Chapter 54

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

… I knew that my husband owned an apartment in midtown Manhattan, but not that the sight of it would take my breath away. It was a dream of art moderne splendor in every horizontal streamline, rounded corner and glass block. Van proudly introduced me to his small but impressive art collection.

I am afraid that I allowed a little bafflement to show in my expression at the sight of his paintings. He quickly assured me that the gauzy Macdonald-Wrights and bright Demuths hanging from his walls were genuine. Tomorrow, he promised, he would introduce me to a friend who was the same.

… He [John Hammond] wasted no time offering me his enthusiastic thanks for sending him the photographs of Van in shining armor. When he got them, he hadn't been able to stop laughing. Van was a good sport to let him see them. Van took this with a good-natured grimace. "Just don't send them to Spain. My comrades would never let me live it down. I'd die of embarrassment before Franco ever got a crack at me."

"That's too bad. Those photos are funnier than Laurel and Hardy. My friend, Benny Goodman, actually cracked a smile when he saw them, and he can be a real sourpuss sometimes."

Goodman had that reputation. Just ask anyone who came to a rehearsal of his legendary big band less than completely prepared. Van's grimace deepened. "I'm sorry I missed the Carnegie Hall concert, not to mention the battle of the bands with Chick Webb afterwards. It would have been a lot more fun than freezing into a human icicle at Teruel."

Hammond's expression suddenly became very earnest. "I can't tell you how much I admire what you and your comrades have done in Spain. I think you're doing a great thing returning to them. I've heard that seven of your comrades who were honorably discharged from the Lincoln Brigade may also go back."

Van, at this point, was weary of trying to explain that the Lincolns were a battalion to people convinced by two years of successful Communist Party ballyhoo that they were a brigade. Instead, he asked which former volunteers were considering returning to his old unit. I couldn't help wondering what their loved ones thought of that possibility.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty May 21, 1938

You just can't tell about people. I still can't believe that Lionel Marshall is traveling to Germany and Austria this summer to buy antiques from Jewish families for peanuts. Maybe he is paying more than others who are doing the same thing. At thirty cents on the dollar, he's still taking advantage.

The people he plans to buy from will have no choice but to sell if they want to turn their valuables into cash. If they don't, they might lose them to the new law in the works making all jewels and precious metals owned by Jews the property of the Reich. It makes my blood boil to think of it.

I don't blame Van for accusing his brother of being happy to see the world burn as long as the arsonists will let him pick up a few bargains at the fire sale afterwards. Grace isn't sure that he will ever speak to him again. Hub and I did as she asked. The Empire clock Lionel gave her is now boxed up and stored in the basement, so she doesn't have to look at it.

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Lionel's smugness at his plan goaded me to sarcasm. "You're the soul of generosity."

His eyes narrowed. "I am to you. Van can't go to Spain with this hanging over his head. When you spend your next anniversary with him instead of wishing you knew where his grave was so you could put flowers on it, remember who made that possible."

I am not proud that under my outrage there was a tiny feeling of relief at the thought that perhaps my husband would have to stay with me after all. The relief didn't last long. After we left, Van told me that he would go to Spain. All he had to do was tell the Communists about Lionel first.

He'd have had to anyway when he asked for his brother's name to be removed from the list of next of kin to be informed if anything happens to him. At least, his sister is still on it although any news, like his letters to her, will be sent in care of a dear friend of hers. "The Communists will like that. They think ratting on your family is a sign of trustworthiness. There are statues all over the Soviet Union of that Ukrainian boy who turned his parents in to the secret police."

I wasn't reassured. "I've heard about that, but what if you're wrong?"

Van breezily assured me that he wasn't. He was putting up a brave front for me. Of course, it wasn't entirely a front. My husband really was a brave man. At that moment, I hated his bravery. Anger seemed futile, but I was not able to conceal the pain that lay underneath my resignation. "I sometimes wonder if you want to die."

There was nothing insincere about the hurt in Van's eyes as he answered me. "Whenever I'm near you, whenever I touch you, whenever I just think of you, the one thing I want more than anything else in the world is to live."

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry May 23, 1938

Mr. and Mrs. Yuen were grateful for the donation you and Mark made to the Red Cross China Relief Fund. They have been touched by the outpouring of help and sympathy for their former homeland and its people here in New Bedford. Even people who look down their noses at my fundraising for the Spanish Republic have donated generously and offered kind words. Mr. Bridgeman congratulated me on associating myself with a genuinely worthy cause for a change. "What those dirty yellow Japanese savages are doing to their Chinese neighbors is an obscenity."

I couldn't let that pass. "It's pretty much the same thing that the dirty white Spanish savages who support Franco are doing to their own countrymen. The only difference is in degree, not kind."

I'll spare you the argument that followed over the differences he imagined existed between Franco and Hirohito. I was happy and not in the least surprised to find that Max had the business of the Friends of the Mac-Paps and the pen pals well in hand while I was gone from New Bedford. The rest of the executive committee agreed that it would be a good idea to hold off on further fundraising until the Bas Lake Fishing Tournament. Too many appeals too soon after each other dull people's taste for giving.

As for the pen pals, there was no news at all for those whose soldier friends went missing in the retreat to the Ebro. At least Max didn't have to make good on his promise to deliver any bad news that came in my absence. He doesn't deserve that kind of ordeal.

… It can't be easy for Toppy to carve out time for me between her dress shop, her writing, her clubs, and Archie. Just this past week, she and Rebecca have been working overtime to fill rental orders for graduation gowns. She still manages somehow, God bless her.

It is good to be seeing more of her. I hadn't realized how much I missed our friendship. We had lunch today with Marjorie who sends her regards.

… Toppy was pleased to hear from Hugh Frampton. She is glad that he escaped harm while covering the Mackenzie-Papineau Battalion's retreat across the Ebro. He even sent her a copy of his latest short story collection, A Dry Wind.

He says that he appreciates Toppy's letters. Apparently, exchanging thoughts with a woman as friends instead of being romantically involved or having a fling is a new experience for him. He hopes he isn't doing too badly at it.

He sent me his love and wished me and Van the best. I appreciated his effort to reassure me about Van's decision to return to fight in Spain. He's sure that my husband is canny and experienced enough to survive anything that might happen to him in this war.

He will come home. Maybe a year or two after that, Van and I will be hearing the patter of little feet. Frampton decided to call a halt at this point before his prose style dissolved completely into clichés.

At the moment, the only little feet in my life belong to my darling newborn nephew. Of course, I insisted on showing Toppy and Marjorie the adorable photos of Jimmy that I took while I was in Toronto on the way back to New Bedford. I made duplicates, so I am sending a few to you with this letter. Toppy oohed and aahed, giving no indication of any resentment over the part Jimmy's mother played in breaking up her marriage.

Marjorie tried to be enthusiastic, but it was obvious that something was bothering her. She was momentarily hesitant to confide something so personal, even to friends, but Toppy and I assured her that we would be sympathetic. I am only sharing this with you with Marjorie's permission, so, please, don't repeat it to anyone. She and Ollie want to adopt a second child.

Both Toppy and I thought that giving Jacob a brother or sister was a wonderful idea. It's very generous of them to want to give a home and family to some poor child that has neither. When we said so, Marjorie all but burst into tears. The finances just don't work out. Ollie is making barely enough money to support her, himself, and Jacob and put a little into savings. There is no way that they can afford to clothe and feed a second child.

In two weeks: An old grudge. A frightening glimpse. Gateway to war. Maisie's heart.