My Dearest Naomi Read Online Free PDF Page B

it.
    I simply love the poem you sent—“From My Heart.” You have good taste when it comes to poetry. Well, you have good taste in a lot of things, and you are beautiful. Have I told you that recently? I don’t think so. It would be awesome to spend time with you this weekend. Your presence would soothe me. Your soft-brown eyes with love shining out of them would be out of this world.
    I have feared since arriving here that by leaving you our love will be put to a great test. One that could prove too hard for it. Maybe I have hurt you too much already? I hope not. The young people out here aren’t helping me much. I hear things like “She’ll be finding somebody else soon, Eugene. It’s not safe to leave a girl alone for long.” They may be teasing, but it still hurts. One of the older boys even told me, “You’ll find someone you like better out here. Believe me, it always goes that way.”
    Well, I have no intention of doing any such thing. Nor do I believe it possible to find a better girl than you. I expect you could find someone better, which is the scary part.
    In the meantime, I’ll continue writing and hoping this time away from each other will pass quickly. Yah, I know—like nine months can be over before too long. I do tend to be a dreamer. Speaking of dreaming, here is a poem I wrote for you. Perhaps it was knowing the wedding was today or simply the memory of your beautiful eyes, but here it is.
Wrapped in Love
    To tell the love I have for you,
    I’d take the morning’s sparkling dew
    And pull the sunrise from the sky
    And on the grass its colors dye.
    I’d sprinkle it with roses red
    And pull the lilies from their bed.
    A cardinal’s song I’d tie around
    With spring, and air, and copper sound.
    I’d use a rainbow for a bow,
    And give all this so you would know
    That in this world on land or sea,
    How precious is your heart to me.
    As always,
    Eugene

Saturday evening, September 11
Dearest Eugene,
    Hi! I wonder what you’re doing right now. It’s 7:30 on a Saturday night, and chores and supper are over. I finished cleaning up after the day’s work, and I’m settled in my room for the evening. Dad said we should all try to get a good night’s sleep after all the ruckus from the wedding. He wants us to be fresh for Sunday services. I’m sure that’s wise, but I don’t feel very tired yet.
    I came home yesterday from helping at the Helmuths’ place a little before 11:00 a.m., and I still had an hour before I had to leave for work, so I took a short nap. Mrs. Bach pulled into the driveway to pick me up. She had a funeral of a friend in Scottsburg to attend, and she wanted me to stay with John.
    John asked how you are again. I told him fine, and he asked, “Any sweet letters coming back yet?”
    I laughed and said, “Lots of them.”
    I didn’t have anything to do other than care for John, so I cleaned the house and read Time magazine until Mrs. Bach came home.
    Larry just stuck his head into my room and said, “Writing Eugene again?” and then gave a loud groan.
    I looked at him and said, “I’m going to write him about how silly you look.”
    He had a fit, but I’m going to anyway. He got himself stung by a bumblebee at the wedding. Right above the lip. And oh my, you should see him. His upper lip is so big it hangs over the lower one, and one eye is swollen shut. He didn’t even eat supper last night at the hymn singing because everyone was having a fit over how he looked. Dad was afraid he might be allergic to bee stings, but Larry is okay. He still sounds the same, teasing and all.
    And now for confession time. I know you won’t be jealous, right? Because there was nothing to this really. You know how these things go at weddings. We girls were sitting on the beds upstairs Thursday afternoon when Robert and Peter came by with their tablets, matching up the couples for the evening hymn singing.
    “Poor Naomi,” Robert said. “She has no one for tonight since Eugene is