My Little Hattie

There is, beneath my bed, a shoebox of letters written between the years of 1879 and 1884. And this worn shoebox I hold dearer than most things in my life. It seems insignificant from the outside, and it seems even more so after touching the worn edges of yellow sheets just inside; One can almost taste the musty and damp scent of time that has soaked into the paper. But time is what makes them so dear to me. Maybe it's because they come from somewhere, someplace that I don't belong to, a place that I can dream about because it seems better than now. I'm not sure. But reading Hattie and Jimmie's words, I wish I had what they had. I wish that I lived in a time where letters became a place of confession, and where affection was given easily with the end of a pen. Sometimes, I wish I had lived when words mattered, and when those who shared their words with us in letters, were not only confiding in us, but were sharing with us, in confidence, their hearts.

(Hillaryton) Ala August 5th 1884
Miss Hattie Oguyum

My Dearest Little Hattie,
I will this morning take the pleasure of answering your dear letter of the 31st which I received last night and contents carefully examined and proved quite pleasant and agreeable as it is allways happiness to me too read one of your dear letters. Hattie I was very glad indeed to hear that you was not feeling so sad when you written to me for if there is one thing that can render me unhappy it is the thought of your being unhappy. You said in your letter that you received I thought you silly to express your sad feeling indeed I did not. I never thought of you being silly for I dont think I ever saw ou act silly. Hattie I need you to sing for me and talk to me to keep waked up all the time for I havent slept all night but two nights since I saw you, that was last night and last Thursday night. Uncle Bille is still very bad off. I heard this morning that he was no better nor worse. (not sure) told me to tell you not to get scared at his picture and not carry it to the cow Ren for it would scare the calves to death. I dont know wheather it looks that bad or not. You will have to (stain). Well Hattie, (stain) worried for I didn’t know I dident know he was going to see her at all. Well Maby Jimmie and Hattie will surprise some one else some of these days. I hope so at least. Hattie you said in your latter that there would be preaching at the (name) church on the 7th Sunday and you hoped I would be there and I think I will be sure to be on hand at that time if nothing happens to prevent my comingdown, for then at the time I promised you I would come down and I certainly try to do what I promise you to do always for I wouldent have you to loose the least bit of confidence in me for this world. For if I was to loose your love and gain every thing else in the world, I never could be happy while life lasts. For if my future happiness depends on you, and I think you are calculated to make my future life happiness to me, and I think that is more than any one else on this earth can do, for there is no other that I can love and put the confidence in that I do no. (stain) do I expect to see any one else that I love half as well as I love you.
Hattie you said when in prayers I (not sure maybe loved) not to forget to pray. (lots of holes and stains). It has been a long time since I forgot you in my prayers, never do I expect to as long as I exist. Well I guess I have (written) enough for one time …I know you would enjoy reading my letter as well as I did yours. I would be perfectly satisfied but that I know is (impossible) for I know there is nothing to interest you so …I will close by saying good bye love and expecting an answer soon.
I remain as ever true to thee
Jimmie
P.S.
You I love and forever
You may change but I will never
Though separation be our lot
Dear little Hattie forget me no

Hattie, these are thee true sentiments of my heart…Jimmie

(theres no) joy for me
But loving thee
No rest but where thou art.
No pulse no pain
But in thy name
No home but in my heart

I assure you that the letter above is word for word from a letter written by Jimmie Weaver, my great, great, great, grandfather or something like that. Because the letters have aged, there are holes and pieces of text that I haven't been able to read, but for the most part, their words have far outlived Hattie and Jimmie. And because I wished to keep the letters as true to their writers as possible, I did not correct Jimmie's spelling: I his spelling endearing because I too cannot spell, though Jimmie was not so fortunate to have spell check.

I've read this letter, in particular, several times. I love that Jimmie calls Hattie, his dear little Hattie, because a man who would create such a sweet name for the person he loved is a man who must have loved much. I should mention that they did end up marrying, and all because of letters. From the first letter sent to this one, it is easy to see their love for one another grow, and not because Hattie wore beautiful dresses, or because of her family background, because they only saw one another, it seems, a few Sundays or Wednesdays a month, and sometimes, during prayer meetings. No, Jimmie loved Hattie for who she was...

Can you imagine someone writing you as he wrote Hattie? I can't even begin to imagine a boy writing me a letter, and on top of that, a letter where he confides his heart in me. "confidence" is a word used over and over in the letters between Hattie and Jimmie. In "confidence," you have my "confidence"...and so on. How is it they were so able to trust one anther's affection and confidence through pen and ink?

"For if I was to loose your love and gain every thing else in the world, I never could be happy while life lasts. For if my future happiness depends on you, and I think you are calculated to make my future life happiness to me, and I think that is more than any one else on this earth can do, for there is no other that I can love and put the confidence in that I do no."

What I find very disheartening, is that if these words were given to someone on paper, they would assume that they were taken from the lines of a novel, some work of fiction. I think very few people would recognize the truth in them, the life in them. Because I don't think we know what honesty is any more. I don't know if we know how to love with this kind of abandon or affection any more. I'm not saying you need to write like this to your best friend, but even Hattie and Jimmie's earlier letters were filled with warmth and affection, and in that time, they were only acquaintances.

Sometimes, I wonder if I'm too much of a romantic because I'm a writer, as if the writing part of my brain takes over and reality is shoved to the corner. I could have easily imagined love letters, filled with the kind of words Jimmie wrote, but I never would have believed they really existed outside of Shakespeare. To know that such real lines of devotion and love exist makes me think that it wasn't the writer part of me that hoped for love like theirs, but the human part of me, all of me.

I guess what I'm trying to say is. Sometimes, when I hope for these things, letters, songs, poems, words of endearment, I feel I want too much. I feel like I should tuck those things away somewhere, perhaps a journal, and leave them somewhere in the dark because they don't really exist the way I wish they did. It's not possible for them to in this time of computers, and texts, and where girls ask boys out on dates...But then when I go to sleep, I know this letter Jimmie wrote is just beneath my head. I know he was real, I know he wasn't a great writer, though he was a writer, and because I know these things, I know he must have wanted what I want, or he would have never dared to begin writing Hattie in the first place.

when I feel I want too much, or hope for too much, or imagine too much, I remember so did Jimmie, and so did Hattie, and look at the box of love, and hope, and "too much" they left behind just for me, even if they didn't do it on purpose.

Maybe our generation has lost something. Maybe we've forgotten how to be reserved and still affectionate, honest but still mysterious. I don't know. But I feel we have lost something. Because I feel that in another time, these letters would have come to me as no surprise, but in my time, they are extraordinarily rare, so much so, that it would be easier to believe they are fictional letters of love, and nothing more. Maybe we've forgotten, out of fear, rejection, or one too many heartbreaks, what it means to really give one's heart over in confidence to someone else.