I'll Be Seeing You (9 page)

October 20, 1943

ROCKPORT, MASSACHUSETTS

Dear Rita,

I love it when I get two letters in one day. It’s like Christmas. Anna brought them. (Our road is private and all the mailboxes are gathered at the front road entrance. Because I have to stay so close to Robbie, Anna’s been taking that long, twisty walk for me. I miss it so. The freedom of it.) The postmaster had them tied together with a blue ribbon! He’s a strange little man, that Sam. Anna tells me he has a strong inclination toward a fondness for other men. I find this information hilarious
and
fitting. I hope you don’t take offense.

Truth be told, I think Anna and her friend Marie are more lovers than friends. I see lovers everywhere these days. My mind’s been mooning over all sorts of love lately, no matter the persuasion.

I miss Robert. I know he’s overseas now. Our goodbye was much worse this time than it was the first. Maybe because I know we’ll be an ocean apart. Maybe because I know what I’m capable of once my heart begins to feel lonesome. Levi carried Robbie down to the small whistle stop station where we all said goodbye, and then later that day we talked about “us.” It was nice to have it out in the open. He told me he’d always loved me. And he loved the children, but that he respected Robert and didn’t want to dishonor him. I knew I was in trouble already because I got a little mad. I still can’t tell if it’s because he’s deemed our “romance” no longer acceptable, or because he beat me to the punch. Either way, the gray smoke that rose out of my head can NOT be a good sign. Sometimes I wish we’d never met. I’d give up our entire childhood together if I could have a moment’s peace to still my heart. We have so much history behind us—Robert, Levi and myself. Too many tragic twists and turns. Levi and I have always been on the edge of something I could never understand. It worries me, Rita. How much can I take?

Thank you, thank you for sharing your love story with me. Hearing about another love story did my heart good. I sat under a tree with Robbie getting some fresh air while Corrine crawled around trying to eat the leaves that are collecting. (I can use them in my compost, right? There are so many leaves and usually we burn them....) I read the letter that held your story. Then thought on it for a while looking up through the red maple leaves to the blue, blue sky. Then read it again. Smiling each time. What a gift! When I smile, Robbie smiles. They’re weak smiles, but smiles nonetheless.

So I suppose I owe you a story of my own. And sadly, I have much more time to pen letters these days. What with Corrine not walking yet (soon though...) and Robbie a shadow of himself. Like I said in my last letter, the fever weakened his heart. (Thank you for the delicious recipe and the extra rations, too. So, so appreciated.) He doesn’t run. He doesn’t play. He laughs in a whispery way that frightens me. Sometimes I wake in the night and watch him sleep and the tears, they just come. Where is my beautiful boy? Where is he? It’s like garden fairies came, took my rambunctious child and left this quiet version in his place. I am so ashamed I ever complained about the boy’s energy. I’d give my own life to watch him make mischief. My world is, suddenly, so, so quiet.

Anyway...I’ve told you a bit about Robert, Levi and myself as children. But I suppose you might be wondering how I settled on Robert. It was simple, really. The three of us decided that our friendship had no room for romance (after that summer when we were kids and my heart belonged to Levi). And we stayed true to our pact all through our early teens. It was so much fun, I have to admit...going to the summer dances with a boy from Connecticut and then being swept up by Levi and Robert...their dates glaring at me from the punch bowl. How we’d dance! All three of us. I think we always knew that somehow we would end up all together.... But I suppose we couldn’t have imagined this war and how it divides us now more than class or time could have. It drives a wedge between us like a million autumns. When my mother died I was lost. I don’t remember much, except brushing her hair. I was taken to the hospital to recover, and when I woke up, there he was.

Robert.

He was the one who came. And in that moment, when he looked into my eyes, I didn’t see anyone but him. It was like a clearing in a dark forest. You get there and it was like you always knew it...an internal map.... He was always mine. We were born to be together.

“I’ll never leave you,” he said, speaking softly against my brow. And I knew he wouldn’t. Even this war can’t rob me of his heart.

Of course, there were obstacles, but we were so in love we swept right through it all. I may be paying for that sin right now. Levi took it hard, and we callously pretended not to notice. And now, just look at the mess I’m in.

Claire Whitehall didn’t approve, either. But she wouldn’t have approved of Princess Elizabeth.

Levi was Robert’s best man at our wedding. He smiled through the whole thing, but I could tell he was in pain. I avoided his eyes for the whole day. And later, when he got me alone near the tall willow at the back of our yard, he said, “You made a wise choice, Glory. Don’t ever doubt it,” and he kissed me on the cheek.

“Hey! What’s all this?” asked Robert with a good-natured laugh in his voice.

“I suppose we are saying goodbye to childhood romances,” I said lightly. Too lightly, because Levi cleared his throat and made some excuse about having to leave early.

“He’ll get over it,” said Robert.

And I thought we’d all get over it. But the past is a curious thing, dear Rita. It keeps our feet all muddled up when we yearn to run free.

My mother and father had a better story than my own. I was seventeen when I fell in love, newly orphaned with a boatload of money and three houses to choose from. I’m not hard to look at and neither is Robert. It’s a small world and we just...well...he saved me. He saves me still.

Now my parents, on the other hand, had a grand love affair. My father knew all there was to know about money, property and investing. He saw the crash a mile away and kept all of our assets safe. He was rich his whole life. Steeped in money. I think it was opium—way, way back. Scandalous, isn’t it? He wasn’t as handsome as he was rough-looking. Kind of like Levi but with colder eyes. Father used to say, “Feelings make you weak, which is fine if you want to be a weakling,” and then shake his newspaper. I sent you a picture. I’m sure you can see what I’m talking about.

My mother, Corrine, was another story. She didn’t have anything but her stunning face. Born into poverty. No one will tell me how they met, so it leaves me to believe she might have been his “lady friend” before he married her. My mother did everything for him. The sun rose and set by his desires. I think I was an accident or afterthought. Don’t get me wrong, I think they loved me (I know they loved me) but Franny (I wrote about my Portuguese nanny, right?) was the one who filtered down that information. And Father demonstrated his love by leaving me all the money and property. Legally binding me to it. I couldn’t sign it over to Robert or any other husband even if I wanted to. That was kind of him. Women rarely get the opportunity to have such responsibility over their own finances. I didn’t even
know
that until Anna told me.

This house I live in was our summer home. It was always my favorite place because it’s where we were all together. It’s smaller than the other two (one in Cambridge and one in Old Lyme, Connecticut) and I was at boarding schools from the time I was six. Father said it was better to raise me like an “English boy.” Said he thought America was due for a “shake-up” and we’d all be better off European.

For someone so right about so many things, he was wrong on that account, don’t you think?

I think they met out West somewhere. California or Oregon. They always kept their past between themselves. Like some sparkly secret hidden behind their eyes. I like to imagine that my mother was working somewhere wild and romantic (even unseemly!) and my father found her and swept her off her feet. Carried her away and brought her into a life of wealth and leisure.

I imagine he looked at her and said, “You magnificent woman, I do believe you were meant for better things. Come live with me and be my love....”

And she replied, “I’ve been waiting for you my whole life.”

I’d like to think he took her to dress shops and let her buy whatever she wanted and then brought her home like she was a treasure found deep at the bottom of a roaring river.

Robert says I’m a “hopeless romantic.” I suppose he’s right.

Anyway, those are my stories. I hope they’ve amused you! I’m sorry to ramble on like this but besides Anna you have become a divine source of comfort.

Love,

Glory

October 27, 1943

IOWA CITY, IOWA

Dear Glory,

I got such an itch to see a Fred and Ginger picture after your last letter. That’s how I imagine your parents, dressed to the nines and gliding across the dance floor like figure skaters over ice. My father only danced with my mother once a year, at Oktoberfest, and he counted the box step the entire time.

There is nothing wrong with being a romantic, Glory. It just means you see the world through a softer lens. The mind will go to great lengths to protect the heart. It sounds like yours prefers to wash memories with a little saltwater to smudge the harsh lines. I wish mine would do the same.

I never know quite what to say to a wife when her husband ships out. I suppose I’ll settle for two wishes—safety for Robert and a peaceful heart for you.

Well, I need to run out to the grocery—Roylene is finally coming to tea. I’ll finish this letter after she leaves so I can give you the whole scoop.

Later...

Please excuse my penmanship. I’ve gotten into Sal’s secret bottle of rye, found wedged between his tackle box and an ancient Christmas tree stand. I have no idea how long it’s been there. Whiskey doesn’t go bad, though, unlike everything else.

Roylene showed up on time. I asked to take her overcoat, but she refused. “Come now,” I insisted. “You’ll broil in my kitchen.”

But the stubborn thing wouldn’t give. She walked past me and settled in at the table, toying with the silverware. “What’s that cooking?” she asked, wariness framing her question.

I went through the trouble of making stuffed beef heart. Anyone looking at her can tell Roylene’s diet is deficient in most nutrients. When I told her the luncheon menu, she paled and crinkled her nose. “I thought we were having tea.”

I wanted to show her the door, but instead, for Toby’s sake, I poured her a cup and one for myself. We sat across from each other, the silence stretching out like taffy.

“Well...” I finally said.

Roylene drew the teacup to her lips, and proceeded to dribble its contents down the front of that damned wool coat. “Too hot,” she complained, fanning her mouth.

“Off it goes!” My voice sounded shrill even to my ears. “I’ll spot clean it while lunch finishes cooking.”

Roylene hugged herself, clawing at the nubby wool. “I’m leaving this on or I’m leaving!” She stood and I was next to her in a flash, my fingers moving nimbly over the cracked wood buttons. “Take it off,” I cried. I knew what was underneath. Oh, Glory, I knew.

We tugged and pulled, but my words weakened her resolve, and her grip loosened ever so slightly. I gave a final yank and pulled her arms free. Sure enough her tummy was round as a robin’s breast, straining the seams on the front of her cotton dress.

Roylene was breathing hard, her hands protectively over her middle. “It’s Toby’s. Don’t you say it’s not.”

I don’t know what force kept my heart beating. I stood there, breathing in and out, wishing a dust storm would swoop in and take Roylene and Roy and that damn tavern back to the hell they came from. I pressed my wedding ring into the palm of my hand to keep from slapping her cheek.

She’d stolen my son’s future, just as if she’d shown up with a telegram from the War Department.

“You...thief.”

Defiance twisted her sharp features. “I didn’t steal nothing. I don’t want nothing from you and I don’t want nothing from Toby he doesn’t want to give.”

“Have you written to tell him?”

Roylene straightened her shoulders and put her hands on her still-slim hips. “Not yet.”

Toby hadn’t kept it from me. That was something to hold on to. “When are you going to inform him?”

A slight shrug. “I dunno.”

“I will, then.”

She took a step forward, those dull hazel eyes catching fire. “No. It’s mine to tell. I want your promise you won’t.”

I didn’t want to make any promises to Roylene. In the back of my mind I heard Sal’s gentle voice telling me it was not my place. At least, not yet. “All right,” I agreed, “but don’t wait too long or I will.”

She lunged for the coat in my arms, but I held on tightly. Roylene was going to sit down and eat a healthy meal, so help me God. I steered her to the table and she choked down every bit of the overcooked beef heart. A couple of times it nearly came back up. I didn’t care.

“I’m surprised your father hasn’t shown up at my door with a shotgun,” I said while she chewed and swallowed.

“He doesn’t know. I’ve been wearing this coat everywhere. He hasn’t turned the heat on yet so I tell him I’m too cold to take it off.”

I poured her a glass of milk, and then sat across from her while she drank. “You can’t fool people for long. One day soon you’re going to wake up looking like you swallowed a bowling ball. It’s important to decide whether you want to tell people on your own terms or if you want them to discover your secret by accident. If I were you, I’d want to control the situation.”

She reached across the table and wrapped her bony fingers over mine. It felt odd, touching this woman—this stranger—who would give birth to my and Sal’s first grandchild. “Please give me some time, Mrs. Vincenzo,” she said softly.

So I’m giving her time. Someday she’s got to pay me back, though.

I can’t write any more. My head is a mess.

More soon,

Rita

P.S. Scratch what I said earlier. Give your eyes a good rub to clear all your romantic visions. There’s no place for it during wartime. I think I can understand your father’s way of thinking. Feelings do make us weak sometimes, but other times they make us invincible. I don’t know which one is worse, to tell you the truth.

P.P.S. I am too young to be a grandmother. I AM.