TRUE TEST
Friday, October 21st, 2005John 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 handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and insightful
mind. In the 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 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, 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 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!"
It’s not difficult to
understand and admire Miss Maynell’s wisdom. The true nature of a heart is seen
in its response to the unattractive. "Tell me whom you love,"
Houssaye wrote, "And I will tell you who you are."
