The Captain Proposes
Dear Immogene,
When my wife Jennie died, after many years of loving me, with our lives closer than two mates bunking together in a purser's cabin, - yet separated when my ship sailed to distant ports, I never expected to love again. Who could take Jennie's place? No one, not ever!
But you, dear lady with the long silver braid down your back, scuffed blue house slippers, a cook with delicious smells emanating from your kitchen; a gentle, knowing smile on your face, the easy laughter, dare I say it? My best friend, "I love you."
I love you without any guilt. You have never usurped Jennie's memory, Instead you created your own lovely dwelling place, a spot that remains to lighten my heart. I don't know if you will agree and accept the love I offer you. But know that whatever your answer is, you have defrosted the heart of this tough old sea captain who thought he didn't need or want any thing other than his faithful grizzled dog "Matey" and his troubling memories.
Dear friend, I may as well get right to it. I want to marry you! I want to spend our final years together. I know you're not getting any bargain, but my love is genuine, and backed by a desire to continue fixing your backyard fences, repairing sagging porch steps, and a promise to dry dishes and sweep the kitchen floor after you've cooked another of your splendid meals.
Immogene, I'm too old to sail anymore, but I can keep you entertained with sea stories. We'll sing sea chanteys and hymns together as you play your piano. I promise to get my battered guitar restrung if that pleases you.
Practically speaking we'll have enough money for both our needs. I have some real gold pieces in my sea chest, and savings in the bank. Besides, Immogene, your cat and my dog have become great friends. They even eat out of the same dish and sleep together on Matey's cushion. Isn't that a sign that we should call a preacher?
Hopefully, respectfully, I remain,
Captain Hiram Walker
