Sept. 7, 1925.
My dearest Walter:
Your note of Thursday night came this afternoon, and I appreciated it just as much as I would have a long letter because the spirit was there just the same. Of course I enjoy the longer ones more because they last longer, but this one was fine as long as it lasted. Of course we can’t always have lots of news to write because we write so often, but your letters are interesting to me – very very interesting – even though they might not contain a single thing that outsiders would call “news.” If you didn’t say a thing except “I love you” I would get quite a thrill out of it. I wish I could have been with you the night you wrote the note. Yes, Dear, a nice quiet place like the beach would be fine for a honeymoon. It would please me very much and I am sure I wouldn’t get lonesome if you were there.
September 7, 1925 (Ina)
Just at sunset this evening Mr. Parman came out to kill a rabbit, and, while he was hunting, Mrs. Parman visited with us. They have an idea that perhaps Mr. Parman will be called to Dallas soon to work for a while. They are waiting for a letter from Mr. Bishopp. You, also, are waiting for one, aren’t you. I know you are anxious to hear, and I am too. The Beach, Dallas or anywhere suits me for a honeymoon. The main idea is the honeymoon and not the place. I hope that you can arrange at all times to be at the place that is best suited for your work.
Do you realize, Sweetheart, that only four months ago tonight you had your first date with me after our long separation? How different things are now to what they were then! Can’t a short time make a wonderful lot of difference? We didn’t know then that within a few days we were going to be engaged, did we? That night was a rather uncertain one for both of us. Neither one knew just what the other one thought and how much he felt about it. However, we didn’t lose much time the next few days in getting “reacquainted.” ‘Twas very interesting, don’t you think?
One thing I know – I love you ‘most to death now, and I am ten dozen times happier over it all tonight than I was four months ago tonight.
Forever, your loving
None of us went down town today as we were so busy, so here comes a lengty P.S. to last night’s letter. This has been another one of those “something lacking” days without a letter from you. I can look forward to perhaps two tomorrow though.
This evening Papa was not feeling well, so Claudelle and I extended our hike down into the pasture to coax the cows home. After quite a search, we found them and thought we were driving them home, but, after walking the poor creatures almost down, we saw no sign of home. We turned, and after much wandering and wondering on the part of all parties concerned, the house loomed up in the distance and we had no regrets because it was getting dark. Honey, I am relating all this to you, not because it is of unusual interest, but because it is intended for a timely warning to you that after we are married, you will have to tie a pretty little blue ribbon about my neck and lead me around like the ladies do their little poodles, to keep me from getting lost.
Yes, four months ago tonight we were stranded upon the hilltop in the storm and flood, and ’twas also four months ago tonight that you got your “Sunday pants” muddy. It is now nearly ten o’clock. We were soaked well by that time weren’t we? Just at this point I want to recommend wrapping paper as a splendid protection when used as a coat against the hardest of rains, winds and hail. It also has unusual warmth. I think it was all a very amusing experience.
I am not accustomed to late hours for the past few months, Dear, so I am getting sleepy.
Goodnight and sweet dreams.
I love you.