It takes and takes, this war. But it has to give in some ways—it’s the law of nature, isn’t it? To keep balance in the world? Your husband lost something on the shores of Normandy, but you, you have been given an opportunity to see what you’re made of.
I think you’ll be pleased to find it’s not just sugar and spice.
Thinking about you,
Rita
P.S. Thank you for your lovely words about Roylene. She’s settling in nicely with Little Sal, and is seeking a job in earnest. We hadn’t heard from Roy, but a few days ago he left a moldy apple crate on my front porch, filled with Roylene’s personal effects: a few worn summer dresses, a hairbrush and a pair of wool socks with some lace trim she won’t take off even though it’s hot as Hades around here.
I doubt Roy’s done with her. He doesn’t seem the type to give up without having the last word. I just hope he sticks to words, you know? Words we can handle.
July 23, 1944
IOWA CITY, IOWA
Dear Mrs. Whitehall,
I heard you had quite a shock and I’d like to say I’m very sorry your husband was wounded in France. Can you tell him I’m proud of him? Even though he doesn’t know me from the fence post?
Mrs. Vincenzo said you’re feeling low, so I hope this next part doesn’t seem crass given your circumstances. I’m getting married on August 9 in Kansas City (the one in Kansas). Mrs. Kleinschmidt set it up. I think she’s scandalized by my unmarried state, to tell you the truth.
Anyway, I’m writing to cordially invite you. I know you can’t come, but if I could have the world the way I want it, you’d be standing next to Mrs. Vincenzo in a fancy dress, watching me become a Mrs.
If you have any advice about living as a married woman, I’d be glad to hear it.
Regards,
Roylene Dawson
July 30, 1944
OLD LYME, CONNECTICUT
Dear Rita,
The very day your letter arrived at Astor House (slapping me out of my self-induced lethargy and fruitless ghost hunting), something so ridiculous happened that I hesitate to write about it. But I have to tell you, because I need your level head now more than ever. I feel so awful that I rely on you so, and don’t seem to be able to give you anything in return. From chickens to love, I ask and I ask. And you always answer. Not like my silent mother at all. More like the mother I wish I’d had. It’s terrible to wish you had another. One should always be happy that they have whatever it is the Lord sees fit to provide them with. I’m just a greedy little Able Grable.
Well...guess who comes driving up to the front gates of Astor House in his blue Ford pickup? Levi. Levi looking like a movie-star tough guy ready to take on the world. His eyes were shining. He was so happy to see me.
My heart leaped and sank at the same time. I think it shaved ten years off my existence, I truly do.
And the strangest part was that I was sitting on the grand front porch steps, drinking my coffee and wearing one of my mother’s long chemise nightgowns. The children were playing on the front lawn. Even before we saw Levi open the gates and then drive up the circular drive, I was thinking about how we were sitting out in the front of the house like visitors. Strange interlopers in a strange land. The children ran to him. He scooped them both up in one movement and held them close. That’s when I realized what I’ve done. Will they run to their father like that? Have I replaced him completely with my playacting? I felt sick. And undressed. The chemise I was wearing was a pink-and-silver layered thing, chiffon and high-necked. But she was taller so I took some of her jeweled broaches and pinned up the hem, weighing down the fabric and draping it in a crazy fashion (also tearing it a bit). I knew I looked crazy. But not as crazy as I felt. Corrine Astor rose inside of me like a wild beast.
“Put them down, Levi,” I said, rising to my feet.
He put them down and they returned to me like ducklings.
“I got the telegram from the war department, Glory,” he said, clearing his throat. “And a letter from Robert, too.”
I ran down the steps then. “Give them to me!” I shouted.
He gave me the telegram.
Oh, Rita, he’s been paralyzed. My darling Robert no longer has the use of his strong, tall legs. But he’s alive. And his mind is intact. I was relieved and broken in the same moment.
When I finished reading I looked up at Levi. “Now the letter.”
“That was for me, Glory. Not for you.”
What’s that term men use when they’ve been tricked? Is it a sucker punch? Well, that’s what it felt like. A punch in my gut.
“What did he say?” I asked, holding my breath, not wanting to know the answer.
“He wrote and told me that maybe you’d made the wrong choice all those years ago at the Sadie Hawkins dance. He asked if I thought you could fall in love with me. He said you deserved a real husband.”
“And how do you feel about those words my wounded husband wrote to you, Levi?” I asked, a rage I didn’t understand beginning to clog my throat.
He cocked his head, aware that he was entering dangerous territory by the tone of my voice. Then he looked off toward the horizon and scratched his head.
“I don’t know how it makes me feel, Glory. He’s my best friend, too. All I know is he’s hurting. We have to make some decisions here...whether you like it or not,” he said.
“And what decisions are those?” I asked. I wanted to hit him, Rita. Really. Why did I want to hit him?
“We need to decide what we will tell him and when. We need to decide how we’ll welcome him home. And we need to decide if he’s...”
“What? If he’s WHAT?”
“If he’s right,” said Levi. “Right about you making a different choice. This is horrible news, Glory. But maybe there’s a light in it. Maybe we can all have what we want in the end.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said. And then, as I turned my back on him, “Get out of my sight, Levi.”
“But, Glory...”
I returned slowly to the stone steps of Astor House with Robert’s children hanging on my legs and ripping further the pink chiffon of my mother’s moldy shift. And then I dashed the shine out of Levi’s eyes by shrieking at him and making him leave. I made him go. I said horrible things.
You are right, Rita, we do need to go home. To Rockport. That’s where I will face Robert and try to repair all the damage. The question becomes, will they both forgive me? Will Robert forgive my transgressions? And how on earth will Levi ever forgive me? I won’t list all the terrible things I said but I’ll give you an example: “Lazy good for nothing leech” might have been one of them. God help me.
Love,
Glory
July 30, 1944
OLD LYME, CONNECTICUT
Dear Roylene,
Congratulations! I’m so, so happy for you. Honestly.
I can’t think of anything more I’d rather do than attend, but I have to wait for news as to when Robert might be coming home. And I received the news of what has happened to him, so I will have to prepare the house. He’s been paralyzed, Roylene. He no longer has the use of his legs. But no matter what, his heart and his mind are alive and intact. So I’m lucky. We all are. I almost felt guilty writing to Rita. How can I have a husband alive when hers is dead? It does not seem fair.
Especially when I’ve been such a wretched wife.
Which is why I’m the LAST person on God’s green earth to give you any sort of advice.
All I can say is...love him. And stay true. Remember, the past is the past. You can’t live in it. You have to think forward.
I wish I’d known that.
I’m enclosing a little gift for you. I found it in my mother, Corrine Astor’s, things. It’s a bracelet. I know it’s old-fashioned, but I thought it was beautiful. The blue sapphires in the centers of the silver flower
s are the blue you need for your “something blue,” and the antiquity of the thing covers “something old.” But it’s not borrowed. It’s yours.
I hope you like it.
All my best,
Glory
P.S. Kiss that baby for me.
August 1, 1944
Dearest Robert,
I am here waiting for you. No matter what. Yes, we will struggle...but you are needed. I need you. The children need you. Don’t give up, my darling. If you can’t walk, I will walk. Your legs might not be moving, but your heart beats. And the last time I checked, that heart belonged to me.
Get well and come home. We will get through it all. All of it. Like we always have.
What you wrote to Levi is nonsense. You are still a man. You are Gloria Astor Whitehall’s man.
I love you,
Ladygirl
P.S. I made the right choice at the Sadie Hawkins dance. Don’t ever guess at that again.
August 7, 1944
IOWA CITY, IOWA
Dear Glory,
This war is intensifying, and our world sits atop the roller coaster again, hoping this time to free-fall into peace. It’s going to be a hard landing, though. Cherbourg, Saipan, Florence—I can feel the push and pull all the way in Iowa. Does it infiltrate everything? Are all of our lives becoming about surrender and liberation? Is that how it works?
It appears so, at least for us.
Robert has surrendered. So Levi is then liberated. But where does that leave them? Where does it leave you?
Levi will not be angry for long. He loves you too much. Do you still have tender feelings for him? He will deserve gentle treatment, because in many ways you are asking him to surrender. Would you be able to give up your chance at love without a fight? This situation is a lot for a man—even a man like Levi—to take.
Also, please be understanding of Robert’s frame of mind. It’s only been two months since he was wounded. That is not sufficient time to adjust to this new life. He sits in a hospital bed, in a room with other men whose lives are irrevocably changed. Every one of them can’t help but think of the world as a very different place, so it’s natural he’d devise new rules for dealing with it. You must acknowledge his offer to Levi as being rooted in desperation, and admire the selflessness of the idea.
But... I think I know what’s in your heart. Worry. Guilt. Sorrow.
Put them to the side for now. Let things settle. Let Robert come home and the children reacquaint themselves with their father. Let Levi and Robert come to terms with their feelings while looking each other in the eye. As this is going on, go into that sunflower room and shut the door. Think. Think hard. How can you make this new life work? Is it necessary to wound Robert yet again to clear your conscience? Or, do you dishonor him by withholding the truth? These questions must be answered from the place in your heart that no one has access to, because then you’ll know the answers come directly from who you really are. If they may make you uncomfortable, or hate yourself a little, you’ll know you’re finally getting at the truth.
Love,
Rita
P.S. Robert’s legs will be compromised, then, like our dear president? If accommodations must be made, such as building a wooden ramp to the outdoors, I think it’s a good idea if you help construct it. (Unless Levi is doing the building. If that is the case, then proceed with caution.) I’m being bossy, as usual, but I think the exercise will help you to understand the magnitude of what you are undertaking, and the enormity of Robert’s sacrifice. You once told me about the differences between active and passive individuals. I’d like to add another to the list—active people understand that the mind heals faster when the hands are occupied. Build. Garden. Write.
P.P.S. After I post this I’m going to pack for tomorrow’s trip to Kansas City. Roylene is nearly beside herself with excitement, her slim body vibrating like a tuning fork. The fine bracelet you sent arrived just the other day, much to our collective shock. It’s a stunner, hon. Roylene can’t stop admiring it. Thank you ever so much for your generosity. I’ll write soon with details of the big day.
August 7, 1944
IOWA CITY, IOWA
Dear Mrs. Whitehall,
Thank you for the bracelet. It’s nicer than anything I’ve ever owned. I’m not writing that so you feel sorry for me. I just want you to know it’s extraspecial when a gift is something you’ve never had before and never expected to have. I hope I’m making sense.
I understand your mama passed a while ago. Mine didn’t, but she might as well have, so I have an idea of what it feels like. She took all her things with her when she left, so I wouldn’t have anything of hers to give someone if I wanted to. I would, though. It’d be like passing her spirit on.
I’ll be careful with it. Mrs. Vincenzo got all bent out of shape when I washed dishes yesterday with the bracelet fastened to my wrist. I tried to explain—it feels like part of my skin. Did so from the first time I put it on. I don’t know why.
Well, thank you much. Next time I write I’ll be signing off...
Mrs. Toby Vincenzo (Thought I’d try it out.)
August 9, 1944
KANSAS CITY (THE ONE IN KANSAS)
Dear Glory,
What a day.
We arrived in KC last night, after a long bus ride. We’re staying at a quaint hotel near the impressive county courthouse. I’m sharing a lovely pale yellow room with Roylene and Little Sal, and Mrs. Kleinschmidt, who Roylene asked to be an official witness, is adjoining. The desk clerk gave us the twin rooms as a courtesy. Mrs. K. is speaking to me again, but I don’t think she’s very pleased to have her privacy compromised. She’s dead bolted her side of the door.
Roy is across the hall. Yessiree. He surprised us all by showing up at the bus stop carrying a satchel and wearing a cheap, shiny suit the shade of day-old coffee. I was about to unleash my sharp tongue when I saw Roylene’s face flush pink with pleasure. “Pops? Are you really coming?” she asked, her voice suddenly sounding very young.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, dolly,” he answered brightly. But his sharp eyes never left that bracelet dangling like catnip from her slender wrist.
He whistled. “Now that’s a nice bit of rock.”
Roylene’s face took another turn on the color wheel, toward crimson. “It was a gift.”
“Then you’re moving on up in the world, ain’t you?” Roy threw his arm around her, not caring that Little Sal was in her arms, making her stance awkward. I took the baby from her, and Roy shifted his attention to me. “This better be legal.”
Oh, that man’s gall! “It’s—”
“Toby sent the paper back,” Roylene interrupted. “It’s legal, Pop. Don’t make this bad. Please...not this.”
His hand twitched. If we weren’t standing in a public place, it would have found its mark. “Well, then, we better hop to it,” he said. His mouth moved into a false smile easily, like it was a well-greased piece of machinery.
The bus ride was uneventful. Roy behaved himself for the most part, but then, we didn’t pay him all that much attention.
We got up really early to set Roylene’s hair in a back wave. Poor Little Sal fussed—he wanted in on the festivities. His mischievous hands pulled Roylene’s hem so many times Mrs. K. had to stitch it up. I could have easily done it, but the woman swatted me away anytime I got near her creation. I’m not complaining—it was a vision. A two-piece, draped dress in raw silk of the deepest rose, with a chocolate-brown ribbon accentuating Roylene’s tiny waist.
The dress is something new. Your bracelet took care of the old and blue, but we were stumped for something borrowed. Roylene had everything she needed, and loaning her a handkerchief or a penny for luck seemed rather uninspired. She looked a bit worried (all brides are superstitious, are they not?) but I told her it would make no difference once we got to the courthouse.
Mrs. K. and I got dressed (plain day suits to keep the attention where it belongs!) and we wrapped the baby in his christening gown at Roylene’s insistence. A sharp rap on Roy’s door and we were off.
The lawyer who met us in the judge’s chambers was older than I expected but dashing, his dark hair graying at the sides, bringing one’s attention directly to his soft, cornflower-blue eyes. He introduced himself as Bill and greeted us warmly, then addressed Roylene. “I’m just a stand-in for your groom, but your man loves you and wants this day to be special even though he can’t be here in the flesh. A proxy wedding means the same as the real thing in the eyes of the law. When we walk out of the courthouse doors, you’ll be married to him body and soul. Are you prepared for that level of commitment?”
Roylene swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
The man nodded and called over to an adorably petite, red-haired woman standing in the corner with a bouquet of magenta dahlias. “Mary Ann?”
The woman handed the flowers to Roylene, who added them to the sunflowers I brought from home. “You’re the twenty-fifth girl my husband’s married.” Mary Ann giggled. “Best of luck to you.”
The ceremony began. When the judge mentioned the ring, Roylene went white and my stomach flipped. We’d forgotten.
“We need something to keep going.” The judge sighed. He was balding and his eyes looked tired.
“Oh, dear,” Mary Ann said, fanning herself. “This has never happened before.”
A heavy silence fell over the room. I could see the sweat gathering on Roylene’s upper lip.
“Borrow the goddamn handcuffs from the bailiff if you have to,” Roy muttered.
Something borrowed. I twisted the gold band off my finger and passed it to the lawyer. The judge started up again, and when they got to the “I do” part, Roylene caught my gaze. We held each other that way for a long moment. Because, when it comes down to it, she is also marrying me, and I her.
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