Monday Feb. 1.

My dearest Hal,

The snow is melting slowly and I hope we’ll be able to get out today. If we can we have to go and take our shots. We missed them last week because we were snowed in.

Sam has thoroughly enjoyed this snow. Daddy let Charlie borrow his old sleigh and he hitched up the horses and took Sam riding all Saturday afternoon. Sam had a beautiful time. You know he and Charlie are the best of friends anyway and so the sleigh ride just helped to further that idea. Sam was so tickled with the sleigh bells. He nearly had a fit. It was real cold and I thought he should come in but he was not of that opinion so the sleigh riding went on until Charlie had to stop and do his evening chores.

You have asked several times if your letters come to me were being censored. They don’t seem to be. The first letters I had from you were pretty badly cut up. But that was only three or four and then for a while they were opened and had a sticker over the open end that said, “opened by censor.” It has been a long time since there has been any of those. I guess the censor thinks you are pretty careful because the last three or four month’s letters have been coming through unopened as far as I can tell. What about my letters to you? Are they still being opened or cut up?

Yesterday, Sam and I walked to church. Sam nearly has a fit if he has to miss Sunday school, so nothing would do but we must walk since we couldn’t get the car out. Sam says he knows you would take him if you were here. He uses that as a sure means to make me do anything he wants me to. He has the most unbelievable ideas about the wonderful things his Daddy can do. You will have to be superhuman to perform all the feats Sam boasts that you can do. Whenever Sam gets out of patience with us he will say, “Just wait ‘til my Daddy comes home.” He got the idea that from then on he will not have to wash his face or pick up his toys or submit to any form of discipline what [so] ever.

I long for his Daddy to come home but for a quite different reason. The future seems so black. I am sure that in someway everything will work out all right. I always feel so safe when you are with me. I wish I could see what is in store for us, but maybe it’s just as well that none of us know certainly what is in store for us.

We really get along very well. We keep warm, and we have plenty to eat so I guess we ought to be very, very thankful. I am so restless. I want to go to work. I ought to be doing something besides just sitting here waiting. Sometimes I feel as though that waiting is more that I can bear.

I know I shouldn’t write you letters like this one. You are the one who is away and lonely for home yet everyday I see so many things that bring back the days we spent together. I live for the days when we will be together again. I wonder if you will find me much changed when you come home. I do not think it is possible that the worry and waiting will not leave its mark on both of us. We may have adjustments to make, but I believe we will have learned patience and a deeper understanding. Surely we will never again take for granted the privilege of sharing our lives, our joys, and our sorrows. This is a terrible letter but I love you and I don’t mean to worry you. You are the only person in the world I can talk to, the only one who understands.

All my love,

Page