4 October 1917 Edith to Stuart - Letter #3

Edith to Stuart
4.10.17
Dearest,
After what you said last night about “Best Belovéd”, I thought I would have to find a new name for you. But I’m thinking it’s all right. “Best Belovéd” implies others, but then, of course, there are others. They are not the same, but we love them, and they are “dear”; so “Dear-est”, and “Best Belovéd” are all right, aren’t they?
I am very sorry I do not say the things you want me to say; but if you had held the lid on as long as I have, and as tightly as I have, you would understand why it won’t come off very easily now. You see, Dearest, right back near the beginning things, even before Whitsuntide, I knew how it was with me. But I did not know about you. Sometimes I thought I did, but I was not sure for a long time. On a certain Saturday evening, in our kitchen, you said something to me, and I am sure, Stuart, if you had known how much it would hurt, you would never, never, never have said it, although you knew it had been deserved. You see, that’s why it hurt, because there was a great deal of truth in it, and it struck home. But I made up my mind that it should never be deserved again, and from that time I watched every word and act as closely as I could, lest anything should slip out. You do not how hard it was, especially towards the end. One night, I nearly did it. We had been over to Ferry Hinksey, sitting on a bank which you know, and soon after we started back, you came towards me quite suddenly. I do not know what I thought you were going to do, but I thought you were going to do something, and if it had not been a little bit dark, you would have noticed. However, I think I came safely through, but I knew that unless you did something soon, I would have to tell you I could not come out. You see, I was beginning to feel that I could not keep the lid on any longer. Am I unkind to tell you all this, Dearest? Only I want you to understand why I find it so hard to let myself go now. Even now, there are some things which are right, and some which are wrong. On Sunday, I thought, for a long time, “Shall I? or shall I not?” Then I thought again, “He said I might do anything now, and I have wanted to do this for so long, I will do it”. And directly afterwards came the thunder-bolt, “You should not have done that.” At once, I thought of that Saturday. I couldn’t help it Dearest, really, and ______ Oh, dear, I know I’m stupid, and won’t write any more of this. Forgive me, please, Stuart, and remember, I am not even a woman yet, and women are silly enough.
Good-night, Belovéd, don’t think much about this letter. In fact, I don’t know whether I will give it to you or not, for I would not hurt you the least little bit if I could help it, and I think I know some of the places where your skin is thin. If I do give it you, and it hurts at all, please, please tell me, and ___ I’ll do something.
Good-night, My Own Man, My Love.

(c) DearestBeloved 2009