Chapter 30

May Bailey to Jessie Buchanan March 7, 1938

… Dr. Barlow made a house call to see Van in spite of his protest to Juanita that he was rested enough to visit Dr. Barlow's office. I tried to warn Van of the futility of resisting Juanita's arrangements for medical care, but he had to learn for himself. He is almost stubborn enough to be a member of the Bailey family by blood instead of marriage.

I still can't believe that he consented to letting Maisie attend the examination of his wound even if Dr. Barlow did say that it would be helpful in her studies of medicine. It's good of him to admire her ambition to be a doctor, but I'm not sure that an unbandaged head wound is the sort of thing that a 17-year-old girl should see up close.

From the Journal of Maisie McGinty March 7, 1938

I can hardly believe my luck. I saw an actual shrapnel wound up close. Van was a good sport to let me look. Dr. Barlow's explanation of what I was seeing was riveting. The man knows everything about medicine. If he weren't three times my age, already married and not Hub Bailey, I'd be in love.

I will try to remember what he told me. The shrapnel skimmed across the skull instead of striking it directly. The top of Van's left ear was mangled and nearly sliced off but has healed very well. Plastic surgery or a prosthetic could improve its appearance. The blunt force trauma to the skull and brain was more serious. It has obviously affected Van's sight and sense of balance and is responsible for his headaches and dizziness.

Fortunately, judging by the reports of his doctors from Paris and New York and his own account, he's showing steady improvement. Dr. Barlow was impressed that he is beginning to be able to distinguish separate letters instead of just separate lines of print even if they still aren't clear enough for him to read. Also, the loss of peripheral vision to his right is considerably less than it was when he was in the hospital at Benicassim.

Grace Mainwaring to Sally Henry March 8, 1938

… Mr. Cramp asked after Van when I dropped by the Chronicle office to turn in my latest column. I was warmed by his concern for my husband's health which was unquestionably sincere. Nonetheless, I should have been alert for an ulterior motive. I probably shouldn't have been surprised at the question he soon asked. "Has he recovered enough to do an interview for the Chronicle?"

I recognized the gleam in Mr. Cramp's eye. He was seeing himself as the proverbial scoop-hungry editor with printer's ink in his veins out of a movie or that new radio show with Edward G. Robinson, Big Town. I decided to be cautious. "He's well enough to hold a conversation, but he does need rest. I'll tell him you'd like to talk to him, but it's up to him and Dr. Barlow."

Mr. Cramp must have been disappointed, but he did a manful job of concealing it. "Of course. His recovery comes first. I suppose that now that he's back you'll be quitting work in order to look after him full time.?"

I allowed that I would be cutting down my workload. I was ten columns ahead, so I could take some time off from researching and writing the column. Mrs. Cramp had reluctantly agreed to let me put in fewer hours at CRNB. I didn't mention that she had tried to make her agreement conditional on my persuading Van to let himself be interviewed on CRNB. Mother had arranged to delegate more of our work and for us to do more of what was left at home. "However, I don't see myself quitting work here in New Bedford entirely until Van and I leave to start a new life."

Mr. Cramp frowned. "I don't know that I approve. A woman's only important duty is to look after her husband. Any work she does outside the home is more-or-less inconsequential."

I smiled at him as sweetly as I could. "So, you don't mind if I tell Mrs. Cramp you said that?"

The look of abject horror on his face was highly satisfying. "Let's not be hasty. Perhaps I was a little rash in my judgement."

I agreed with him that perhaps he was. At that point, he all but begged me for my silence. "If Callie hears about this, she'll spend the next week making my life miserable."

I let him grovel a little more. We ended up agreeing that I wouldn't say anything to Mrs. Cramp, and he would owe me a favor.

Of course, when I complained to Van that night that Mr. Cramp wanted women to be slaves to their husbands, he had to tease. "I wouldn't mind having you wait on me hand and foot." He raised a finger in mock Victorian sternness. "A man should be master in his own home."

It was hard to look disapproving, even as a joke, when I wanted to giggle, but I somehow managed it. "This is my mother's home and if I'd wanted a master, I would have been born a dog."

Van grinned wickedly. "A leash and collar wouldn't suit you. My arms on the other hand …."

I leaned over until my lips were a hairsbreadth from his so he wouldn't have to make any sudden movements that might aggravate his wound. He didn't, but he bridged the distance in what seemed less than an instant. His right arm curled around my back and drew me closer.

Electricity raced through my nerves. After far too short a time, we broke off our embrace. I had to take a moment to clear the haze from my head. Afterwards, I couldn't help thinking that I could never understand how it is that a man can exasperate you one moment and set you on fire the next. Perhaps some things are meant to be mysteries.

Van seemed in such good spirits, that for a brief while I dared to hope against reason and experience that maybe his long convalescence and journey home had given him time to work through his nightmares. I should have known better. I slept beside Van's bed that night on father's old camp bed. His scream tore through my sleep like an axe through kindling. Somewhere in that scream I recognized a name, Esteban.

As I held Van while he waited for the headache his thrashing had caused to fade away, he told me that Esteban was a private in his squad with the Lincoln Battalion who had gone up Mosquito Ridge with him and died there. He refused to say how and I'm not sure that I want to know.

You should be glad that your Mark was in the Supply Service in the Great War and didn't have to fight. He is right to be worried about his brother Bart though. When the next war comes, the army reserve will be called up immediately to form the backbone of the new army Canada will have to raise to fight it.

From the Journal of Honey Sutton March 10, 1938

I had lunch with Toppy today. It seems that Rebecca is over the moon that she will be hosting a weekly three-minute fashion segment on New Bedford Notes. Toppy could have been more excited. Not that she wasn't happy for Rebecca, but, as she admitted to me, she would have liked to fill the position herself.

However, Grace made a persuasive appeal for her to stand aside. Grace pointed out that Toppy has Archie, her dress shop, and her writing career. She already has most of what she really wants in her life. Rebecca is just starting to discover what she wants in hers. That may or may not be show business, but shouldn't she have the chance to find out?

Toppy had to agree. I couldn't resist telling her that she had behaved better than she did six years ago when she used her clout as head of the New Bedford Dramatic Society to strong arm Max into giving her the ingenue role in his play Train to Nowhere. That role would have been perfect for Grace.

Toppy looked reproachful. "Grace didn't mention that. She's too er gracious." Toppy's hurt changed to chagrin. "I admit that I was twenty years too old to play Louisa. It's just that the part spoke so powerfully to the discontent I was feeling at that time."

Toppy did have news from Grace about Van's visit to the New Bedford Hospital. Dr. Barlow was satisfied with Van's new x-rays. They showed a small fracture at the point where the shrapnel struck, but it seems to be almost completely healed. Grace is hopeful that Van's eyes will improve to the point where he can read again. In the meantime, She and Juanita take turns reading to him, each from a different book. He and Grace have just started to work their way through Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad.

In two weeks: Roast chicken and stride piano. May Bailey receives an apology. Maisie receives a letter.