Printable Karens Korner #389

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 when he visited a secondhand book
store and selected a book that interested him. When he began to browse
the book, however, it was not the words of the book that intrigued him,
but 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. It didn't
take long to locate her address--she lived right there 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 the two of them 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 about her, 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 p.m. 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,
soldier?' 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 tell you that she is
waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it
was some kind of test!'"