LXXVII
MY Dearest Moedertje:
How can I thank you for the precious little frock that you have given our baby. It has all the more worth in our eyes because we know under what circumstances you have worked this present for your little grandchild. We heard through Roekmini that you made it yourself after your return to Batavia. To think that you, who were indisposed yourself and had so many cares upon your shoulders as always, but especially at that time when you were under great pressure, could still take such delicate and patient stitches for our child. Your friendship must indeed be great, and your love for me deep and sincere. I looked at the little frock yesterday with wet eyes and a grateful happy heart; and often I feel I must look at it again. It tells me so much, Moedertje dearest. It has made your daughter so happy.
Later your little grandchild can wear the figured ornament around his neck, when the dress grows too small for him. I shall keep it for him till he can understand me, when I tell him of the great love which God has given to his mother, so that the little ornament will be even more precious to him than it is now to me.
My husband said to me yesterday, when we received your present, “Go, wife, and write to Moedertje right away, or it may be too late,” and I have followed his advice and, at the same time, the voice of my own heart,
Our little one is not here yet, but it may be any moment now. I feel that his coming is very near.
Thank you so much for your encouraging words, dear. The thought that far from here there is one, a part of my soul, who hopes and prays for me, makes me strong, and does me unutterable good.
People who have seen me during these last days think me unusually cheerful. And why should I not be cheerful when such great happiness awaits me? What matter all the hours of pain, when they are the price of such sweet happiness? I long so for my little treasure, and it is sweet to know that many whom I love are with me in thought in these last days. Do I not know how at my dear home, hour by hour, they think of me, hope and pray for me?
When so many hearts pray the same prayer, Heaven will not be deaf to it. Moeske, I am so firmly convinced that all will go well with your daughter; naturally you will be notified at once as soon as the great event has taken place.
Oh, if you, my good angel, could but stand at the cradle of my child, how blissfully happy I should be! I know that you will love our child even though it should grow into a greater simpleton than its mother. If it is only not too sensitive, all will be well — he, Moeske? And that will not be unless the evil spirits watch by its cradle. But your talisman will take care of that and protect your little one from evil spirits.
My mother has been with me for two weeks, and there is also an old grandmother who has come to be with me during the hard hours that are coming. I am waited upon, spoiled, and watched over like a princess.
The layette and the little bed are in our room all ready for the coming of our treasure.
And Moeske, how are you, my little Grandmother? How is Mijnheer getting along? Oh, I hope that you will both be in the best of health when this reaches you. How is Edie? Is he still in China? I read his article in Elsevier's magazine, with much interest. What does the youth write? Ask brother Edie if he still remembers me. I have always regretted so much that I have never met him personally and now the chances of that have gone by for ever.
When you write to him give him a cordial greeting from Sister Kartini. Tell him of my great happiness, and that my husband and I both think of him with sympathy.
How delightful is the odour of the little fruit which is our true native perfume! I have put it away with the baby's frock, in a chest with other garments, so that they will be perfumed delicately. My treasure must smell sweet.
Good-night, dearest Moedertje; accept again sincere thanks from us both. Greet Mijnheer heartily for us, and feel yourself softly kissed by your own little daughter.
(This was her last letter. On the 13th of September, her son was born, and four days later, she died suddenly, being just twenty-five years old. She was deeply mourned by all who had known and loved her.)