The Beauty Of Rose

L E T T E R S

X

**DISCLAIMER***
UNEDITED

A/N: Hey guys. I got snowed in and missed school days. It was great.
Q: What do you see Whitfield looking like (visually)?

  THE RIDE BACK TO Whitfield can only be described as one that bore too many emotions. Excitement, giddiness, pure joy.

   All the like.

  It didn't stop there. Eric, like anyone, knew the mailing address for Whitfield Mansion. And only it didn't even make a week till I had a letter delivered to me. When I learned it was from him, I was pleasantly surprised. And touched. From his cabin (an hour or so away) to Whitfield Mansion, post took a little over two days. He must've started writing it straight away. It read as follows;

Dear Rose,

    I think you should know that I cut some roses from the rose bush in my yard and put them inside. They meant very little to me until, of course, you made them mean something. How is it there? Really? In Whitfield? It's been keeping me up at night, if I'm being frank, thinking of you in that house. You say your relatives are as bad as your father—and it makes me wonder. He was the type of person to burn his own daughter. What type of people could the rest of your family possibly be? And Matthew, I hardly know him, I couldn't. But I know he's only two years my junior which makes me dislike him all the more for how he treated you. He was a man, and should've treated you with dignity. You were very vague on that subject, but I have to imagine his behavior must've really rubbed you wrong. You have so much self-hate and self-doubt. I don't think it's all a result of your traumatic childhood. The last four years of your life must've really set the image you have of yourself in stone. And for that, Matthew has to be blamed. Never mind that, you don't have to answer my questions if you don't like. I have very strong feelings about being candid (I'm sure you already know) but I don't want to push you into revealing everything all at once. Too much at once. One way or or the other, we shall know each other better than we know ourselves. At least that's what my ultimate goal is. That's the beauty of courting. Or should be the beauty of courting. People rush into marriages too much-after only a month of taking a half hour a week to talk. That was part of the problem with Mary. I knew her too little. And you hardly knew Matthew at all. The second time around, I don't want to make any mistakes. I really want to know you Rose. Please do answer me this when you write back; what do you love most? I should very much like to know. For future purposes and all that. Oh, and I do so hope you like children! I shouldn't like to introduce anything so quickly to Mark—my son—certainly while our relationship is still in infancy. But if we are to continue to anything more grave-more affectionate-I would like to know if you like children. It could never work if you didn't. I'd write more, how I wish to write more, but having a child isn't any joke. He keeps badgering me, 'oh Father come play with me' and 'who are you writing to?' Of course, I put him off, but then he says, 'who are you writing to that's more important than me?' And pouts. Maybe I'm just being soft, but Mark had me there. No one can be more important or take the place of him—not even if I fall in love. So that being said, I will have to cut this short. But I don't want to close this letter without telling you one thing about yourself (physically) that appeals to me. Personality is vital as well, but physical features seems to be something that weighs on your soul. Your arms and your hands. Have you ever noticed how beautiful they are? I don't mean by the terms of society or femininity. Despite being born into and living in privilege, your hands are strong. Big and strong (when I put my hand over your own I even felt callouses). And that just speaks to your beauty. It gives the impression that you know how to handle yourself, and not  just the arts, languages, or whatever high society values in women. Pedicured soft hands might be nice to touch, but it isn't as appealing as strength. As beautiful as strength. And when we embraced-when I was in your arms those few moments-they were so soft. It's hard to describe how welcomingly you enveloped me-but it rooted a deep tenderness within me. And I know why. You've received so little of it in your life but you know how to make people feel like they're cared for. Not just by anyone-but by you. It's so pure, so authentic, the feeling that hugging you gave me. That's why I asked to court you-why I expressed my feelings so candidly. Authenticity and simplicity are one of the factors that attract me to a woman. Even among my humble place in society, woman are eager to copy the upper class. In those efforts, they become more complex. More difficult. And blatantly insincere. All for reasons that make very little sense. That's why I can never share the sentiments that the upper class clings to. But you don't. And I like that about you. Take care.