I'll Be Seeing You (16 page)

April 5, 1944

IOWA CITY, IOWA

Dear Mrs. Whitehall,

I’m writing to thank you. I have never seen something so beautiful as the baby clothes you sent. I’ll wrap Little Sal in the blanket on his christening day, which should be soon. I wanted to wait until Toby got back, but Mrs. Vincenzo said a new soul can’t go too long without the Lord’s blessing.

Everything is going all right, I suppose. I’m back at work in the kitchen with Little Sal to keep me company. Funny, I thought everything would change after he came along, but not much has. My daddy doesn’t pay me one lick of attention unless I have to take a break to feed the baby, then he hollers until I come back. It’s a miracle my milk hasn’t dried up. For the most part, the days go by the same way. I make the same old food. The same customers come and go. Some tickle Little Sal’s chin, but most act like he’s not even there.

Toby says I am an important person because I’m keeping the world even—he’s destroying God’s green earth in this war, and I’m adding new life to it. I felt good thinking about that until I got your letter telling me about Toby’s poem. It got me thinking that I haven’t done enough. I worry this new life is too far away from Toby to do him any good. Hiding away in the tavern isn’t helping him any, either.

Mrs. Vincenzo told me about your preaching. She says you’re finding your way through helping others. She said you have more love in your heart than you have people to give it to. I think that’s a good way to be.

Regards,

Roylene Dawson

April 11, 1944

Telegram to Marguerite Vincenzo from the Department of War, U.S. Government

THE ARMY DEPARTMENT DEEPLY REGRETS TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR HUSBAND SALVATORE ANTHONY VINCENZO COMBAT MEDIC FIRST CLASS WAS KILLED IN ACTION IN THE PERFORMANCE OF HIS DUTY AND IN THE SERVICE OF HIS COUNTRY. THE DEPARTMENT EXTENDS TO YOU ITS SINCEREST SYMPATHY FOR YOUR LOSS. ON ACCOUNT OF EXISTING CONDITIONS THE BODY IF RECOVERED CANNOT BE RETURNED AT THE PRESENT. IF FURTHER DETAILS ARE RECEIVED YOU WILL BE INFORMED. TO PREVENT POSSIBLE AID TO OUR ENEMIES PLEASE DO NOT DIVULGE THE LOCATION OF HIS BATTALION.

JOHN MCGOVERN, ACTING ADJUTANT GENERAL OF THE ARMY

April 12, 1944

IOWA CITY, IOWA (VIA EXPRESS MAIL)

Dear Mrs. Gloria Whitehall,

My name is Irene Wachowski and I am a friend of Marguerite Vincenzo, as I believe you know. I’m sorry to bring such bad news in this impersonal manner. The enclosed telegram was copied in the office of Dr. Aloysius Martin. He owns a photostat machine.

On Tuesday afternoon, Marguerite did not show up for lunch. When I went to Dr. Martin’s office to investigate, he said she did not come to work, which is unlike her. Concerned, my friend Charlie and I walked to her home.

She was in a very bad state, as you can imagine. Apparently, the death notice came as she was having her morning tea. I found shards of the cup all over the front yard, a tea stain on the sidewalk and Margie locked inside the house with the curtains drawn. Charlie coaxed her into opening the door a crack, but she would not come out and would not let anyone in.

I offered to send a telegram to the Vincenzo family in Chicago, and to you, as I know you’ve grown close. She went hysterical at the idea of you getting a telegram, and made me promise not to send it.

After a while Charlie and I were able to get into the house. He sat with Margie while I slipped away, running back to the university with the telegram in hand. I went directly to Dr. Martin’s office and informed him of the tragedy. He immediately granted her a leave of absence. While in his office, I asked to use the photostat to make a copy of the telegram for Sal’s family in Chicago. I made an extra for you. I found one of your letters on Margie’s dressing table and copied down the address.

I asked to stay with her last night and she refused, quite violently, and pushed us from the house. She doesn’t want to speak with or see anyone. She said she was going to stay put and let the sunflowers grow over the house, blocking the doors and windows and light.

I fear for her mind, Mrs. Whitehall, and I’m not quite sure what to do. Mrs. Kleinschmidt is sitting watch on Margie’s front porch today. I’ll head over there after work with Roylene and the baby. Charlie will take the night shift. If she won’t let us in the house, though, we can’t help her much.

Marguerite had such love for him, and I can’t imagine the pain she is experiencing. Please write to her. One thing I can do is slip a letter under her door. At this point, I’ll try anything.

Sincerely,

Irene Wachowski

April 16, 1944

ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS (VIA EXPRESS MAIL)

Dear Irene,

I hope you don’t mind the informality of using your first name, but I feel as if I know you. All of the people in Rita’s life feel that way to me. Like close, close friends. So thank you. Thank you for letting me know about Sal. I did my grieving before I wrote these letters. Enclosed you will find one for Roylene. Will you give it to her? I’d appreciate it. And then a whole stack for Rita, too. I think your idea of slipping a letter under her door is a good one. I’ve expanded that idea (outlined below). Also, I’ve sent this package of letters via Express Mail. I hope they get to you swiftly.

Now, I’ve become quite the organizer of late, and I feel my skills kicking into high gear. I’ve concocted a plan of sorts.

* The first letter to Rita has a tiny “1” on the back of the envelope. Slip that under her door the first day. There are four more. Slip one under the door at the same time (I think morning is best) each day consecutively, okay? I hope this isn’t too much to ask.

* I need to write a letter to Toby. Can you provide me with his V-mail address? There is a part of the plan I need his help with.

* Can you and Charlie begin to work Rita’s garden? Work loud and joyfully so that she can see and hear you.

I think...pray...hope that my little plan works. She needs to survive this. She needs to survive it for Toby and for you and, well, for me.

I love her, Irene. I love her like she’s my own dear mother, or older sister. I don’t know when or how it happened but I don’t think I could go on if she wasn’t going on as well. My own friend Anna (an older woman who’s taken me under her wing) told me that Rita might be a “Soul Sister,” someone I’ve known through many lives. I believe it. Truly.

My first reaction is to come there. To get on a train, or in my car and just GO. Run to her. (I tend to run when I’m upset...) But I can’t. I don’t know how much Rita’s told you about my boy Robbie. But whatever she’s told you it isn’t the whole story. I’ve been shielding her a bit from the whole truth. She’s grown fond of him through my letters, and there’s no need to spread sorrow around during these tearstained years, right? Well, he had a cold in late February which aggravated his heart condition. He spent most of March in the hospital under an oxygen tent. He’s recovering very slowly. But he is a pale boy who spends his time wrapped in blankets and staring out windows. He stares at the yard he used to run through with wild abandon. He presses his tiny hands against the glass.

I cannot leave him. And I cannot bring him. So I cannot come.

This said, I do believe we might have some luck with this plan of mine. (Started by a grand idea from you!)

I’ve enclosed money so that you can send any correspondence back via Express Mail, as well. Please don’t be offended by it. If you don’t need it you can just send it back...but I felt like this particular situation called for skipping a bit of etiquette.

Yours in peace,

And with heartfelt thanks,

Glory

April 16, 1944

ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS

Dear Roylene,

Please write Toby another letter. He’s going to need you. His childhood is gone with his father dead. He needs a good reminder of who he is. I know you spent time with him before he left for training. Maybe you can help him recall a funny moment the two of you shared? A story he told you while keeping you company in that kitchen? Maybe something about the baby?

As for a response to the last, wonderful letter you wrote to me: Roylene, you have no idea how much I needed you to share with me that little bit of Rita’s thoughts. It’s like I’ve seen her through glass and you threw open the window and let me reach through and touch her. And if there were ever a time I needed a clear view, it’s now.

I’m so glad you liked the layette and I am honored he will be christened in it. Thank you. I am here for whatever you need in the future. I am far away, and you don’t know me, but in some ways I feel Rita’s family is my own. Please don’t ever hesitate to contact me with questions or requests. And please call me Glory.

Love,

Glory

April 18, 1944

V-mail from Gloria Whitehall to Sgt. Robert Whitehall

Dearest Robert,

My heart is so heavy today. I received news that my friend Rita has lost her husband to the war. For some reason, this news brought the reality of what is at stake for all of us right into my kitchen. Please come home safe, Robert. You have two young children that need to know you, need to grow up with you by their sides. They need to learn to ride their bikes and dive off tall cliffs with their father. Not me. Not Levi. You.

How on earth will Rita recover? Why does her new grandson have to grow up in a world where that wonderful man is a memory, instead of a real, live grandfather?

I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. Don’t go out of your way to find danger. Stay safe. You became a hero the moment you enlisted. You have nothing more to prove.

And know that I am here and waiting for you. If I didn’t understand what waiting meant, I do now. It’s an active thing. Full of worry and solid, heavyhearted memories. I remember you, Robert. I remember your hair and your eyes and your beautiful smile. I won’t forget again.

All of my love and prayers for peace,

Ladygirl

Letter 1 Dear Rita,

I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know about Sal. Irene sent me a letter notifying me. There are no words I can give you to comfort you over these many miles. I know that the place you need to be is deep inside your heart where Sal still lives.

You can dance with him there. And that’s what you are doing, right? My darling Garden Witch, you are dancing in your heart with your husband and he is home with you in that house. I know a thing or two about ghosts.

Here is my only request, dear friend.

You close those curtains. You dance with Sal. Make your peace and let him know how much you love him. Don’t let anyone tempt you out into the world until you are ready to be there. Okay?

When my father died I saw him in the garden the next day. In our house in Connecticut. He liked it best there. It’s the biggest and the finest.

I saw him clear as day smoking a cigar and reading the newspaper.

I told my mother and her eyes got wide. She didn’t reprimand me or even tell me she didn’t believe me. You know what she did? She ran straight through the servants’ kitchen into the back gardens calling his name. She called him by our last name. “Mr. Astor! Mr. Astor!” she shouted.

She needed to spend more time with him. Their love was untouchable. It never let me in. But it was glorious to watch.

You stay with Sal.

I’ll write soon. And I’m here. You know I’m here.

Love,

Glory

April 20, 1944

V-mail from Roylene Dawson to Seaman Tobias Vincenzo

Dear Toby,

I’m very sorry about your father.

I saw his picture in the paper with the notice. I knew his face. When I was about twelve I started working at the tavern, doing the sweeping and cleaning. Your dad came in once in a while for a sandwich. He liked to do a trick where he would find a nickel behind my ear. Do you know it? He always let me keep the coin. I had eight or nine of them before he stopped coming. I don’t think he liked my pop.

Well, I took those nickels and bought a scrap of fine lace, cut it in two and sewed the pieces around the tops of my socks. I wanted to make a dickey but I figured my pop would notice, and anyway, the socks made my shoes look better.

I hope your ma can find some peace remembering the good things about your dad. I don’t know if I’m supposed to tell you this but she’s not doing so good. She doesn’t leave the house. We’re trying to help. Everyone is. I even held Little Sal up to the front window, but she won’t come out.

I’ll write again soon.

Your Roylene

Letter 2 Dear Rita,

When I got home from that terrible moment at the coffee shop your letter wasn’t waiting for me as you hoped it might have been. It came a few days later and you know what? I needed it more by then. I’d had a few days to grow more and more unhappy about all the decisions I’d made so far in this adult world. I felt, for the first time, that I’d taken on too much too soon. Who was I to think I could be this grown-up woman? It’s a burden I (naively) wasn’t expecting.

When I was little my parents threw glamorous parties. The summer parties here were my favorite. All the help would put tables outside and string up paper planters. I liked to run around and watch them. All the hustle and bustle of the big event. And I adore the idea of making the outside work like inside rooms. I wish I could live outside. I truly do.

Anyway, after Franny put me to bed I’d sneak back out and climb into the willow next to our yard. I watched and listened to those magnificent affairs.

And one night...one night my father looked right into the tree and caught my eye. He knew I was there. And you know what he did? He
winked!
Really. I never felt so close to him. He gave me his approval right then and there to buck the rules and the trends of society.

When I got home that day (The day the mourning mother slapped me across the face? Yes, that day), the first thing I did was climb that tree. You see...I’m trying to remember who I am.

And when I got your letter I thought long and hard about what you said about the lipstick. I looked at myself. Stared for a good two minutes at this strange woman I’ve become. And then I consulted Anna.

This is what she said: “Sometimes the parts of us that we don’t like are useful.”

So I started to think about my shameless behavior. My disrespect for both Levi and Robert. How much I hate to admit my own wrongdoing. Burying it under mountains of other things...I do that well, bury things. I am able to turn a blind eye to what bothers me the most. I get it from my mother. And truly, I dislike that ability.

But...it sure is useful.

And—if I am to “be a lady” it’s only logical that I look like one when I’m in public. She also told me this: “Many times the world isn’t ready for change. It has to be eased in or else it will be resisted. Change takes patience.” Just like with the plants. I introduced them to the sun and wind, little by little. And they’re doing fine.

So your life is changed now, Rita. And you need to ease into it. But just don’t get stuck. We all need you.

OH! And guess what happened? Silly Glory...I did make a mistake...I planted sunflower seeds in my makeshift greenhouse. (Did I tell you? Levi is building me one in the yard. Says my fine mother should have her fine dining room kept nice for posterity.) Anyway...those seedlings grew too fast and got all leggy! I didn’t know you just have to wait and put them in the real ground—the terra firma—so that they can root and grow up properly. Hide in the dark soil until they are good and ready for the sun. Oh, those wonderful sunflowers. So wise.

Love,

Glory