Finally
New York City
“Look there, Charlie. You’ve a letter!” Walter said as Charlie made his way back to their dormitory from class.
He glanced over at his desk but then proceeded to take off his jacket and hang it up, muttering, “It’s likely just from my mother.”
“If your mother has recently been to Southampton, then I suppose so,” Walter sniggered.
“What’s that?” Charlie asked, unable to believe his ears. His friend only continued to chuckle, and though he didn’t want to seem too eager, Charlie could hardly help but run over to his desk to see if what Walter said was true.
Clearing his throat, he glanced down to see that the letter was, indeed, posted from Southampton, and the penmanship looked very feminine, though certainly not the same as his mother’s. He stood staring at the envelope for quite some time, not sure exactly what he should do.
“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Walter asked. He’d been reclining on his bed with an open book, but now that Charlie was acting peculiarly, he came over and stood next to him.
Charlie shrugged. “I suppose I should.”
“You’ve only been waiting for it for two years, Charlie,” Walter reminded him.
“I’m aware,” Charlie snapped, turning his head to give Walter a scowl.
Walter raised his hands and took a step backward. “Hey, you do whatever you need to, old chap. I just thought you’d be happy. That’s all.”
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said, pulling the chair out from under his desk and tossing himself down. “It’s just… I was finally starting to think perhaps you were right. Everyone was right. Maybe I am spending too much time thinking about Mary Margaret. Maybe there are other girls out there that would appreciate my attention.”
“Like Ralph’s sister, Stella?” Walter asked, now back on his bed.
Despite his best effort not to, Charlie felt himself blush at the thought of the beautiful brunette they’d met on the football field last winter. Now it was spring, and since Ralph Pettigrew had come to be their classmate, all of the boys were constantly asking if Stella, who attended school in Boston, had sent a letter. Charlie never asked, but he always wondered what she was doing and where she learned to catch a football like that.
“Possibly,” Charlie managed, not surprised to hear Walter snigger again. “I suppose I’m just afraid I’ll open it and the real Mary Margaret will be nothing like the one I’ve imagined.”
“I don’t think she’s stuffed herself inside that envelope, Charlie my boy,” Walter teased.
Fighting the instinct to glare at him again, Charlie managed, “No, of course not. But one can tell a lot by the way a person writes a letter. What if she is brash or inconsiderate? What if she doesn’t ask after my family? What if she’s written to tell me she’ll never marry me despite what our fathers decided?”
Walter was back at his side again, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s only one way to find out.”
Charlie shrugged. He plopped his elbows down on the table, the envelope between them, and rested his head on one fist.
“Do you want me to open it for you?”
“No, of course not.”
“All right then. I’ll give you some privacy. Teddy said I could come by and help him study for his physics exam.”
“Bully for you,” Charlie replied, raising an eyebrow.
“I know, but at least if I help him study, we’re more likely to get invited to the next game of catch.”
“Unless he doesn’t pass,” Charlie called after him as he approached the door. Walter stopped and narrowed his eyes at him playfully, and Charlie couldn’t help but laugh. It would break Walter’s heart to know that Charlie was always invited but seldom went because he was so busy studying whereas Walter was seldom invited but always went because he was so terrible at football.
Returning his attention to the letter, Charlie finally decided to have at it and carefully pulled it open.
March 25, 1904
Dear Mr. Ashton,
I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize that there seems to have been some problem with the post. It certainly has not been my intention to give you the impression I am ignoring you. I have very much appreciated reading your letters. New York sounds like an exciting place, and you seem to be quite the student. I would like to hear more about your friends at school. Walter seems like a particularly interesting fellow.
I attend lessons daily with my governess, whose name is Ms. Cunningham. She is my second governess. I am learning English diction, Latin, history, and maths—which I think you Americans call “math” instead. I like most of my subjects but am not particularly fond of calculations. I am also learning all sorts of etiquette and that sort of thing. My governess says I am very polished for a thirteen-year-old.
I enjoy riding as well and am quite good at it, though I do not have a horse of my own. I am allowed to use my mother’s from time to time. I also enjoy reposing in the back garden. My mother has quite the green thumb. Her lilacs are particularly lovely, as is the oleander. Not many can grow the type my mother tends, but she is quite skilled at horticulture.
We have taken a few trips to Europe, particularly France and Italy, but I have yet to visit America. I should think it would be remarkably different than what I am accustomed to. I have met a few Americans that are business associates of my uncle’s, though I’m afraid I’ve yet to meet your father. I’ve also met Lucille, Lady Duff Gordon. Though she is not an American, I’m sure you must know of her as she spends quite a bit of time in New York and Chicago. She is the most interesting of all of my uncle’s associates I’ve met thus far.
I apologize that I do not have a current likeness of me that I can send, though my mother promises to send one soon. I had one made about a year ago that she will send if I do not make another one soon. I appreciate being able to put a face with your name. I personally try to avoid the newspapers and do not read them either, though I suppose I would have known what you looked like if I had checked the society section there.
I suppose I am rambling now. Again, I apologize for the delays, and I hope this letter finds you well.
Sincerely,
Miss M. Westmoreland
Charlie read the letter over twice, not sure what to think. Though it was a lengthy letter, there truly wasn’t too much personal information about Mary Margaret. It almost seemed as if someone else had written it. He thought that couldn’t possibly be the case. She had even signed it in a peculiar way. He wondered if she might be nervous since either this was the first letter she’d written to him, or she knew he was upset that none of her other letters had actually made it to him. If she had mailed other letters, where could they be? Or was someone in her household preventing her from sending him correspondence? The whole thing seemed a bit fishy to him, but since he had no more information to go off of, he decided to wait a few days then write her back. Perhaps, if she wrote again, the next letter would be a bit more personable.
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