Miss May Nell

John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened
his 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
Louisiana 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 handwriting
reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful mind.

In the front of the book, he discovered the previous owner's
name, Miss  May Nell. With time and effort he located her
address. The small Southern town of her birth was listed
there. He wrote her a letter introducing himself and inviting
her to correspond. The next day the Army shipped him
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 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.
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. He started toward her, entirely forgetting to
notice that she was not wearing a rose.
As  he moved, a small, provocative smile curved her lips.
"Going my way, sailor?" she murmured.  Almost
uncontrollably  he  made one step closer to her, and then he
saw Miss May Nell. 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. He  felt as though he was split in two,
so keen was his desire  to follow her, and yet so deep was
his longing for the woman who had truly companioned him
and upheld his own.
And there she stood. Her pale, plump face was gentle and
sensible, her gray eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle. He
did not  hesitate.His fingers gripped the small worn blue
leather copy of  the book that was to identify him to her.

This would not be love, but it would be something precious,
something perhaps even better than love, a friendship for
which he had been and must ever be grateful.
He squared his shoulders and saluted and held out the book
to the woman, even though while he spoke he felt choked by
the bitterness of his disappointment. "I'm Lieutenant John
Blanchard, and you must be Miss May Nell. 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 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 May Nell's
wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen in its response to
the unattractive.
 
 
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