The Bench Was Empty: A Love Letter from 1919

A Reflection on Memory, Heirloom Design, and Restored Antique Furniture

At Acanthus Home, we believe true luxury lies not only in craftsmanship—but in memory. Our curated antique collection—comprising restored heirloom furniture and emotionally resonant pieces—anchors interiors in both beauty and meaning. In the softened edge of a writing desk, worn by time and repetition. In the patina that catches the light just so, speaking of decades passed with grace.

And sometimes, in a story. A letter. A bench.

An Archive of Emotion

In the summer of 1919, a young man named Frank took a quiet walk through what was then Westlake Park (now MacArthur Park) in Los Angeles. It was a Saturday evening. Music drifted across the water, golden light shimmered in the trees, and the city—still healing from war—seemed suspended in a moment of delicate calm.

But Frank wasn’t simply wandering. He was revisiting a place that held meaning: their bench. A small, unremarkable place to most, but to him, it was the site of shared laughter, soft words, and the quiet, reverent rhythm of love.

He made himself a promise: If the bench is empty, it’s a good sign.

And it was.

A Place Remembered

Westlake Park, Los Angeles — Late 1800s
This hand-tinted postcard shows the boathouse and lakeside benches that once framed the heart of the park. The trees, still young and slender, suggest this scene predates Frank’s letter by at least a generation.

By the time he returned to their bench in 1919, those same trees had grown—fuller, more sheltering. Even the trees remembered—a living archive in shade and silence.

With gratitude to the Los Angeles Conservancy Archives for this historical image.

Westlake Park, Los Angeles — Circa 1915
Frank captured this image of Della standing quietly at the water’s edge, near the bench where their story would return. It wasn’t just memory—it was intention made visible. A gesture of reverence, composed with tenderness and quiet devotion. In pressing the shutter, he became both witness and keeper—preserving presence in the way a patina preserves touch, or a velvet seat remembers form.

Photograph from a private collection.

Today, Westlake Park is known as MacArthur Park—a name change that came in 1942 to honor General Douglas MacArthur. And yet, much of the landscape remains. The benches, the towering trees—they continue to hold the shape of memory, even as the city evolves.

The difference between the postcard and the later photograph is subtle—but telling. In the postcard, the palms and sycamores are young, newly rooted. By 1915, they’ve matured—casting deeper shade, settling into the rhythm of the park.

This is the kind of detail that matters. In anthropology, even the growth of trees becomes a timestamp. A visual echo of the passing years. And for interior designers who work with heirlooms, it’s a reminder: every surface holds time—sometimes in woodgrain, sometimes in shadow.

The photograph above was not merely memory—it was intention. An image composed to hold a moment. To preserve the presence of the woman he loved, framed against the lake where their story unfolded. In that single gesture—a photograph—he became both witness and archivist. And in doing so, he left us not only a letter, but a vision.

The Letter as Artifact, the Bench as Evidence

In anthropology, we speak of material culture—objects as records of human behavior. And what is a love letter, if not a sacred artifact? What is a bench, if not evidence of presence? They are not mere relics—they’re emotional anchors, cultural artifacts in disguise.

At Acanthus Home, we view antiques the same way: not merely as objects, but as evidence. Each item in our curated collection of antique furniture—from tufted Victorian chairs to aged writing desks—is treated as cultural documentation, as material culture for interior design.

Each piece we restore is a document—not of style alone, but of human life. And like Frank’s letter, it is a story waiting to be read.

The Romance Within the Restoration

When we reupholster a tufted Victorian settee or restore a 19th-century chair, our work honors more than form—it honors feeling. These bespoke antique upholstery projects are where emotional resonance meets luxury furniture restoration. We are honoring it. We ask: Who sat here? What gestures wore themselves into the grain—soft, deliberate, repeated—until the wood remembered?

These questions aren’t incidental—they are integral to how we curate. We restore not to impress—but to remember. Not for novelty, but for narrative. For the interior designer who curates with story rather than trend, and for the collector who values provenance over polish, our pieces offer more than presence. They offer emotional gravity—architecture for memory.

The Unnamed Archive

Not every heirloom arrives with a letter tucked beneath its cushion. Some arrive shrouded in silence—anonymous, but no less meaningful. And still, they speak.

A Settee That Speaks

Take The Midnight Léopard. A Victorian settee of sweeping elegance, its history unrecorded, its provenance uncertain. A showpiece in our Los Angeles antique furniture studio, restored with reverence and designed for interiors that value story over trend. We may not know whose laughter it once cradled, whose perfume lingers faintly in the carved wood, or what room it once anchored. And yet, when placed in a space with intention, it speaks. Not in biography, but in presence.

Restored with reverence and upholstered in a couture-grade wool bouclé from the Temperley London x Romo collaboration, The Midnight Léopard merges historical romance with a bold, modern edge. Midnight blue and muted green shimmer in the light, forming a subtle leopard motif that suggests something untamed—something remembered, if only in feeling.

In this way, it is not unlike Frank’s bench: an object that bears witness. A piece that holds emotion, even when names have faded.

At Acanthus Home, we believe that the absence of a documented story does not diminish a piece’s emotional weight—it deepens its mystery. And for the discerning collector or interior designer, this becomes an invitation: to not only curate with beauty, but with imagination.

The Midnight Leopard

Where the Anthropological Meets the Emotional

Frank’s letter is yellowed with time, creased at the folds. But its tenderness remains vivid. He writes not simply of longing, but of presence—imagining her beside him, her head on his shoulder, her smile sleepy and warm.

This is the kind of memory that settles into woodgrain and whispers through worn velvet. That lives in cane weaves, in the hush of a drawer pulled open after years. It’s the memory we seek to preserve—in form, in feeling, in furniture. The kind of resonance you can feel in a space when heirlooms are placed not just as objects, but as anchors of history and emotion.

And for interior designers, this becomes a powerful design principle: to layer space with objects that remember.

A Line That Lingers

“When I came to the bench—it was empty.”

It is a moment of absence and presence, all at once. A pause that holds everything. In that stillness, Frank finds her again. And in that same stillness, our work lives—giving voice to what might otherwise be forgotten.

For interior designers, stories like Frank’s are not just nostalgic—they’re design directives. They remind us: a bench can anchor longing, a desk can echo handwritten vows, a settee can cradle generations. These are not accessories—they are vessels of continuity, anchoring memory in form. They can carry a legacy forward. When thoughtfully placed, heirloom pieces imbue a space with layers of history, tenderness, and time—qualities no new object can replicate.

At Acanthus Home, we don’t just restore furniture. We reawaken feeling. Every piece in our curated antique furniture collection is chosen for its ability to evoke memory, emotion, and meaning—whether you’re an interior designer seeking heirloom pieces for luxury interiors, or a collector who values decor with history.

Live With Meaning. Design With Memory.

Frank’s letter closes with quiet certainty:

“So long sweetheart. Be good to yourself. No blues. And waiting is going to end pretty soon.”

Over a century has passed since those words were folded into an envelope. And yet they remain—soft as worn linen, steady as a heartbeat. That is the nature of true heirlooms: not to merely survive, but to endure. Emotionally. Elegantly. Unforgettably.

First page of the letter.

✉️ Read the Full 1919 Love Letter →
Then explore the curated collection inspired by lives well loved, and furniture well worn.