A Wedding

Ludlow has asked me to marry him. I have my Aunt Lydia's wedding ring to wear. Ludlow has given me a mourning brooch with a braid of his mother's hair. He wept as he gave it to me. "How she would have loved you, as I do," he cried. I stroked his brown curls. He is such a little boy, sometimes. Although I am only eighteen, I sometimes feel much older than he. We will make a life together, and be brave for one another. Papa has asked us to live with him and Mother for a time, until Ludlow's writing has a chance to take hold. We do not want his prior reputation to take over all of his writing, especially as Papa is in the Legislature and must be mindful of public opinion. So Ludlow must find another means of going on, and he and Papa have had many earnest and manly talks about it. I believe he is going to be a very fine writer, and only needs to find his way into steady work with a magazine or journal, or even a newspaper. While we are here in Waterville, Papa has arranged for Ludlow to work for Mr Henderson at the Times, so that he will not lose the habit of writing and so that his name is before the public. It is such a lovely arrangement, and when we return from our wedding trip to Florida, we will start to look for a place of our own in New York City.