Part I - Blanchard

The first two parts of the following story told first from Blanchard's then Hollis' point of view are Urban Legends, of sorts. The Epilogue is my own addition.
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John Blanchard stood up from the bench, straightened his Marine's uniform, and studied the crowd of people making their way through Grand Central Station. He was looking for the girl whose heart he knew, but whose face he didn't, who had told him he would know her by the rose she'd be wearing in her lapel.

Blanchard's interest had begun eighteen months before while browsing a second-hand book store, and one book in particular had intrigued him; not with its words but with the notes penciled in the margin. The soft handwriting reflected a thoughtful soul and an insightful mind. In the front of the book, Blanchard  discovered the previous owner's name, Miss Hollis Maynell, and after some time and effort he located her address up in New York City.

Blanchard wrote to Hollis and invited her to correspond with him but the next day he was shipped overseas to fight for his country in World War II. When her reply caught up to him in France, Blanchard was surprised and delighted that she had taken the chance and written back.

During the next year and a half the two grew to know each other through the mail, and each letter was a seed falling on a fertile heart and their romance bloomed. Several times Blanchard requested a photograph but each time Hollis refused. She said that if he really cared, it shouldn't matter what she looked like.

When the day finally came for him to return from Europe they scheduled their first meeting; 7:00 PM at the Grand Central Station in New York. "You'll recognize me," she wrote, "by the red rose I'll be wearing on my lapel."

Now it was 7:00pm, and Blanchard was in the station, looking for a girl whose heart he loved but whose face he'd never seen.

He saw a young woman approach. Her figure was long and slim. Her blonde hair lay back in curls from her delicate ears, and her eyes were as blue as a clear summer sky. Her lips and chin had a gentle firmness, and in her pale green suit she was like springtime come alive. Such was her beauty that he started toward her, not yet aware that she was not wearing a rose.

As he moved toward her she looked up at Blanchard and a small, provocative smile curved her lips. "Going my way, sailor?" she murmured to him. Almost uncontrollably Blanchard made one step closer, and then he saw the lady standing behind her, the lady with a rose in her lapel. Hollis Maynell.

While the young lady was just entering her twenties, Hollis Maynell was well into her thirties. Whereas the young lady's hair was light and blonde, Ms. Maynell's hair was light and greying. The contrast between the two was evident, right down to the rose on Ms. Maynell's lapel; a rose which Blanchard was now painfully aware that the pretty, young lady did not possess.

As their eyes met, Blanchard realized that Hollis had been watching him the entire time. From the corner of his eye he saw the girl in the green suit walk quickly away, and he felt as though he was being torn in two. He was filled with the urge to follow the girl, yet that desire was matched by his longing for the woman whose spirit had upheld his own during his time at war. And now she stood in front of him. Her pale, plump face was gentle and sensible, and her brown eyes had a warm and kindly twinkle.

Blanchard gripped the worn, blue leather copy of the book that was to identify him to her. This would not be love, but it would be something precious, perhaps something even better than love, a friendship for which he had been and must still be ever grateful. He squared his shoulders, saluted, and held out the book to the woman. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard,” he said, “and you must by Miss Maynell.” Even as he spoke the words, John felt choked by the bitterness of his disappointment. “I'm so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"

The woman's face broadened into a tolerant smile. "I don't know what this is about, son," she answered, "but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she asked me to wear this rose on my coat. She said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test."

Blanchard possessed just enough presence of mind to thank the lady, before he turned and set off in pursuit of the "love of his life".

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Part II - Hollis

"I can’t believe I’m doing this," I thought to myself while in the taxi, heading toward Union Station. I was going to meet John Blanchard for the first time, although truth be told, we already knew each other so well from our correspondence.

My interest in John first started when I received a letter from him, approximately four months after my husband had been killed in the war. Perhaps that led me to hope that in John's writings, I might find a new love.

John claimed to have found a book of mine; one that I had marked notes in. I honestly don't remember doing it, but I was willing to accept it as truth, because that is the kind of thing I'd do, so I wrote back.

Almost two months passed before I received John's reply. Like my husband John had also been called away to fight in the war, and he implored me to keep writing. So we exchanged letters and during the next eighteen months we grew to know each other through the mail. I couldn't help but hope that a new romance was budding. Even my friends teased me about him.

About six months into our correspondence, John sent me a photograph of him and requested one in return. I said that if he really cared about me, it wouldn't matter what I looked like. Several times he requested a photograph and each time I refused. I told him that I wanted to look into his eyes the first time he saw my face. Finally the war ended and John was to return home.

We arranged to meet in Grand Central Station at 7:00pm. Since I hadn’t given John a picture I told him that he would recognize me by the red rose in my lapel. He responded that he would be carrying my blue leather book, which he'd carried to Europe and back.

As the taxi pulled up to the curb I placed the rose in my lapel, paid the driver, and left the cab. My first impulse was to turn around, right there and then, and forget this whole crazy thing. Instead, I pressed on. It was just a few minutes past 7:00 when I first saw John.

I recognized him instantly; if the uniform wasn't a giveaway, the book he was carrying was enough. He was a handsome man, clean-cut and fresh from his tour of duty. He reminded me of my late husband, and a tear formed in my eye. But he had not yet seen me.

As I began to approach him, a remarkably beautiful girl dressed in an elegant emerald suit passed in front of him, and the desire in his eye was all too obvious. As she walked past he took a step in her direction before seeing me; a 35 year-old woman, just a few years past her prime, and the beauty of the young lady only accentuated the effects of time on my own appearance.

John looked longingly at the young girl as she left the station before he finally approached me, and I was more acutely aware of my homely appearance than ever before. "I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, taking my hand and shaking it, "and you must be Miss Maynell. I am so glad you could meet me; may I take you to dinner?"

He tried. He really tried to hide the disappointment in his voice, but I could hear it only too well. All of my fears had been realized, and I recognized that it would never work between us. Fighting back the tears I replied as cheerfully as I could, "I don't know what this is about, son, but the young lady in the green suit who just went by, she asked me to wear this rose on my coat. She said if you were to ask me out to dinner, I should go and tell you that she is waiting for you in the big restaurant across the street. She said it was some kind of test."

That was all the convincing he needed. He thanked me and walked away. After three steps he started to run.

It was only then that I called out to him. "John, wait!" But it was too late. I turned around and walked away, crying.

Looking back on that day, I sometimes fantasize what if I was the young lady? Or if John hadn't been so quick to believe that I was? I sit here now, wondering whether or not John caught up to the young lady, and what he did when he found out that she wasn't me. What if I had just handled things a little differently. I wonder what might have been.

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EPILOGUE

Hollis sat at the small, scarred, wooden table in her cozy kitchen in her one bedroom apartment. There wasn't a lot of room in the apartment, but Hollis wasn't someone who needed much room. Her two children from her first marriage were long grown with children of their own, and her second husband had passed away almost ten years ago now.

She sat quietly, sipping her cup of tea. Although she'd favored coffee in the past, a single cup left her with heartburn and kept her up half the night. The Sunday paper was open in front of her but Hollis wasn't reading it. With her hands clasped gently around the warm cup, Hollis stared out the kitchen window into the tiny backyard where a cherry tree, lit by the afternoon sun, was fighting to find its niche in the suburban jungle surrounding it.

The chimes of her doorbell broke her reverie of yesteryear, and as the notes died away they were punctuated by a knock at her front door.

"Coming!" Hollis called out, as she slowly climbed to her feet and made her way to the front of the apartment. Although it was just a short distance from the kitchen to the front door, the passing of the years had slowed Hollis down so she called out once more, just in case her unknown visitor hadn't heard her the first time. "Hold on! I'm coming!"

Peering through the peephole Hollis saw an elderly gentleman with graying hair. Something about the man's appearance spoke to Hollis and she sensed that there was no danger here. A few weeks ago, Mrs. Jenkins, the widower from three doors down, had been been beaten and robbed for opening her door to the wrong person, but as Hollis looked out at the man she couldn't help but feel she knew him from somewhere.

As the man reached out to knock again he looked up at the peephole, and Hollis looked into his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat and she took a step back in shock.

Hands trembling, she fumbled with the security bolt for several seconds before she finally managed to slide it across, then she unlocked the door and pulled it wide open to stare at the aging soldier in front of her.

His uniform was old and faded, and it hung a little in some places, but it was still very neatly pressed, and as the old soldier snapped to attention it seemed as though he and the uniform were made for each other.

Then he smiled at Hollis and she went weak at the knees and she had to lean even more heavily on the door for support.

"I'm Lieutenant John Blanchard," he said, offering her his right hand, (a very old, very worn, blue leather-bound book was clasped in his left.) "You must be Miss Maynell. I'm glad you could meet me. May I take you to dinner?"