Sad Love Stories
The Love Letter Part 2
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The
Love Letter Part 1 | Part 2
Still, she often appeared anxious about my love affair,
and would ask questions that seemed to me strange, almost
as though she feared that something would happen to destroy
my romance. But I was quite unprepared for her outburst
when I mentioned that George thought of paying a lightning
visit to England before we were married."He must not
do it,"she cried."Ina, you must not let him go.
Promise me you will prevent him."she was trembling
all over. I did what I could to console her, but she looked
so tired and pale that I persuaded her to go to her room
and rest, promising to return the next day.
When I arrived I found her sitting on the stoep. She looked
lonely and pathetic, and for the first time I wondered why
no man had ever taken her and looked after her and loved
her. Mother had told me that Great-aunt Stephina had been
lovely as a young girl, and although no trace of that beauty
remained, except perhaps in her brown eyes, yet she looked
so small and appealing that any man, one felt, would have
wanted to protect her.
She paused, as though she did not quite know how to begin.
Then she seemed to give herself, mentally, a little shake.
"You must have wondered ", she said, "why
I was so upset at the thought of young George's going to
England without you. I am an old woman, and perhaps I have
the silly fancies of the old, but I should like to tell
you my own love story, and then you can decide whether it
is wise for your man to leave you before you are married."
"I was quite a young girl when I first met Richard
Weston. He was an Englishman who boarded with the Van Rensburgs
on the next farm, four or five miles from us. Richard was
not strong. He had a weak chest, and the doctors had sent
him to South Africa so that the dry air could cure him.
He taught the Van Rensburg children, who were younger than
I was, though we often played together, but he did this
for pleasure and not because he needed money."We loved
one another from the first moment we met, though we did
not speak of our love until the evening of my eighteenth
birthday. All our friends and relatives had come to my party,
and in the evening we danced on the big old carpet which
we had laid down in the barn. Richard had come with the
Van Rensburgs, and we danced together as often as we dared,
which was not very often, for my father hated the Uitlanders.
Indeed, for a time he had quarreled with Mynheer Van Rensburg
for allowing Richard to board with him, but afterwards he
got used to the idea, and was always polite to the Englishman,
though he never liked him.
"That was the happiest birthday of my life, for while
we were resting between dances Richard took me outside into
the cool, moonlit night, and there, under the stars ,he
told me he loved me and asked me to marry him. Of course
I promised I would, for I was too happy to think of what
my parents would say, or indeed of anything except Richard
was not at our meeting place as he had arranged. I was disappointed
but not alarmed, for so many things could happen to either
of us to prevent out keeping our tryst. I thought that next
time we visited the Van Ransburgs, I should hear what had
kept him and we could plan further meetings…
"So when my father asked if I would drive with him
to Driefontein I was delighted. But when we reached the
homestead and were sitting on the stoep drinking our coffee,
we heard that Richard had left quite suddenly and had gone
back to England. His father had died, and now he was the
heir and must go back to look after his estates.
"I do not remember very much more about that day,
except that the sun seemed to have stopped shining and the
country no longer looked beautiful and full of promise,
but bleak and desolate as it sometimes does in winter or
in times of drought. Late that afternoon, Jantje, the little
Hottentot herd boy, came up to me and handed me a letter
, which he said the English baas had left for me. It was
the only love letter I ever received, but it turned all
my bitterness and grief into a peacefulness which was the
nearest I could get, then, to happiness. I knew Richard
still loved me, and somehow, as long as I had his letter,
I felt that we could never be really parted, even if he
were in England and I had to remain on the farm. I have
it yet, and though I am an old, tired woman, it still gives
me hope and courage."
"I must have been a wonderful letter, Aunt Stephia,"I
said
The old lady came back from her dreams of that far-off romance."Perhaps,"
she said, hesitating a little, "perhaps, my dear, you
would care to read it ?"
"I should love to , Aunt Stephia,"I said gently
She rose at once and tripped into the house as eagerly as
a young girl. When she came back she handed me a letter,
faded and yellow with age, the edges of the envelope worn
and frayed as though it had been much handled. But when
I came to open it I found that the seal was unbroken.
"Open it ,open it,"said Great-aunt Stephia, and
her voice was shaking
I broke the seal and read.
It was not a love letter in the true sense of the word,
but pages of the minutest directions of how"my sweetest
Phina"was to elude her father's vigilance, creep down
to the drift at night and there meet Jantje with a horse
which would take her to Smitsdorp. There she was to go to
"my true friend, Henry Wilson",who would give
her money and make arrangements for her to follow her lover
to Cape Town and from there to England ," where, my
love, we can he be married at once. But if, my dearest,
you are not sure that you can face lift with me in a land
strange to you, then do not take this important step, for
I love you too much to wish you the smallest unhappiness.
If you do not come, and if I do not hear from you, then
I shall know that you could never be happy so far from the
people and the country which you love. If, however, you
feel you can keep your promise to me, but are of too timid
and modest a journey to England unaccompanied, then write
to me, and I will, by some means, return to fetch my bride."
I read no further.
"But Aunt Phina!"I gasped. "Why…why…?"
The old lady was watching me with trembling eagerness, her
face flushed and her eyes bright with expectation."Read
it aloud, my dear,"she said."I want to hear every
word of it. There was never anyone I could trust…Uitlanders
were hated in my young days…I could not ask anyone."
"But, Auntie, don't you even know what he wrote?"
The old lady looked down, troubled and shy like a child
who has unwittingly done wrong.
"No, dear," she said, speaking very low."You
see, I never learned to read.
The
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