My Dear Léonce

My dearest Léonce,

Upon this Valentine’s Day, I remember fondly the summer day we met one another, the beginning of a love stronger than any I had known. It was just over a year since my mother had collapsed upon hearing the news that Father had died in the war. My sisters Margaret and Janet had been doing their utmost to keep the Blanton plantation running; with Josiah Greene’s neighborly help, we’d have gone into ruin.

Then benevolent fate stepped in. You, a handsome young man from New Orleans, stepped up to our front porch in Mississippi and knocked on the door. I could hear the sound of your boots across the wooden deck. As impolite as it was, I peeked out of the bay window and caught my first glimpse of you. As we had not been expecting company, I was quite curious to see who you were. I thought it was confederate Officer Gouvernail who had visited us a year earlier with the horrible news of my father’s passing. I opened the front door where the luscious smells of magnolias and gardenias hung in the air. (I am glad to have recorded all the particulars in my journal.)

Instead, your beautiful face came into view, and I felt flushed. You introduced yourself, your voice both husky and sweet, “Good morning. My name is Monsieur Pontellier. I am here to meet with Ms. Margaret Blanton.” Cordially you tipped your hat and waited patiently to receive my reply. I didn’t know what to think at first; why should you need to talk to my sister? I wondered.

“One moment, please,” I replied somewhat dispassionately, I admit. I distinctly remember the scent of tobacco and blueberry that you brought with you. However, your genuine smile beguiled me as I went to retrieve Margaret from the kitchen. I returned with my sister who invited you in and offered a delightful repast of tea and biscuits. It was if she had known you all her life. Janet missed the moment as she was resting in her boudoir.

This is when I first heard about you, Monsieur Leonce Pontellier, and learned you were a wealthy merchant from New Orleans who had responded to Margaret’s query. I had not known about any of this, though, and would discover more in our conversation that very day. You were twenty-three and ready to settle down as you addressed my sister. “Thank you, Ms. Blanton. My condolences on the loss of your mother and father.” I was at first startled by your familiarity with our family, then confused. “As per our earlier correspondence, I understand a sum of $1,000 would make a substantial dowry that will allow you to keep the plantation maintained for years to come.”

I had no idea at the time that you were a suitor.

Margaret had sent out a notice, an advertisement of sorts, about me. According to her letter, I had “poise and charm, skills in homemaking, artistic and musical endeavors, and a desire to marry.” I believe she exaggerated a bit, but this was all very new to me. I had never conceived of relinquishing my free spirit to anyone. You, however, indeed changed my mind, and made such a lasting impression on me. I am forever thankful you found that announcement.

You turned toward me, and your brown eyes visited my soul. “Good mademoiselle, would you do me the honor of becoming my bride? Father Francois would be available to make arrangements, and my servants would see to your wishes prior to the wedding day.” You paused for a moment. I must have been flustered because you noted the expression on my face. “I take it you were not informed of this arrangement by your otherwise caring sister?” You looked at Margaret with a hint of disdain. Looking back at me, you said, “You must think I am coarse to have not asked you prior to this. I had assumed, wrongfully, you were amicable to this idea. I see now this is not the case. Again, I apologize for this intrusion and my misplaced ardor,” and you stood up with final intention.

“No, please wait. Do sit down.” My voice was strong, confident, a voice I did not even know I possessed. “Monsieur Pontellier, although I was not made aware of this arrangement, I would like very much to entertain this offer if you will still have me.” I smiled, coyly considering that I would finally be free from being the household maid. Since Mother had died, Margaret had taken care of all the smallest details of my life, and I had grown tired of what my dull life had become. “Perhaps this will be a lovely beginning to a new life,” I replied. “I shall be ready tomorrow to travel to New Orleans, though I have never been.”

You seemed duly impressed with my dignified yet impulsive acceptance and mentioned, “Our family spends time between New Orleans and Grand Isle, and I believe it would be a splendid place to raise a family.” I was shocked at first and had not considered the concept of family, especially with a Catholic man. I knew I would indeed miss my impetuous and like-minded Janet, but I would finally feel free, heart and soul, free.

You stood up once more, and addressed me, “J'attends avec impatience mon avenir avec toi,” explaining, “I look forward to my future with you.”

You tipped your hat toward us and left, the echoes of your boots fading. Margaret waved weakly, realizing she would never see me again. She would never again see Edna Blanton; she would meet Madame Pontellier. I shivered with the absolute delight of sharing a lifetime with you.

The headiness of springtime, and the odor of pinks and the hum of bees near the wisteria hinted of a change of season. I watched your stylish carriage through the window and wondered what my future would be like with you. I envisioned a life of romance and bliss; looking into the distance I dreamt of long, delicious days by the Gulf and becoming the wife of a loving husband, beloved and appreciated by all and fulfilled by all the diversions life had to offer.

Since the birth of our son Raoul, my love for you has increased tenfold. Our union has produced this perfect baby boy, and I am excited by the thought of motherhood. The joy in my heart fills this very house. From the day we first met, there has been no doubt in my mind that we were meant to be together. Je t'aimerai jusqu'à la fin de ma vie.