From:	DKy22
 
 
 
 A Valentines Day Story!!!
 
  ___________________________________________________
 John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Army uniform, and
studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central 
Station. He looked for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he 
didn't, the girl with the rose. His interest in her had begun thirteen 
months before in a Florida library.  Taking a book off the shelf he found 
himself intrigued, not with the words of the book, but with the notes 
penciled in the margin.
 The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.
In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's name, 
Miss Hollis Maynell. With time and effort he located her address.  She 
lived in New York City.  He wrote her a letter introducing himself and 
inviting her to correspond.  The next day he was shipped overseas for 
service in World War II.
 During the next year and one month the two grew to know each other 
through the mail.  Each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart.  A 
romance was budding. Blanchard requested a photograph, but she refused. 
She felt that if he really cared, it wouldn't matter what she looked like. 
When the day finally came for him to return from Europe, they scheduled 
their first meeting - 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York.
"You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on
my lapel."  So at 7:00 he was in the station looking for a girl whose heart
he loved, but whose face he'd never seen.
 
I'll let Mr. Blanchard tell you what happened:
  A young woman was coming toward me, her figure long and slim.  Her 
blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears; her eyes were blue 
as flowers.  Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale 
green suit she was like springtime come alive.  I started toward her, 
entirely forgetting to notice that she was not wearing a rose.  As I moved, 
a small,  provocative smile curved her lips.  "Going my way, sailor?" she 
murmured. Almost uncontrollably I made one step closer to her, and then I 
saw Hollis Maynell.  She was standing almost directly behind the girl.  A 
woman well past 40, she had graying hair tucked under a worn hat..  She was 
more than plump, her thick-ankled feet thrust into low-heeled shoes.  The 
girl in the green suit was walking quickly away.  I felt as though I was 
split in two,so keen was my desire to follow her, and yet so deep was my 
longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld 
my own.  And there she stood.  Her pale, plump face was gentle and 
sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle.  I did not hesitate.
My fingers gripped the small worn blue leather copy of the book that was
to identify me to her. This would not be love, but it would be something 
precious, something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for 
which I had been and must ever be grateful.  I squared my shoulders and 
saluted and held out the book to the woman, even though while I spoke I 
felt choked by the bitterness of my disappointment.
"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard, and you must be Miss Maynell.  I am
so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?" The woman's face 
broadened into a tolerant smile.  "I don't know what this is about, son," 
she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she
begged me to wear this rose on my coat.  And she said if
you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she 
is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it
was some kind of test!"
It's not difficult to understand and admire Miss Maynell's wisdom. 
The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to the unattractive. 
"Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you 
are."
 
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