Chapter 43

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan Apr. 15, 1938

… Grace walked in the front door carrying a stack of letters. When I saw the Spanish postmark on the top letter, I understood why she was pale and anxious. She asked me for time to read them before we talked. I agreed and she walked into the kitchen.

After a minute, I looked in on her. In front of her on the kitchen table, the stack of letters she had carried in was divided into four. She grimly perused a letter before laying it in one stack and taking a replacement from another. By the time she was finished with the process, all letters were in one of three stacks.

She explained to me that the letters were from the commissars of the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion and the Abraham Lincoln Battalion. Each carried news of a pen pal and went into one of the three stacks depending on whether the subject was missing, wounded, or dead. The stack for the dead contained four letters. This was five in the afternoon. It was well past nine when Grace returned.

As she walked through the front door, she slowly and heedlessly put one foot in front of the other as though moving by habit alone. Her eyes were red and still very puffy. I could easily tell that she had only just stopped crying.

I had Maisie go to the kitchen and warm some tea. I led Grace to her chair, and she sat down. Then she looked up at me and the pain and the hopelessness in her gaze almost made me want to cry myself.

"It's finished," she said bitterly. "I broke four children's hearts today. Two of them actually volunteered to write to new pen pals. I had to tell Buck Mayhew and six others that there was no news of their pen pals. I said I was sure their friends had been captured and were in prisoner of war camps. Of course, we both know what else may have happened to them."

Indeed, we did. They could be in unmarked graves with other International Brigades prisoners of war whose captors had ignored Franco's temporary orders not to murder them. [The orders were in force for only a week and only for purposes of publicity and gathering enough prisoners to exchange for Italians captured while fighting under Franco. Ed.] I put a hand on Grace's shoulder and assured her that she had done the best she could.

She smiled wearily and replied with small enthusiasm that she supposed so. As far as I'm concerned, Van can't return and begin his and Grace's new life together soon enough. Both of them have been carrying mountains on their shoulders these past two years. They deserve some happiness for themselves.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty April 16, 1938

Poor Grace is still pretty shaken up from last night. I offered to stay home from the spring dance and keep her company, but she wouldn't hear of it. She insisted that she'd feel better knowing that at least someone in this household was having a good time. Besides, I was young and ought to be enjoying myself at my time of life. Mrs. Bailey supported her.

It was good of Pritchard Flett to invite me to the spring dance. I'm glad that I confided in him about my feelings for Hub after he complained about Rebecca seesawing between him and Henry. Under the circumstances, why shouldn't we step out together? I still can't believe that when I told Grace this, she already knew that I've been eating my heart out over Hub.

Still, I'm hardly the only person in New Bedford to underestimate her. When I first came here, a lot of people couldn't believe that May Bailey's dizzy daughter was actually making good at CRNB. Grace still leaps before she looks sometimes. However, given everything she's done since then, I think she always had brains. She just didn't have much reason to use them until she started working in radio.

I enjoyed the dance more than I thought I would. Pritchard is a much better dancer than I am. Fortunately, he was very nice about the two or three times I stepped on his foot. He did accidentally step on my foot once when he was distracted by pretending not to see Rebecca and Henry gliding by. After about an hour on the floor, we sat down and talked.

He did glance at Rebecca and Henry every now and then in spite of himself, but otherwise seemed really interested in what I had to say about my studies in anatomy. I have to admit that what he had to say about the stars and the planets was neat. I think maybe I've made a friend.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring, Apr. 18, 1938

I'm writing this in my hotel room and missing you more with every line. I hate to think that when I fall asleep tonight, it won't be with your sweet goodnight kiss on my lips. At least the tour has been going well. The moment towards the end of my talk when I remove the fake upper ear to reveal the damage from the shrapnel is more effective than any words of mine in demonstrating why the Mac-Pap Rehabilitation Fund is so important.

Most of my comrades who've been wounded aren't lucky enough to be able to afford the extended treatment and expensive prosthetics they need. The audiences have been generous with their money which is fortunate. If the Communist functionaries and chateau generals in charge of the International Brigades continue to run their part of the war as efficiently and successfully as they have up to now, the fund will need every penny.

At least, they can't possibly do worse than the last couple of months. I managed to persuade a couple of my contacts in the Communist Party to level with me. Please, don't repeat what I am about to tell you to anyone.

The newspaper coverage of the fascist offensive of the last month has been grim, but the truth is even worse. The retreat to the Ebro was a catastrophe. The Mac-Paps are a remnant and the Lincolns were virtually wiped out. Only a handful of the men I started with in either battalion are alive and unhurt.

A World War veteran named Patterson stopped me in the street as I walked back to my hotel after the rally. He was a sergeant with the Canadian Corps. We compared notes about our war experiences. I envy him the steady flow of supplies he and his comrades enjoyed and the competent generals they served under. We both agreed that some officers actually manage to learn what's what if they last long enough, but none of them would ever get anything done if they didn't have sergeants to do the real work.

… Patterson couldn't imagine having a snoopy commissar looking over his shoulder all the time and wondered how my comrades and I stood it. I told him the truth. I don't care much for the concept of political officers myself. However, in practice, there are two kinds of commissars.

The first kind gives big speeches about how we should have no care for our lives on the battlefield. He tells us to fight like demons for the greater glory of the proletariat and the workers' paradise to come. Of course, when the bullets are flying, he's nowhere to be found. We call commissars like that "comic-stars." They don't last long.

Then there are commissars like Steve Nelson and Saul Wellman. They care more about seeing that their men are properly fed, clothed, housed and armed than they do about the party line. No matter how hard the fighting gets they're right there beside you, risking their lives the way they expect you to risk yours. I've followed both Nelson and Wellman into hell and, if I were still in Spain and my nerve held up, I would again.

Grace Mainwaring to Vanaver Mainwaring Apr. 20, 1938

… I tried sleeping in my own room the night after you left but being alone just didn't feel right. The next night, I set up my father's old camp bed in the guest room again and pretended that I could hear the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing in the guest bed next to me. I faded away almost immediately. The nightmare that I was hiding in desperation from Mr. Stevens, the postman, who carried terrible news and somehow always found me was a little less frightening. Perhaps it helped to imagine your strong arms being there to hold me until I stopped trembling.

I drove up to Alawanda two days ago and spoke to Ernest Smith. We worked out a preliminary agreement for you to purchase a large share of the Alawanda Lumber Company with an option to purchase the rest if the other partners are satisfied with your management after a year. Smith will stay on as manager for that time after you take his place as company president in order to give you time to get a feel for the business.

They are willing to let you offer their employees the option of taking a portion of their pay in stock, but they aren't certain about your desire to bring in the kind of timber conservation practices being used in America by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Mr. Smith pointed out that timber companies in Ontario only lease the land they work from the Crown. If the Alawanda Lumber Company were to replant the land they harvest, the provincial government could lease the land to another company later on that would profit from their investment. He does have a point.

Mother has trusted friends and associates discreetly spreading the word in the right quarters that she is looking for talented, capable mining executives to fill an important management position in the Silverdome Mining Company. She is looking for two kinds of candidates, young executives who aren't rising fast enough and middle-aged executives who have been unfairly passed over for further promotion.

Next Week: Matchmaking. A sensational idea. Sins find a roost.