’t know that I felt any weaker from having gone.
We had quite a task getting Dr. Eason’s car in the night garage. We finally succeeded after having put it in two others. The tank was registering “empty” when we stopped it in the garage. I guess he has enough to get to a station. We never thought about it’s being so near empty when we came by town. No, we came directly home.
Do you know where you are? Well, then, I’ll tell you. You are quite nicely attired in a blue suit, white shirt, black and white tie (that’s all I can vouch for) and having put a white handkerchief just the right depth into your coat pocket, you have perched upon the foot of my bed to watch me write to your other self who is somewhere on the road to Nashville. You don’t mind your picture caressing the foot of my bed for three months, do you? I think you should not, for this will put you where you can keep close watch over me.
I think we held up nicely this afternoon but I am afraid we would not have, had you not driven off when you did. I wonder if Virginia saw you tell me good-bye. That makes no difference though for I would have kissed you good-bye, I think, regardless of who was near to be frank about it.
I think the real good-bye was said several hours before, don’t you?
Darling, I hope you are not going to be extra tired from your trip. Anyway, you will have some time for rest before Monday and remember you are going to need some rest too.
Tonight it doesn’t seem quite right for you not to come to see me at the hospital. Two things prevent — I am in my room and you are many miles away but, sweetheart, we must make the best of it. Three months will have to end in twelve weeks and time will go by. I am going to miss you, yes, words can’t tell it, but I am going to be cheerful, write to you often, take care of myself, try to build up and be feeling well for many happy days with you which are to begin anew about August 26th. Living is easy when there is something to look forward to. Perhaps I had better not scratch any more tonight.
Darling, I love you, love you, love you.
Your little precious
