Eleanor Randolph Wilson McAdoo to Jessie Woodrow Wilson Sayre

It isn't at all possible to tell you how happy your precious letter made me—I can't even try for I'll cry again if I do. I cried when I read it but it was because you're so dear and it made me so happy. How I love you, most wonderful and lovely sister—and oh, how much your love and understanding means to me. Frank's letter which came yesterday was a very dear and wonderful one, too. You've given me the finest brother in the world. Will you thank him for me for the happiness and help his letter gave me and give him my dearest love.Every day I have been trying to find one moment to write to you—poor, incompetent “me” has been so swamped with things ever since the announcement appeared and in the intervals all I could do has been to thank people for flowers and engagment cups! Everybody has been so sweet, but I wish I could have one little morning to myself—or one little hour to write to my precious sister—Wasn't it maddening the way the newspapers got ahead of us—the impudent things? We weren't ready to announce it, but they demanded to know (doesn't it seem appalling that they can demand) and we couldn't be. I would have sent a line after your second dear letter came to tell you that you could say it was true but I was sure you would see the official announcement the next day and I thought I could write you a real letter before this.
Now, first of all I must tell you all our plans—or what plans we have. You see, we aren't able to talk things over with Mother yet because if we do she'll begin making plans so hard that she won't be content to lie still and take all the time there is to rest and get perfectly well. She's getting along beautifully but it's a thing that takes time and she must have a good rest. And so we can't decide anything, yet, but we were planning for the early part of May—Because of the way things are working out about the Reserve Banks and the Federal Reserve Board, it looks as tho' the interval when Mr McAdoo (I'll call him that the first time so you'll know who I'm talking about!) can get away will come sooner than he expected and he wants very much to be married about the 21st of April—the day before the “Olympic” sails—Because then we could have about five weeks instead of just two or three. That's very soon, isn't it?—but of course we both want it to be soon. So—if we could be sure that Mother would be perfectly strong and rested long enough before then not to be made tired by plans and excitement, we would have it on the twenty-first— But, we can't be sure until next week. And therefore I won't have one definite plan until then. Everything is “ifs and buts” so far—because of course our one desire is to make everything right and happy for her. I'm sure tho' of that one thing—that it won't interfere with any of your fine plans because if it can't be in April it will certainly be in the early part of May. And, unless we have very hard luck—that is, if he can get away even for only four weeks—we're going to Europe and have a wonderful motor trip through France—and anywhere else we happen to want to go—Won't that be glorious—just the two of us in a car and all the splendid roads and beautiful world before us! He is the most wonderful and thrilling person—and he makes me gloriously—selfishly happy—way from darling Mother now—I don't see how I could manage----Just then I went to lunch, and your sweet newest letter was handed to me—Oh, Jettydarlin', how very badly I manage letting you know about things—and you're so adorably sweet about it, too—If you ever dare to say again that you're afraid you bother us, I'll be in a rage with my horrid old self—Since you asked me when I'd be in New York “trousseau-ing” my hope that I might see you there has risen and made me very joyful. Oh, please Jetty, tell Frank that I've got to have some talks with you soon. soon. soon—or I'll bust!I wish I could give you more definite plans—I wish we could make them—but save the from the 20th of April until about the tenth of May for me.
Im glad you don't believe the Washington Post—“fuss and feathers” doesn't sound like me does it (oh, drat them!) We're not going to have any wedding at all—just a marriage, because it's simply a choice between having the whole world or no-one except our families and we will not have “tout le monde”. I think I must have you and Margie walk in ahead of me as my darling matron and maid of honour—in just pretty garden-party-dresses, because I couldn't be married without that.
Darling, I have so many more things to talk about and—I have been interrupted so many times that tho' I began this after breakfast it is now time for me to dress for dinner!Yesterday “Mack” showed me the perfectly lovely letters you and Frank wrote him—he simply loved them and so did I—you dears—He sends heaps of love. We're so happy—Mother is getting along beautifully—the doctor hopes to have her up and around her room by the first of next week It's always a long tiresome siege—after the sort of operation she had but she'll be “a new person” soon the doctor says—Now, I must run—but not before I tell you about the family's summer plans. So far they plan to leave here when Congress is over,—which every body hopes will be by the first of July—and go right to Harlakenden for the summer. Couldn't you all stay at Harlakenden, too—if you didn't have your hearts set on a summer house of your own? I don't have to say how crazy they are to have you. We will probably be there for a week or two.
I'm writing so fast I have writers cramp.Good-bye, my precious, darling sister—whom I love so dearly and whom I will alway, always, miss with a great, big ache—Dear love from all to you both—and thank you both again, with all my love—