Who You Love

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 hand writing reflected a thoughtful soul and in
sightful mind.

In 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 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 women was
coming toward me, her figure long and slim. Her blonde hair layback
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 suitshe was like
springtime come alive. I started toward her, entirely forgetting to
notice that she was not wearing a rose. As I moved, asmall,
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 women well past 40, she had graying
hair tuckedunder a worn hat. She was more than plump, her
thick-ankled feet thrustinto low-heeled shoes. The girl in the
green suit was walking quickly away. I felt as though I split in
two, so keen was my desire to followher, and yet so deep
was my longing for the women 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
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
women, 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 take
you to dinner?

"The women'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 it's response to the
unattractive."Tell me whom you love," Houssaye wrote,
"And I will tell you who you are."


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