I'll Be Seeing You (23 page)

September 6, 1944

ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS

Dear Rita,

How lovely and amazing and QUIET it’s been. I’m spending a good deal of time gardening.
Well, you can hardly call it that, I suppose. It’s more like reaping! Oh, holy dear
LORD, the sheer volume of tomatoes!

I’ve become a veritable domestic goddess. Sewing and cooking. Mothering. Preparing
for Robert’s arrival. (Which could be any day. The army is so disorganized for such
an organized army...well, you know what I mean!)

So I’ve been making a lot of things with tomatoes.

Tomatoes and cream and sugar for breakfast.

Tomato omelets for lunch and dinner.

Tomato soufflé.

Tomato SOUP. (So much soup.)

Tomato sauce, as well.

But here is why I am writing to you. This recipe. Oh, Rita. Make it and feed it to
our Roylene!

Tomato Soup Cake

(I know! But it’s good. Trust me. SO GOOD!)

1/2 cup shortening

1 cup sugar (substitute 3/4 cup honey per rations)

1 cup tomato soup (best used if sitting in icebox for a few days)

1 teaspoon baking soda

2 cups flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1/2 teaspoon cloves

1 teaspoon nutmeg

1 cup raisins

1 cup chopped nuts (of course, if you can get them!)

Blend shortening with sugar. Stir baking soda into tomato soup. Make sure it dissolves.
Add to shortening and sugar. Sift dry ingredients and add to the mix. Stir in raisins
and nuts. Pour into a greased and floured 13x9-inch cake pan and bake at 350 degrees
for almost an hour. Glaze or frost or simply butter. Good toasted, too.

As for your new pal Roylene. I’m so happy for both of you! And more than a little
bit jealous. I’d give anything to sit in your kitchen.

And I know your voice. It’s deep and rich and full of laughter behind all that. So
don’t you worry. Me? I sound like a bird who got caught in a fan! And if you have
any bad habits I’ll just love you more. You’ve been doing the same for me.

Love,

Glory

P.S. Guess who gave me that recipe? Remember the woman who lost her boy and yelled
at me in the coffee shop? Yes. She gave it to me! She just walked up to me while I
was at the drugstore picking up Robbie’s medicine.

“I’ve heard your Robert’s coming home to us,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said (ready to duck, I tell you...).

“This is for you, it’s a comfort.”

And she walked away. You could have knocked me over with a willow wisp.

I’m just a bubble of hope these days, I swear. Any word from Toby?

September 17, 1944

IOWA CITY, IOWA

Dear Glory,

It’s an angry moon this night and last. I like to think Toby sent it my way as a warning.

My mother always claimed a moon like this one—washed with crimson and violet—brings
to the surface all the things we wish to hide.

Maybe that’s why Roy showed up on my front porch this afternoon.

We’d gone to late mass, Roylene and me and the baby, and came home to a lazy, warm
afternoon. I’d invited Charlie and Irene over for lunch and a Monopoly tournament
(we’ve been building up to it the past couple of Sundays) and the four of us sat around
my dining room table, spooning chili con carne into our mouths and vying for Boardwalk
and Park Place.

The insistent pounding on the door shrunk my heart to a stone. My body followed suit.
I was immovable, barely breathing. Charlie got up, and I heard him turn the knob and
something in his greeting told me it wasn’t the worst. Turned out to be pretty close,
though.

Charlie’s body filled the door frame, forcing much shorter Roy to duck under his armpit.
He shouted for both Roylene and me, calling out names that aren’t fit to write much
less say.

The second I could clear my head I stepped forward, but Roylene put an arm out to
stop me. “This is my fight,” she said, and tapped Charlie on the shoulder. “It’s okay.
I’ll talk to him.”

Charlie let her pass but didn’t budge from the door frame. She met Roy on the porch.
Irene crept up to the front window alongside me. We wanted Roy to know he had eyes
on him.

He glared at his daughter, sneering and vicious. I watched him open and close his
fists, but they stayed at his side. Instead, he beat her with words. Slapped her with
every insult a man uses to bring a woman down until she can’t rise again.

In one fluid motion, Charlie stepped forward and landed a right uppercut on the south
side of Roy’s jaw. Roylene screamed and I pushed myself onto the porch, taking the
girl in my arms.

“You get on now,” Roy yelled at her, blood dripping from his mouth into his cupped
hand. “I mean it—get! Bull on all this nonsense. Pick up that kid of yours and move
on home. You don’t run out on your responsibilities. Not while I’m livin’.”

“Roylene is welcome to stay in my home as long as she likes,” I said, managing to
keep my voice steady.

“Liar,” Roy snarled. “If you hadn’t kicked her out she wouldn’t have made an ass of
herself trying to join the WAVES. A married woman with a baby.” He said the word
married
like it was a dirty joke.

Roylene’s spine straightened. “You got it all wrong. I didn’t
try,
Pop. They took me. I’m goin’.”

“Why would they? All you’re good for is giving the Japs a laugh.”

My feet felt a little unsteady beneath me and I took a step back. I placed a hand
on the small jutting bone atop Roylene’s shoulder. “You’re joining the WAVES?”

Roy snickered, a horribly wet, phlegmy sound. “Ah! You didn’t know, did ya?” He turned
to Roylene. “What kind of game are you playin’? You’re gonna stick her with the kid,
ain’t ya?”

I couldn’t speak. Even if I could, I didn’t know what to say. The more it dawned on
Roy that I hadn’t a clue, the bolder he got, spitting on the ground at Charlie’s feet
and then grabbing at Roylene.

She shook him off and took my hand. Her face was full of so much—shame at keeping
the secret, embarrassment with her father, pride in herself. “I was going to tell
you when the time was right,” she said softly. “I just told Roy last week, but it’s
not like he’s making it out to be.”

“She’s runnin’ just like her mama,” Roy hissed.

Her grip on my hand tightened. “It ain’t the same. Not one bit. I’m coming back, and
when I do I’ll be a better mama, and a better wife, and a better person.” She met
my gaze, her eyes clear and determined. “I hope more than anything you can understand.
You can, right?”

What could I do, Glory? Of course I was frantic at the thought of her leaving, but
she was standing in front of me, this half-starved, determined girl with her father’s
bloody handprint on her arm.
What could I do?

I held her. I told her she’d be a valuable addition to the United States Navy and
I was proud as could be. I said I’d welcome the opportunity to mother my grandson
for a while. I said I’d miss her.

And, oh, I will. I most certainly will.

Roy finally left after Charlie backed him into the sunflower patch for a man-to-man
talk. I don’t know what he told him. I don’t think I want to know.

When Roylene sat with me tonight for the late-news hour, she laid her head on my lap.
I didn’t say a word, just stroked her baby-soft hair. She fell dead asleep on the
couch, and I came out to where I’m sitting now, on the back patio, to watch the moon
and write to you.

The air still holds the day’s heat and my dress is sticking to—

Later...

Charlie stepped into the backyard a few minutes ago, surprising the bejesus out of
me. He’d been sitting at the dining room table looking over Roylene’s enlistment papers,
but I think that’s an excuse not to leave me alone. I caught him glancing at Irene
when I said I’d be fine, thank you very much, so I suspect they think I’m going to
take a dive into the deep end again.

Sorry if the words above are smeared, but I stuck my hand over the letter the second
I saw him. For some reason I didn’t want Charlie to spot his name. Like I was talking
about him behind his back. Silly, right?

He must have sensed my nerves because he didn’t sit down. “She’s really leaving, huh?”
He winced as he finished the question, like he felt sorry he asked it.

I tried to keep my voice lighthearted. “No changing your mind when it comes to Uncle
Sam!”

Charlie looked me in the eye, but he didn’t smile. “I’ll drive you gals to Cedar Falls
when the time comes,” he said, and squeezed my shoulder. “And you’re going to need
some help once she’s gone. I may not look it, but I can cook a meal and mind a baby.”

I didn’t turn him down. I probably will need the help. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave you to your writing,” he said before heading out. “That’s going
to help, too.”

He’s right about that.

But I am glad Charlie’s coming with us to the WAVES camp. It’ll be nice to have someone
else along in case my heart gives out halfway through the trip.

Love,

Rita

P.S. Since I haven’t heard otherwise, I’ll assume Robert is not home yet. It must
be driving you crazy, the waiting. Chin up, Glory. I’ll be thinking about you and
your family in the coming weeks.

September 24, 1944

ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS

Dearest Rita,

He’s home. My Robert is home. His homecoming was so strange. No matter how hard I
tried to make it not awkward, there was just no getting around the surreal quality
of the whole event. Waiting at the station with the children (I’d told Levi to stay
away). And then there Robert was being helped into his waiting wheelchair by two other
officers. He wheeled toward us with no hesitation and stopped about four feet away.
He held out his arms to the children and they ran to him. He scooped them up and nuzzled
both of them close. Then, he looked up at me and do you know what he said?

“I thought you might have brought Levi,” and in his eyes, I saw he was grateful I
didn’t. I wondered what he could read in mine. Could he tell what I’d done just by
looking at me?

I dropped my handbag. I went to pick it up but he rolled himself forward fast, maneuvering
the chair and giving the children a ride. We almost knocked heads trying to grab that
darn bag. But I grasped it first and stood up straight.

“You’re a quick one, aren’t you,” I said, and then wanted to gobble the words back
into my throat.

“Give us a kiss, Glory,” he said, and turned his head tapping his cheek. “It’s been
a while since a pretty lady kissed this soldier.”

And I should have turned his face with my gloved hand. I should have cupped his chin
and kissed him full on the lips, because that’s what I wanted to do. But I didn’t.
I kissed his cheek like a sister would have. A cold sister. And then we made our way
home. Marie helped by driving us, and the wheelchair was easy to maneuver. I thought
it would be clumsier. Turns out the only clumsy part of the whole equation was me.

When we got home Robert marveled at all the new accommodations for the chair. And
at how Levi lowered some of the cabinetry in the kitchen and bathrooms so he can reach
things without having to ask for help. Levi met us there and the two embraced like
brothers. I felt ill and sweaty.

“Why don’t you go to bed for a bit, Glory?” suggested Robert. “It’s been a hell of
a war.”

It’s been a hell of a war, he said. I’ll never forget it.

Of course, what kind of a woman would go to bed? I went directly to the kitchen. I
left the two of them with the children outside and didn’t pop my head out again until
I had a four-course meal for all of them. It’s all I could do. It’s the best I could
do.

That’s how it’s gone. It’s only been a few days. And we all walk around with our own
thick clouds hanging in the air. Father would have called them “elephants in the room.”

And then, when I got your last letter, I acted like a childish fool. Robert was newly
home and I was taking a moment to myself on a fine, blue sky September afternoon.
I strolled down to the mailboxes and on finding your letter ripped it open. I’ve missed
you and I wasn’t going to wait to sit in the house with a proper letter opener. Then,
when I started to read the tale it wove...I folded it up again and fairly ran back
to the house! I swept past Levi and Robert, who were talking on the front porch and
supervising the children as they painted. (There’s another picture from Robbie. It’s
of a Christmas tree. He’s a little impatient for the holiday season, that boy.)

Anyway, I must have been flushed because Robert reached out and caught my skirt pocket.
“What’s the rush, honey? What you got there?”

Levi answered him before I could. “It must be a letter from Rita. If those two ever
meet, we’d never get another second with Miss Glory.” Then they laughed a little.

I flushed, deeply. There are some things...some things that should not be known. How
much of myself have I given to these men? Anyway. I held my head high and said, “Yes,
Robert, Levi is correct. It’s a letter from my dear friend and it holds some very
important news. May I be excused?” My sarcasm must have bitten because both of them
looked down and then Robert cleared his throat and let go of my pocket.

It was odd, standing there. Wanting to say I was sorry and wanting to be gone all
at the same time. So I left and grabbed a glass of iced tea on my way up to your sunflower
room. I sat on the bed and read your tale. Oh, Rita. How awful and wonderful, too!

I’m so glad you are safe and that Charlie was there. What a terrible man he is, that
Roy. And how marvelous you were, truly, to give her that peace of mind...that moment
of pride when you looked at her and hid your own sorrow in order to help her self-confidence.
Once again you prove yourself to be of the finest stock of human there is. I swear
it.

And the way you wrote it all down. It was like I was there with you. Right there under
that warning moon. Please tell Roylene I’m proud of her, too. What a wonderful, selfless
thing to do.

My heart, though, aches for you. Yet another loss. And you love her—you opened your
home to her and now she’s like another child to you. I suppose life is all about one
loss after another. Anna used to say that the Buddhists meditate about reactions.
That we cannot control WHAT happens to us, only how we react to it. Well, my darling
Rita, you have been a supreme being in that department. I on the other hand have failed
miserably.

I suppose Robert’s homecoming is going to take a lot of time and healing. A lot of
careful steps.

When I was little and my father took me out on the large rocks that jut out into the
sea, he’d say, “Gloria, take off your shoes and socks. You must feel each foothold
and make sure it is sound before you place the next in front of you. There are some
paths you cannot trust with your eyes, test them always to make sure.”

And then he’d add, “Don’t be afraid of walking on the barnacles. They hurt, it’s true,
but at least you know you have stable footing. Barnacles aren’t slippery.”

So here I am...walking one foot in front of the other...on my own private patch of
barnacles.

I miss you.

You still haven’t answered my plea for planning a meeting, Rita. I’d love to plan
one. Even if it never came to be, at least we could look forward to it.

Love,

Glory