Rensselaer Republican, Volume 27, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 February 1896 — AUNT MARTHA’S VALENTINE. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AUNT MARTHA’S VALENTINE.

V A Pretty and Delicately Tinted Missive that Came Too Lato, ISS Martha Whits -s w. toy, mi the adC.t . dress on the large, *(I 1 .. tJ A m _ ) heavily embroiderV / J eJ * ' v^*te envelope, # 1 knew, when i T took >it from the l postman, that It , was ..-/a valentine, JFP, and I fancied tha(> inside that would V have brought joy to th e patient heart, __— -U could she have been given tlic power to repd them. But there was crape on the door that 14th of February and the tender message had come too late. “If any letters come for me after I’m gonnyou may read them and answer,them for me,” she had said, so I opened the envelope, and looked at the dainty offering. , It was a pretty, delicately tinted missive. containing a pathetic little verse, below which was written in aii unsteady hand, the one word,'“John.” Upstairs in her trunk, the contents of which had also been given to me, there was- another valentine, a memento that had been guarded so sacredly that none but myself knew of its existence. Once, when but a child, I had bee* standing near while she was searching for something and had caught one fleeting glimpse of it. “What, is that pretty letter, Aunt Martha?" I had asked. “Is it a Valentine?” “Yes,” she had answered, in such a tone that, young as I was, I instantly perceived that no further questioning would be allowed. But how thankful I had been for that one slight bit of knowledge of her past when a few days later.l was at a neighbor’s house where there Were a number of women who, not noticing m 6, commenced talking about my beloved aunj:. “Yes, she’s a good enough woman,” one of them said, “but so queer. Why, I’ve heard it said, on good authority, that she never had a beau, in her.life." Instantly I darted out frwm my place in the cdhner, and, standing iu the midst of the astonished women, I indignantly refuted the statement, for, to my immature mind, it seemed that a woman who had never had a beau was disgraced forever. ; '' V ' ■■ ' ’ ' i ■■■ “ ’Tisn’t so,” I cried. “She’s had beaux, lots of ’em. , And she’s got valentines that they gave hgr. I saw 'em just the other day.” • - , “Oh, pshaw, child," one of them remarked, regaining her self-possession, “any one can get valentines.” And then, as I flounted angrily out.of the room, they exclaimed in a chorus: “Oh, dear! Who’d have thought that little snip was in here? She’ll go home and toll.” But I did not tell, for I knew how sensitive Aunt Martha was, and I would not wound her by repeating the foolish words. That happened a long time ago, and after I had looked at her second valentine I resurrected the old one from beneath the other treasures and compared the two. They were something alike in / dpfgn, but the verse on the first one was hopeful and gay and the “John” accompanying it was written in a bold, manly hand that contrasted strangely with the trembling signature of the second. But, then, one was written in 1840 and the other in 1891, and fifty-one years produce wonderful changes. Then I fell to wondering about Aunt Martha and “John.” Who was he? What had separated them? Where had he been all those years? Why had he never written? Had her whole life been one great waiting and longing for the token that had come at last? I dropped a tear on the two valentines, and slipping into the parlor I placed them in the casket beside her, and so her loro secrets were buried with her.