I'll Be Seeing You (21 page)

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 flowers 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.

My desire to do so surprised me, Glory. I had to turn away and choke down the emotion
clawing at my throat. I held my grandson so tightly he squirmed.

Lawyer Bill gave Roylene a fatherly kiss on the forehead, and then it was over. My
son was a married man.

Afterward, we went to lunch with Bill and Mary Ann, and we all signed a card to send
to Toby. Even Roy scribbled his congratulations. We rubbed Little Sal’s hands with
sliced beets and pressed them onto the V-mail. I don’t know if it’ll go through, but
the sweet gesture made even Mrs. K. smile from ear to ear.

We’re heading back to Iowa City first thing in the morning. Roylene just wondered
aloud if she’ll feel like a different person tomorrow.

I feel like a different person today.

Love,

Rita

P.S. Even with all the commotion, I’ve been thinking about you all the time. Write
soon, hon. I can’t wait patiently for news of your homecoming. I just can’t.