To ANNIE ADAMS FIELDS
January 11, , Philadelphia
Only a line to send you this—one of your sincerest friends—I know so you must give it welcome due.
Why don’t you tell me if you are coming on any of these brightest cheerfullest of winter days? I sit here so much alone—& have time to have a thousand long talks with you and then to feel tired and impatient with a sense of loss that it was only a fancy. I don’t get lonesome though—for I am so busy sewing, a kind of sewing I never knew before— What sort of a way is that to tell you of the thought that fills all my life just now? And yet, I don’t know. The tiny white pure little things do not seem unfit to hint at all the deeper tenderest beauty which I think God has given to the coming year for us—
I understand your New Year’s prayer for me and it brought the tears straight to my eyes. I am sure of you sympathy and prayers that I may be worthy of such a gift. I cannot write any more today. Let me hear from you soon, and think of me always, with love as we do of you, and yours.
R. H. D.—
1. RHD is pregnant with her first child.