March 2, 1944
Darling Hubby,
Your long, most welcome and heart-warming longie of 23 Feb. found its way to 4906 this morning along with my check of only $62. I darn near died when I saw the amount of the check, as I had left myself entirely without funds and never dreamed it would be delayed this long. I have just completed a “strong” letter to the Office of Dependency Benefits, asking for some explanation of the delay. Mom got a $20 check from you and $37 from Jack. I think they raised Jack’s check 'cause they figure Mom lives with me and the two of us can manage thusly. As for your financial condition, I have only this to say—you should never have left yourself so little. When you have a convenient amount on hand, you seem to get along nicely and even have luck. I didn't expect anything from you in March (how could I?) after that large check. You needn’t worry about the anniversary or birthday gift, sweet, as I actually considered the $75 as such. I've told everyone that the coat, shoes, and bag where my anniversary and birthday gifts and so they are. That's exactly why I did splurge. I meant to tell you yesterday, but never got around to it. I'm a little disappointed with you though for I had thought you would learn to manage money to an ith degree on your own. I guess the management of money is in you or it isn't in you. By the way, exactly how much are you in debt? I'm not angry, darling, for I know you do your best and that's plenty good enough for me.
I couldn't help feeling a little let down after my “big” day yesterday when you asked me so sweetly not to shop for those things I could do without until we had the pleasure of shopping together. Don't worry, baby, I need so darn many things (not to mention the filthy lucre) that I don't mind waiting in the least. I am going to buy what I feel I need if I can get it at the price I wish to pay, such as the coat. My old beige coat is so messy and the sleeves are about two inches too short and it got terribly short length and Mom suggested I throw it out. Ruth wants to wear it to school and I promised to give it to her.
Somehow I can't feel that you won't make Sgt. You, yourself told me that the top-kick or whatever rules there, said you were entitled to T/4 and that he would do all possible to get them for you. Sometimes the T/O’s are changed, and if the “biggies” know how you feel about it, you might stand a chance. Have you asked anyone about it? I know it's tough, but I know how complacent you are about certain things. I'm not counting on it and never have.
I don't think we have to file an income tax form as our income was so small that it does not enter the tax group. I know how to fill out the form now and will simply put in a lot of zeros. I couldn't understand why my figures on Mom’s allotment confused you as they were simple, in fact, I think you filed similar forms for her. Why is it that so many things I tell you confuse you? You have misinterpreted many a gift when I have stated clearly the donor. Try to be more careful, will you, sweet?
I worked for Miss Hahn all day, earning a clear $4. My Mom said that Adele was a perfect little girl all day. When I walked in in the evening she fell all over me, as she usually does when I've been away. The stationery I had ordered for Ethel and Gloria came in—the same as mine. Miss Hahn sells all kinds of books, even for children. Today she got in a lovely Mother Goose Rhyme Book that is a dream. It costs $1.25 retail, but she said I could have it for 85¢ if she can get one for me. I can just picture myself reading those most enjoyable rhymes to Adele in the very near future. I hope she is able to obtain one for me.
Syd hates Italy and its peoples. He says the Italians are rotten, dirty people. Women hold their noses when an American soldier rides or walks by. They steal from the American soldiers and make them pay double for everything. Syd never wrote like that before and it must have annoyed him plenty to write like that. Phil, as the days go by I'm getting afraid to hope for anything. It takes so long and it costs so high in blood and things seem so mixed up. I don't think you or I shall live to see the day when this world will be orderly once again, or at least so it seems. I'm overworking that word “so” this evening.
Honestly, baby, I'm just about all tuckered out (no comments please) and ready for bed. My mother expects to wash and I may have to hang the clothes.
Still no mail from Jack and I'm beginning to think he has moved too.
Miss Hahn advises me not to sell the typewriter as a close relative of hers works in the typewriter field and says the typewriters they are making and will make for a while after the war will never compare to what I now possess. My Mom told me to do as I please and I'm not very anxious after what Miss Hahn told me.
Harry bought a hat and muffler last night and Mom enjoyed “Jane Eyre” immensely. It has been freezing cold since yesterday, and Adele is only out as long as it takes to get from 4906 to 4920 and back again. After she was all bundled up, all you could see was her nose. She didn't seem to mind, bless her.
Well, darling mine, now that I've had my say (filled it up after all) I think I'll concentrate on you, if you don't mind. I'm hungry for the sight of you, baby; God, if only I could but touch you! I ADORE YOU! I LOVE YOU! In fact just move over so I can crawl between the covers with you—I'm so sleepy. I'm just “so” this evening it seems and before I “so” you again, I'll sign off with a great big hug and kiss.
Your Eve
March 2, 1944
Dearest Darling,
Still “sweating ou” the “jack-pot.” Received your V-mail of 18 Feb., but aside from telling me what you had included in the last package and that you were at a loss for words that particular night, I learned very little from it. On second thought, though, “no news is good news,” so as long as everything is quiet on the “home front”—I won't complain. (All the same—I wish to get some mail soon!)
That's a pretty hefty package you described, Chippie. I do hope it gets here intact.
It has been a rather busy day for me, and as a consequence the time fairly seems to fly. This evening I'm taking it easy, as per usual. Maybe I'll even manage to get off a letter or two that has been “hanging fire.” Most of the fellows in the hut are going out tonight to have themselves a “time” and to get rid of the excess cash in their jeans. Somehow, when I hear their stories the “morning after,” and listen to their moaning about their “heads” and consider the bloated look of their features—I don't envy them their “good time.” What I can't figure out—is how they figure it's worth it?
March—I was just remembering, Sweet, that it was in March of last year that so many nice things happened to us and some not so nice. Remember? I got my first stripe on our anniversary, the 20th—and a three-day pass—there were some hard words when you aired your determination to accompany me back to Camp—there was a scene I would like to pretend never happened—there was the long peaceful train ride back to Ohio—that never-to-be-forgotten first night at the Virginia Hotel in Columbus, when I found it almost impossible to leave you all alone that night—how it happened that I didn't see you the next day—or the next, because of some silly restriction, and when I finally did see you—(wasn't that the day you came into camp wearing that red fascinator?) I could barely hobble because I had twisted my ankle on the obstacle course that day—how I literally hung on your arm on account of it for the next few days—the boarding house on Broad Street—and how I reluctantly climbed out of bed in the middle of the night to taxi back to the Bus Station—that quiet Sunday morning meal at the Chinese tea room on Broad Street—how much at home we felt with the Benis’—how happy we were when your Mom consented to care for Adele so that you might take advantage of the Benis’ kind offer of hospitality—the snug comfort of “Stuart's room”—the joy of coming “home” to you at the end of each day—and all the nights we spent in Columbus—and that final cold and rainy night I saw you to the train for home—and how suddenly the world became a dreary, lonely place once more.
Yes, Baby, there was plenty of pain interspersed with the pleasure of those two weeks, and a great deal of waiting and anxiety, but I, for one, would live them over again (even if I had to break my ankle this time). When I remember how sweet were all my moments with you—always, I wonder how I can bear to be away from you so long. My constant prayer these days is that it won't be much longer before I am once more with you. This time “for keeps.” The mere prospect of that is indescribably sweet and thrilling. C’mon sumpin’! A kiss for Adele—love to all from
Your adoring
Phil
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