Transcription of Letter
Montgomery, January 30, 1917.
Dearest Teacher:
Your braille letter came just after I had received Polly's; but I didn't answer it, as I had to hurry off mine for the New York boat.
I hope you've had no trouble with those checks. Can you not suggest a way out of our present difficulty? Speaking of checks, it reminds me, I have one or two plain questions to ask you. If anything should happen to you suddenly, to whom would you wish me to, turn for help in business matters? How could I best protect myself against any one who might not be honest or reliable? Mother loves me with a deep, silent love; but in all probability she will not be with me constantly.
Another thing, if you should be taken from me, or be unable to attend to our affairs, what should I do with all our papers? Whom could I trust to go over them with me? I hate to worry you with these questions; but I know enough to realize my dependence upon others, and I try to think, plan and consult you so that I may find the right person or persons to depend upon. Oh, Teacher, how alone and unprepared I often feel, especially when I wake in the night! Please don't think, however, that I let this problem weigh upon my mind more than I can help. The wonder is, I don't worry more. Look at Madame Galeron, the deaf blind poet. She has had her gifted father, her husband, her grown-up daughter, several able friends to help her in emergencies, and here you and I are with nothing settled! Won't you try to consider these problems calmly, while you listen to the wind rustling in the palms and breathe deeply the heavenly air you love, then write me what you think best. I need suggestions that you can make now while you are free and can think quietly.
How I long to be with you among the wild-flowers and the palms, in the bosom of the hills!
"I am sick of four walls and a ceiling,
I have need of the sky,
I have business with the grass."
But hadn't we better wait and see how you feel before mother and I think of coming? You said it would be some time before you were good for much. I fear that if we came now, you would not have the rest and freedom you should have.
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But I do think that when you are better, we must start our life over again, reducing it to the simplest terms possible. (Of course the simple life doesn't exclude a few modern conveniences, or machinery that turns drudgery into joyous activity.) We can travel more as we like without lecturing, and we can see more of our friends! We can bring about this change anywhere in Wrentham, or Porto Rico, (sic) or the Sandwich Islands. All we need is courage to do the sensible thing. Don't you dare tell me it's too late! You've just shown that you aren't yet old or fixed in your ways, you still have a heart to dare and to achieve. Only get well, let us try this scheme and work afresh, or have a life holiday, as the Fates may decree. I know it will work out right if we go at it right.
I'm keeping this letter until I see if yours comes tomorrow. With old love and new, pioneering thoutghts, and with the vehement prayer that you may be getting well soon, I am (sic)
Your affectionate (sic)
Helen
P. S. Polly's last note came this morning. I've just sent off the deed to Mr. Raymond with my signature and told him what you wished me to do about the coupons. We'll read the letters when we get a chance. We are busy preparing for a party this afternoon, Mildred has to entertain her card-club this Wednesday.
H.K.
