41 Love Letters R. H. Swinney to Ruth Erlanger, 1934

My darling,

Your little boy is just a jealous, moody, and temperamental fool, but he is completely yours, and he loves you so very much.

Harold

Friday night

Ruth darling,

Just a hasty note before the last mail is collected. First I want to tell you that I’m sorry I sent the letter I did this evening, although you probably won’t see as much in it as I was thinking. At any rate you’ll probably be really peeved at me, for, somehow, I haven’t been able to figure it out yet, the news has leaked out. One of my classmates offered his congratulations this evening. I acted surprised and innocent (because I thought you’d want me to), but seems as if there has been a leak. I told you I had let Jerry, who hasn’t told, and Bob Stephens ((research and note in early letters)) in on the secret. Bob must have told, although I was sure he wouldn’t. At any rate I’m sorry it’s out because you didn’t want it known, but I can’t do anything excepting to keep my mouth shut from now on ^(as if that would help much)! I was so proud at first it seemed as if I must tell someone—now I guess I shouldn’t have talked at all. I’m still, and shall always be, proud of what has happened, yet I’d rather this hadn’t happened on account of the way you feel, and because

You mean more than everything else to me,
Harold

Darling,

I don’t want to argue with you so I guess we’ll have to let the differences of opinion ride, although your pharmacological proof was not entirely complete, since alcohol is not only a food, but also a general depressant and remover of inhibitions—which might not always be so advantageous as it is occasionally at a dinner-table. Seems that we discover more places in which we don’t agree all the time. In one of our discussions I gained the impression that we were pretty much in accord about one or two of the things you mention, but maybe that was too early for agreements to be taken seriously. As for the hen-pecked part of it, and your having your own way, th something like that is a part of marriage, isn’t it? Men must love in a different way than women do, since they usually don’t insist so strenuously on not being bossed.

For all this week I’ve been studying pharmacology. Sort of going into the home stretch, as it were. Still have a lot to do before next Friday, however.

Tonight is night clinic again, and I must rush, but before I do I’ve a confession to make—and an apology, too, I suppose. For I told Dr. Heinbecker we were planning to be married next spring. We were discussing a few details about the internship, and I ask mentioned that I’d like it to start Oct. 1^st. He wanted to know if there was any especial reason for that, so I told him I was going to be married next June. He then asked who the unlucky girl was to be, and, since he has been so nice to me, I thought it would not exactly be in order not to tell him, which I did after just asking him not to tell it. I’m sorry I did, but he is a man of some discretion and will not, I believe, tell anything to embarrass you.

If this letter seems contains anything I shouldn’t have said (I’m good at that) I’m sorry, but several things leave me sort of puzzled, and, perhaps, as a result a little irritable, yet they wouldn’t bother me at all if it weren’t for the fact that,

I love you and miss you desperately,
Harold

Little sweetheart,

The weather isn’t in keeping with my mood just now, for although it’s cloudy and drizzly outside I’m all sunshiny inside as I just got your letter out of the mail-box. Still, maybe a little gloom is in order, since your letter makes me want to hold you in my arms and kiss you—and you are so far away.

Yes, I’ll be staying here this winter unless something happens. Mrs. Shalelee agreed this morning to let Carl and me have a bedroom and kitchen on the third floor, with the privilege of getting breakfast, for $20 a month. I’m to pay no rent until Carl moves in at the start of the school year. That will allow me to get by on about $30 a month for all expenses—unless you insist on me eating my head off, or, should I say? my purse empty? You can try to figure out the punctuation of that last sentence if you care for puzzles. And do you really mean you will breach the Saturday evening rule when you first get back? I’m almost astounded, but I believe you would have had a time keeping me away~ even if you had tried to enforce the aforementioned edict. I never saw anyone before who had such a power of causing one to be so filled with longing. Truly, this last not quite a month yet has seemed so very long that I half expect to see you return a quite old lady. Seriously darling, I have missed you as I never thought I could miss anyone. I’ve thought of you, dreamed of you, and wished for you so close to all of the time there has been little time, or, to tell the truth, desire, for anything else. See how beauty tames the beast? But I fear that all the beasts who are tamed are not so eagerly willing as in this case. To think how much difference a few months can make, yet it wasn’t the months, for I’d had quite a few pass me on the road without succumbing—it must have been the girl, for I’d never had any like this one to pass me before. And until I cease to be glad about anything I’ll be very happy that she didn’t pass me by entirely before I woke up. By far the most lovely happening of my life, my darling, was your whisper, “I love you, Harry.” Then To have you keep repeating it shall always be my goal, for today, tomorrow, and forever,

I love you, little sweetheart,
Harold.

Ruth darling,

If you have to be cross in order to write letters like the one I received today I hope you have a grouch on every time you pick up a pen, for it was such a sweet letter. Although I wouldn’t want to see you have so much cause for your bad temper. It really is a shame that you had to undo so much of your work. No, I can’t say I’m afraid of getting such an awful wife, for I know she is so sweet and such a darling that I’ll never be able to be half thankful enough for having won her.

Three whole weeks yet until I can expect you. You certainly made a wrong guess about the ephemeral nature of a vacation. I’ll have to confess to having sort of stagnated since you left. Dr. West and I went to a ball game and two shows, but I haven’t been anywhere excepting to two operas from that time on. Of course I mow the lawn occasionally, just did today as the Shalelees are to arrive this evening and I wanted everything to be neat looking; however, I fear that they will look askance at the almost bare plot of ground which passes for a lawn. So far this week I’ve done no work at the lab, excepting to clean up some dirty glassware. Peculiarly enough the studying has progressed no more rapidly that it did when I was working. Too lazy. You will have a hard time being any lazier than I am, my sweet. If you are we will be the orneriest couple in the country.

Artie left Sept. 1^st, so I won’t get to give him your good wishes. As I told you in a previous letter everyone is gone from the Chem. Dept now—I’m the only one left, but they should be g starting to return shortly—probably next week. However, I don’t care if they never get back, there is only one person whose appearance here interests me greatly—and she’s clambering over the hills and rocks in Colorado.

Sweetheart, if we can arrange to internship for Oct. 1^st next year, how would a horseback trip, with a pack horse or two, up into the Sawtooth Mts. suit you for next summer? I’ve been thinking that such a thing might be arranged if you would like it. Then we could be entirely to ourselves, and would have the opportunity of sort of exploring some really wild mountain country.

The pharmacology exam comes around a week from this next Friday, so cross your fingers, etc., that afternoon as I’m afraid the 94 is going to be a will-o-the-wisp and hard to catch.

When you first get home you’ll just have to break that once a week rule for a while, else how will I ever be able to deliver all the kisses which I have been piling up awaiting you presence so they could be given to you?

Maybe it isn’t just what you wanted, but I’m glad tha I’m the “best” you could do, for otherwise I’d not be able to tell you,

I love you so,
Harold

Sweetest darling,

The weather must surely follow my moods (such ego), for it has been gloomy the last three days, as I was gloomy, for there was no word from you, but this morning there is a glorious sun—and I’m happy with three letters all at once. Life does have its compensations, and we won’t talk of death; I was just in one of my gloomier moods when that other letter was written. We’ll have to try to avoid them if possible. And anything else I may have said at the same time and which is of a doubtful nature is to be disregarded entirely. Yet I want to ask one question—just who wants to be entirely sensible when he, or she, is in love? (Isn’t that the condition in which we find ourselves?). You ask if you are bold in saying you look forward to next June. Sweetheart, if you didn’t look forward to that time the whole thing would be a cheat and a mockery, and, as for the telling, we must always be entirely frank and open with each other. I know it isn’t a particularly desirable trait, but it does something to me and destroys a lot of my trust in a person if I find they have deceived me intentionally. But I’ve never doubted your honesty or faithfulness in the slightest. Don’t ever think I have.

Herman is a louse! I never meant that you should discover that particular one of my bad habits—I’m even gradually weaning myself from it. However, I do believe his description of my ability was much more vivid than true. It is fine though that he thinks the developments are pleasing. I still wonder how I was able to fool all the members of so clever a family.

Your girl friend was very nice to compliment me by as she did, but I’m sort of suspicious of her, “you and Harry both have rather exceptional taste.” That unqualified word exceptional could have a dirty meaning—as applied to half of us anyway. But we’ll give her the benefit of the doubt.

I did write to Mother and give her your present address. Her answering letter came this morning, and, as I suspicioned, Waterman became Westminster when I wrote her before—so you can see the state of mind I must have had at the time.

You ask if I’m getting worried, or cold feet, over our plans. Sorry I talked so much about the money—or lack of it—as I hadn’t realized that was true. No, I’ll never get the cold feet—not over our plans—but I do wish I were in a better financial shape. I don’t like for you to have to put up with what you will have, or not have rather. If it were not for that I could be entirely happy with you and nothing else.

You leave all the black-moustached and side-burned Coloradans alone or I’ll feel constrained to launch a counter-attack on the nursing staff—and I don’t want to do that (really doubt that I should, only don’t tell Ruth I said so).

The enclosed clipping ((attach comic)) was given to me by a friend. He rather startled me for I thought he had discovered what is almost a secret, but a few remarks brought out the fact that it was just a whim. Thought you would appreciate it.

Received a note from Mrs. Shalelee today—hey will be back tomorrow evening. Somehow Dr. Heinbecker’s and the Shalelee’s return makes me half expect Sandy when I open the door, with Mrs. West telling him to be quiet, although I know that won’t happen any more. However, there is another door I’m longing to see open, and another greeting to which I’m looking forward much more eagerly and with much more longing than I ever should have thought possible a short while ago. Darling, you must have been gone ages instead of weeks, still not long enough for me to forget in the least how lovely you are, or how sweet your kisses are, or how much I love you.

You would be surprised if you could see me as I write this letter, for every few minutes I have to stop to read your letters over again. At this writing I believe I’ve read the set of three six—or it may be seven—times. What does such conduct indicate, do you suppose?

Mother says my brother, Francis (or Jack) ((add note)), insists that I must save up the $200 I bet him six years ago on this proposition of which of us would marry first. See what an expensive wife you are going to be? I’ve an Ide idea he won’t buy any oats for his cayuses with that $200 for some time yet however. Marcus has been home for three weeks, but hasn’t seen fit to write at all. Maybe his back is up about a letter I wrote him while I was at home.

Until tomorrow this will have to suffice. In the meantime I want you to know that the best (as you say) you have been able to do is win,

All my love, sweetheart,
Harold

Dear heart

You can’t imagine how I’m looking forward to tomorrow and a letter from you. Three whole days is too long to wait. Darling, my darling, I do so long to hold you close, so close I can even feel your heart beat, while I kiss your lips as tenderly and gently as a clumsy lover can. But that must wait for three weeks yet—or is it three eternities? Certainly nearer the latter if time is reckoned according to my feelings?

However, you can be glad you are not here just now, for the rain, cold, and cloudiness continue. Yet what better time to have you cuddled in my arms? Imagine an open fire, a cold, rainy day, and just the two of us—but I am merely torturing myself with dreams from which I awake terribly disappointed because for the present, at least, they can’t come true.

In regard to the internship, Dr. Heinbecker says the letter from Dr. Whipple ((research)) is just as good as a promise of a place. He knows Dr. Whipple, so perhaps we are scheduled for N.Y. next year. How I dream of the time when we will be together for always, sweetheart. Then no vacations will separate us, not if I can help it. We both like the same sorts of things, outdoor life, horses, etc., so that we should never have any occasion for any trouble with our recreations. Let’s always keep close to the simple life, so that we can be happy with each other, with the sun, the moon, the sky, the sunsets, the song of a bird—without having to drive ourselves from cocktail parties to night clubs to God knows what else trying to find entertainment as so many do. But maybe that wouldn’t suit you?

Give the family my regards. I don’t say that very often, but that’s because I can think of little else but you when I write—and most of the rest of the time too.

For another time, my sweet, I must tell you good-night, but first I want to again assure you that now and forever you have—my heart and

All my love
Harold

Darling,

Another gloomy day. We’ve been having a lot of rain in the last twenty-four hours, with no sign of a let-up yet. Went up on the roof to shoot a bit this morning, but between the rain and wind didn’t do so well. I’ll never do so well at anything again, I believe, without you. Certain it is that I do a poor job of spending these lovely evenings since you have gone. If the light of your smile could be here to dispel the darkness in my heart, and if I could only kiss the lips which were doing the smiling—. Once I hold you in my arms again I doubt if I shall ever let you go, surely not willingly.

Dr. Heinbecker returned yesterday from his trip West. He spent the last three weeks in Colorado. Said he saw the Shalalees, who are to come home this next week—go thou and do likewise!

Got my new suit yesterday, and you should see me now. If the head and feet were hidden I’d look right presentable. Has your dress progressed to the point where it might begin to serve its intended purpose? From your letters I take it to be a job too tedious for me, although running acetyl values on unknown acids with by a method as yet imperfectly developed is good preparation for tedious work.

Somehow or another I have no inspiration this afternoon in-so-far as letter writing in the ordinary sense is concerned, all I want to say is that you are the sweetest, loveliest, most desirable girl in the whole world; that I long for you every minute of the day; and that my life will never be complete again without a certain tall, dark-haired, and lovely girl by my side. [illegible] All of which must be evidence in proof of the well-known fact; to wit,

I love you, Oh, so very much
Harold

My darling Ruth,

It’s raining again, and appropriately too, for there is no letter from you. I was hoping one would make the morning mail for a change so the wait until Tuesday wouldn’t be so long—no luck.

Are you still wrestling with the firewood problem? Wish I were there to help you, but I’ve an idea we might not progress as rapidly as the amount of help would seem to warrant. Guess why.

The exiles are beginning to return—Dr. Heinbecker ((research)) is coming back today if his press agent (Dr. O’Leary) ((research)) has been putting out straight information. The Shalalees ((research)) have sent no word as to their plans. But I’m not interested, there is only one missing person in-as-far as I’m concerned, and I do miss her so. Time is crawling past slowly, still September is actually here. If you were going on to Portland without coming back here first I don’t know what I should do. These past three weeks have seemed the least attractive I have ever spent. Your letters have been the only bright spots of the whole time. You are so sweet to write me so often, when I know you have very many interesting things to fill your time. Each time I take a letter from the mail-box I’m as excited and trembly as can be. You surely have captured me—me and all my thoughts. The funny thing is that neither do I now, nor in the years to come shall I ever, wish it otherwise.

The acetyl values improved a bit today, thank the Lord. For the next few days pharmacology is going to get most of my time.

I must go downtown for a little while so shall stop for this time, but

I shall never stop loving you, darling,
Harold

Sweet, my darling,

Tonight I’m very tired, but I shall never be too tired to tell you I love you, nor shall I ever become weary of hearing you say you love me. Oh, it’s such a glorious thing that you do. I marvel, and shall always do so, that you have given me the privilege of believing you will always love me and be my sweetheart. Whatever the world shall think of me in the years ahead of [illegible] I shall know I have been favored by the gods in this—that you have chosen me ahead of all others. What more could I ask, excepting to be able to take care of you and to justify your choice to some extent. Darling, I intend to work so hard for you. But I’m afraid you’ll have to be satisfied with a sort of ordinary husband.

Work didn’t go so well today. I ran acetyl values on linseed oil using the weaker reagents I used on the free acids yesterday, but the checks were rotten. Oh well, just another thing to repeat. Seems I’m not much of a research worker.

How is the cold? You poor darling, a cold is such a miserable thing to have in the summer time. Doesn’t it appear that I use the word darling too much? ((42 times so far, chief.)) Whether it does or not you and darling are synonyms in my thoughts.

Just think, tomorrow is Saturday, and Monday is a holiday, so I can look forward to three whole days without word from you—I am desolate. Yet Tuesday will be something to await eagerly, for then those tardy letters should arrive. In the meantime the ones which have come already will be read and reread again. I haven’t tried it yet, but I must be almost able to recite every one of them by this time.

Is the chemistry department deserted now? Dr. West gone for good; Drs. Shaffer, Ronzoni, and Urban ((research these names)) out of town; Artie left today; Miss Case, Adler, and the new janitor are on their vacations. Miss Wieghard comes over occasionally to do a combustion or optical rotation, but there is absolutely no one else around. Yet the only thing which makes me lonely is your absence. If you were here they wouldn’t even be missed. Sweetheart mine, it is an old, old story, but I know of no better way to tell it than to say again,

My precious darling, I love you,
Harold