1925 [Jan or Feb]
Big dear Sweetheart,
I couldn’t write you a real letter while you were away thru the holidays. I was so busy. You know that if I could have, I would have spent half my time writing you letters, but I just couldn’t. Now I haven’t much time to write for there are a million things to do, but after all, Fred comes first.
Sometimes, dear, you doubt my love for you. I do too, dear. I wish I were as steady and sure as you are, but alas! I’m not! But Fritz, darling, could you ask for a surer proof of a girl’s love than a little thought when it’s least expected? Could you ask for a surer proof than a telegram on Xmas, for no reason at all except to let you know she hand’t forgotten you, and was wishing you joy and happiness? It’s only love which prompts me to do the things I believe you enjoy. No, you don’t doubt my love. Still when I do all these things to prove I love you, you get jealous because another ——- Oh! Hang! I got off again. Bit I wonder that you could consider such a thing. You know, I think the surest proof of real love is just to be held real tenderly in someone’s arms, to feel someone’s tender kisses on my lips, to feel there’s a strong shoulder to lean on, to know that that someone isn’t holding me in his arms because he knows he can, but he’s holding me because he loves me, and doesn’t care to hold anyone save me; just to hear him whisper the three little words ∆(I love you) and to know he means them, also to have his love shown in the little ways he knows pleases and surprises me, to always think of just what can make me happiest.
Fred, dear, you’re the someone. I’m the me. I do so try to please you, and surely you couldn’t ask for a girl would come to your arms quicker than I. Since those things seem to be my idea of proving I love you, I do try to do them. That’s why I’m giving you this candy. That’s why I’ve taken so much time and trouble to fix the box up exceptionally nice. That’s why I’m writing this note for you. Love does many things, Fred.
I do so love you for being ashamed of having to tell me you’re on pro[bation]*. If you didn’t love me you wouldn’t be ashamed. I love you for telling me, that you wanted to share with me. I love you for saying I was all the world to you; for telling me as you did once, you’d die for me. I love you for saying when we were talking one nite about other boys, “Go ahead, Florence. I’ll get you when school is out.” All I’ll say, dear, is that if I continue to love you several years from now, I’ll be waiting for you. Make good, dear, then come back for me. I’ll be waiting!
It’s hardly any wonder that a girl’s eyes grow wistful and the tears come when she realizes that a strong man who is worthy of her says he needs her, that he loved her more than life itself. It’s no wonder she looks away into the distance for love is her whole existence. I have the one thing in life that is worthwhile – the love of a dear, strong, worthy man. You have something which is dearer than money – the love of a clean, moral girl – one who tried to please you and make you happy.
However, I’m too little to realize that I really do possess, and I pray to Heaven I may wake up some day and realize this “Gift from the Gods” is you, before too late.
I love you, Fred.