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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 did not, 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 pencilled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind. In front of the book, he discovered the previous owner’s name, Miss Hoois 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 to two grew as each letter was a seedling 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 – 7:00pm at the Grand Central Station in New York. “You’ll recognise me, “ she wrote, “by the red rose I’ll be wearing on my lapel.” So at 7:00pm 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 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 greying hear 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 would split in two, so keen was my desire to follow her, yet so deep was my longing for the woman whose spirit had truly companioned me and upheld my own.
Author:
Unknown
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