Chapter 68

From the Memoirs of Grace Bailey -

Fall was a time when many things seemed to be drawing to their various ends. From the withering of leaves to the crumbling of the Republic to the slow winding down of my time in New Bedford, much that had seemed flourishing and inexhaustible was slowly and inevitably passing. If spring and summer had still, to some small extent, been seasons of possibility and even fulfillment, autumn was almost entirely a season of diminishment.

The threads of thought, feeling, obligation, and circumstance that made up our lives wove themselves more and more tightly around myself and everyone I knew until they reached a point where two possibilities that had once been many resolved themselves into one inescapable certainty. Was the outcome fate, chance, choice or some unknowable mixture of two or all of these? The question, which no one who has ever lived has failed to ask about some great turning point in their lives, is clear enough, the answer less so.

It was in late August that Carrie Grange arrived at CRNB for her first broadcast of New Bedford Notes. She arrived very early. Mrs. Cramp was still in her office finishing some paperwork, so I greeted her and showed her around the station. My mother taught me as a little girl that a conversation with a friendly, but not an intimate, acquaintance, should be strictly limited to uncontroversial topics of mutual interest. Mrs. Grange and I discussed religion.

At least it was a topic of mutual interest. Mrs. Grange breathlessly showed me a rough draft of the program for next Sunday's service at the New Bedford United Church and asked my opinion of the choice of hymns. The breathlessness was the first hint that things weren't going to go smoothly.

Still, I think Mrs. Grange was managing, with some effort, to keep her anxiety over broadcasting for the first time in her life under control. Then, just before she was to go on the air and do her segment, Mrs. Cramp pulled her close and quickly urged her to remember that she was about to broadcast to over 7,000 listeners in New Bedford and the surrounding towns. The poor woman stood there as I introduced her looking like she was about to stick her head into a crocodile's jaws.

After I finished, she stepped up to the mike and immediately froze. For long seconds, nothing went over the CRNB airwaves. The chirp of a cricket would actually have been preferable. Even the low croak of a frog would have been better than dead air, the cardinal sin of the high church of broadcasting.

I whispered the first lines of Mrs. Grange's copy into her ear. It was enough to break the spell. Slowly and haltingly, she began to read. Unfortunately, she didn't improve. Her stumbling and restarting were painful to listen to.

After she finished, I thanked her for her segment and told her as enthusiastically as I could that I was sure that our audience at home had enjoyed it as much as I had. She gave me a pathetically grateful and apologetic smile. A sour-faced Mrs. Cramp marched her out of the studio and into the hall. I had five minutes more on the air, so I could only hope that my employer wasn't being too harsh.

Vanaver Mainwaring to Grace Mainwaring Sept. 3, 1938

So, you're willing to murder your own nephew with a fire iron? Maybe the International Brigades recruited the wrong sex to fight in this war. Seriously, you should persuade Maisie to tell Hub how she feels or tell him yourself so that at least he will be more considerate of her feelings. That or hope that putting distance between them works better in the future than it has in the past.

Harry, Oscar, and I went into reserve a little dustier and a little more parched after being relieved, but not much the worse for wear otherwise. Right now, Harry and Oscar are exchanging Negro and Finnish folktales. Harry likes Oscar's story about the bear that tested the other animals' talent for escape by trying to catch and eat them, but he doesn't think the rabbit would have to run forever. He could go to ground in places the bear couldn't reach. "I was bawn an' bred in de briar patch."

Those of my squad who were green recruits before they came through this past month's fighting have learned how to do the best they can to carry out the objective while not doing anything stupid that would get themselves and their comrades killed. We understand and rely on each other. That trust will hold us together through whatever is to come.

Thank you for the new photograph of you. I think you have only become more beautiful since the old one was taken. It is good to have something to remind me that there is more to hope for than a long walk down a dusty road and hard fighting at the end of it. I swear to you that I will come back to you. I will fold my arms around your glorious softness and warmth. I will kiss you until we both run out of air to breathe and silently thank a god who I am not certain exists for bringing you into my life.

From the Journal of Honey Callahan Sept. 7, 1938

The Rev. Grange told Max today that Grace is largely responsible for the dramatic improvement in his wife's broadcasting style which has become much smoother and more relaxed. Apparently, she advised her to pretend that she was speaking to a meeting of the New Bedford United Church Ladies' Auxiliary. Grace and Mrs. Cramp even sat in front of the microphone on chairs to help her imagine the audience.

To her delight, her mike fright went away almost immediately. She actually finished her copy without freezing or stumbling. Unfortunately, some people don't think that a married woman with children at home should be working, especially in a time when men with families to support can't find jobs.

Never mind that raising a family on a minister's pay isn't easy. I don't doubt that the extra money comes in handy. According to Mrs. Boyd, her husband was in Mr. Hamlin's hardware store yesterday and heard him remark to his friend Alistair Grady, "what can you expect from a church that just decided to allow women to become priests?"

As a Catholic, I believe in a male priesthood, but hearing my views parroted by a cabbage-headed bigot like Phil Hamlin is almost enough to make me reconsider them. Helping Mrs. Grange begin her radio career wasn't Grace's only good deed for the week. The second most senior bookkeeper at the Silverdome Mining Company announced last Friday that she was leaving to get married. Everyone is happy for her, but her good fortune poses a problem for Grace, Mother Bailey, and the head of accounting. Where will they find someone with the knowledge and experience to replace her?

Grace has an idea of how to kill two birds with one stone. She is trying to convince Mother Bailey to offer Marjorie Jefferson the position. Marjorie is better qualified for it than anyone else in New Bedford. She worked as a bookkeeper in the mine office for fourteen years before she married Ollie. Grace hopes that the income from returning to her old job will be enough to allow them to adopt another child. They are grateful for Grace's effort to help them but would like to take a little time to think it over.

I just wish that someone could help Grace with more than a sympathetic ear. Rumors are flying that the International Brigades will soon be withdrawn from Spain even as they struggle once again to hold the line on the south bank of the Ebro against constant enemy assaults. The purpose of the gesture would be to encourage Franco to reciprocate by sending home the Germans and Italians fighting on his side. Neither Grace nor I expect that to happen. Franco has never taken an opportunity to behave honorably or be generous to the Spanish people before. Why should this time be any different?

In the meantime, reports of the fighting are harrowing. I have never seen Grace so distracted. She spent most of our lunch today staring into space, not even touching her sandwich. Toppy, Marjorie, and I carried the conversation. It was Toppy who asked Grace point blank what was wrong and wouldn't accept her effort to wave away her concern. Our friend admitted that she was terrified for Van. "What if the International Brigades aren't sent home after all and Van has to keep fighting. What if they are, but Van isn't with them because a bullet or another piece of shrapnel …"

I wish Grace had broken down and cried. It might have given her some relief. Instead, she just went silent and sat there so miserable with fear that she couldn't say anything. I put a hand on her shoulder to try to comfort her. Her muscles were as hard as bricks from the tension.

Next Week: The habitant's grandson. Ollie's doubts. The last battle.